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At the end of the year, all kinds of social and cultural activities I was asked to participate in suddenly crowded together, and I became "important". A friend even exaggerates that he can almost discharge my recent schedule from the news in the newspaper. Is that really the case? I just feel empty, empty.
Unexpectedly, in the endless phone call, an old voice came in. When the other party announced the name, I stood up involuntarily holding the microphone: that was Mr. Mooney, my Chinese teacher when I was in middle school 30 years ago. He said on the phone that during the Spring Festival 30 years ago, my classmate Cao Qi and I drew a greeting card for him. That New Year card was lost at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution. The old man said, "Can you make up a painting and give it to me as the most precious collection in my later years?" The old man's voice trembled with sincerity.
When I put down the phone, I immediately decided that this would be the most meaningful thing in my busy year-end activities.
When I sat at my desk, I saw the happy and miserable middle school life in the early 1960s. At that time, many excellent scholars were strangely hidden among middle school teachers. I remember that in the first grade of junior high school, the tutor of our self-study class was a famous scholar, Mr. Zheng. Now it is almost a sense of luxury. When I switched to high school, there were still many scholars. My English teacher, Mr. Sun Jue's dual accomplishments in English and China's classical literature are rare even among college teachers today. Mr. Mooney is also a man who has seen the world. At least at that time, we saw three or four books published when he was young in the second-hand bookstore. For some reason, he hid in middle school as a Chinese teacher. I remember when he taught us Chinese, my composition won the grand prize in the city competition, which attracted teachers from other schools to come to our class one after another. Teacher Mooney was very excited, and the course content was in-depth. He asked me some particularly difficult questions on the spot. Once I could hardly answer, and the situation was very embarrassing. I complained to myself: Mr. Mooney, you know there are so many people in class, why don't you ask me such a difficult question in advance? Later, I finally figured it out: this is a scholar, not clever at all.
Even a pair of immature eyes can roughly distinguish the brilliance of knowledge and personality. We were only fourteen or fifteen years old at that time, and we were always thinking stupidly about how to thank these teachers. According to the children's intuition, these teachers seemed to be more or less burdened with politics at that time, and their lives were very unsatisfactory. During the winter vacation, I finally had an idea. The whole class unanimously agreed to visit all the teachers' homes on New Year's Day. At that time, middle school students couldn't afford New Year cards, so they had to draw a few pieces of white paper by themselves and then send them to families on foot in groups. As he spoke, he couldn't eat anything from the teacher's house. He timidly knocked on the door, quickly took the native's New Year card, said a few words to him and left. There are many teachers and they are all sweaty. On the festival street, a group of young worshippers hurried.
Cao Qi and I draw New Year cards on behalf of the class. Cao Qi painted better than me. He should draw more. I'm in charge of writing. No matter what you draw or write, you can't surpass the level of middle school students over the age of/kloc-0. However, it was that childish scrawl that was deeply engraved in the heart of an old man, and it has been engraved here for 30 years.
Today, Cao Qi is a well-known painter and works in an art publishing house. I have seen his works printed in calligraphy anthologies and even on calendars. There are also his exhibitions in the gallery. As soon as he heard Mr. Mooney's request, just like me, he immediately stopped his work, chose a good rice paper, respectfully drew a New Year's map, and then quickly sent it to my college. I have polished a thick inkstone, filled the whole story on the frame, stamped it and sent it to be mounted. Now, this scroll of calligraphy and painting has been sent to Mr. Mooney.
Teacher, please forgive us. We have forgotten the pen and ink 30 years ago and lost the unrepeatable purity. We will use two pairs of middle-aged hands to roll a roll of ups and downs for you for 30 years.
In front of you, writing for you, we all shook off our names and titles, leaving only two sincere students. Only in this way can we transcend the hubbub and experience some kind of human feelings that span time and space.
With this feeling, I am qualified to say to today's young friends as a middle school student 30 years ago: remember, you may have created some kind of eternity. What you do every day, some will immediately regret it, while others have decades of weight.
Secondly,
As mentioned earlier, when I was a middle school student 30 years ago, I won an award for an essay. I still have a few words to say about this little thing.
About two years ago, a teacher in my middle school brought me a very strange letter. The recipient is me, but the address written on the envelope is the middle school and class 30 years ago. The teacher retired long ago and went to school to get his salary that day. Occasionally, he saw this letter in the mailroom. He didn't understand what was going on and was driven by curiosity. He struggled to find my home address and delivered it himself.
When I opened the letter, I finally understood that it was written by a female junior high school student in a rural area in northern Hubei Province. Not long ago, their school gave students a newly published selected excellent composition, which contained my composition 30 years ago, and my "serial number" was printed before signing, so the middle school student misunderstood. She generously called me "classmate" and suggested exchanging a composition with her every month, especially those "teachers don't like it but they like it".
The teacher who sent the letter smiled after understanding the reason, and then stared at me seriously. For a long time, he said philosophically: "In fact, today she is the one I remember;" Today you are me. " Yes, this little girl from the countryside has distorted the years of living together, making my teacher and I dizzy. With her immature brushstrokes, she neatly crossed the gap of time.
I racked my brains to answer her letter. I am afraid that she will be embarrassed when she knows the truth, and I am willing to talk to her for a while with a carefree and innocent mind that has long passed away, but this may become a trick for adults on children and eventually make her sad. After some hesitation, I decided to tell her in a relaxed tone in my reply that I didn't mention my occupation, which made her feel that this kind of communication was extremely normal and natural. I just casually mentioned that it was my composition many years ago.
The child still seems to be afraid. She doesn't know how to deal with such an adult, so she can only ask her parents for help. My parents are middle school Chinese teachers and know me, so things are even more troublesome. The second letter I received from her actually began like this: "Dear Professor …"
The whirlpool has stopped, and the ravine of time is still in sight.
