On the occasion of the May Day holiday last year, I went back to my hometown and visited my long-lost grandmother. When I got off the bus, my