It is conceivable that communication will become a bit difficult in the future. She really wants to know the way to the Palace of Literature and Art from me, but her tone can't be relaxed. She suppressed her true self and became an eager questioner. In addition to formality, the words in the letter have a sense of carving, which must have been revised with the help of her parents.
There is less and less communication, but I often see myself 30 years ago. The teacher who sent this letter is right. At that time, I was a bit like her, obsessed with literature and art, but as long as I extended this love a little, I met a world of adults, so I looked forward to the rapid passage of time every day.
I remember that my award-winning composition was written on a small bench on a summer evening, as if to cope with my summer homework and fly out to play as soon as I finished it. Until one day, I was very surprised to see it published in the newspaper, and a long comment was printed behind it, praising it one by one from the aspects of topic selection, material selection, detailed selection of articles, and self-cultivation. I immediately got serious. At an extremely grand award ceremony, I saw an extraordinary university teacher sitting on the podium. According to the chairman of the conference, he is the referee of the Shanghai composition competition. I thought he probably wrote the comment after my composition. He spoke with rich timbre, profound knowledge, natural and unrestrained humor, and made the idea of the article so clear in the laughter of the audience that I was almost completely impressed by him. After the meeting, I followed him quietly. He is talking to other adults. I really want to listen to more, and then see how he walks, how to wave and how to move his legs. Since then, I often think of this university teacher when I am reading and writing, and wonder how he would ask me to read and write if he were in front of me. This guess is often unfounded, so I become very upset. In a word, this university teacher who didn't know me at all not only showed me a height and a style, but also took away my relaxation and freedom. I finally bid farewell to my teenage mentality because of him.
The reason why I don't want to write to that middle school student in Hubei again is that I am afraid that my little words will make her lose a lot of things that she shouldn't have lost early. For such a loss, the child will not feel anything, but the bigger it is, the more painful it will be. Life is like this. I hate being young when I am young, and I hate being old when I am old. This often urges young and middle-aged people to be in a relatively calm state of alienation and judgment, thinking about the strangeness of life, and then comforting young and old people. I think the charm of young people in the sense of life lies in this two-way alienation and two-way comfort. Because of the two-way alienation, they become free and quiet; Because of the two-way comfort, they become kind and powerful. But because of this, they sometimes feel uneasy and melancholy, and they are sad to bid farewell to naive years, and sooner or later they will have a premonition that old age is coming. They are at the center of the whirlpool of life. Looking around and thinking about the past and the future, they can't help feeling a lot.
A year ago, I met that university teacher again. At that time, I was the head of the Chinese subject group of the Shanghai University Senior Professional Title Evaluation Committee, and together with several other professors, I reviewed the materials of Chinese professors and associate professors declared by universities all day. Suddenly I saw his name in the list of retired professors who wanted to evaluate their professional titles. According to the information, although he has been teaching in universities, he is mainly engaged in the research and counseling of Chinese teaching in middle schools. He wrote a lot of things, the quality is not low. However, according to the standard of being promoted to full professor in Shanghai universities, the materials are not too hard. There is no complete academic work, and it is not in the leading position in China and the comparable position in the world in a certain field.
Coincidentally, a few days later, I met him in an activity place. He introduced himself to me first. He knew that I was evaluating my professional title the other day, but he just casually mentioned it and didn't ask me anything. I can still recognize him. He is really old, heavy and full of white hair. He told me sincerely which books and articles I had read. I really want to tell him that he also read another article of mine, 30 years ago. But I finally held back. I dare not confess to him. I used to be his most devout admirer. He once gave me a piece of advice that decided my life. I was 14 years old that year.
What am I afraid of? The complicated mood here may only be understood. If he hadn't been the judge of my first article published to the society, and I hadn't been the judge of his title 30 years later, things would never be so embarrassing. I don't think this cause and effect can add any color to me, because I have always believed that life is not a competition between you and me, but more like a relay race in the wilderness. Who runs slower and slower is probably caused by the environment and climate. If I encounter so many steep slopes like him, I may be slower than him. He showed me, so his strength was at my feet. There is only a mutual relationship here, and there is no transcendence or transcendence. But, all this, he can understand? If he knows, can he understand what I can understand? When these communications are not available, I can't cause even the slightest embarrassment in the hearts of the elderly in order to uncover the fold of life about 30 years ago.
You see, being middle-aged is such a hassle. Just for an early composition, I just wanted to avoid embarrassing a little girl in Hubei, and now I want to turn this problem to an old man. How many years later, when I become an old man, will that little girl from Hubei still come to comfort me like this? By then, can I feel this comfort?
It's a piece of cake, but when you think about it, there are all kinds of flavors. I can only give a long sigh inexplicably, lamenting the warmth and desolation of life and the urgency and length of the years.
A philosopher in the west said that only the old people who have experienced vicissitudes will understand the real philosophy of life. In the same sentence, the mouth of the old man is one hundred times heavier than that of the young man. I can't completely agree with this. Philosophy is born in the process of two opposite forces, so it is more popular in middle age. The truly outstanding philosophers of life in the world all completed their ideological system in middle age. In old age, the magnetic field of life has been biased towards one pole and tends to single phase. Middle-aged people may not always express the confusion of the intersection of two forces as a philosophical appearance, but most of them are in the magnetic field of philosophy. I don't think I knew much about the secret of life 30 years ago, but I lingered on the edge of life for another 30 years, and the edge was just the edge after all. Therefore, if nothing else is said, the most important thing in terms of human body odor is now, especially in middle age. To this end, I wrote this sequel for the short story "The Weight of Thirty Years".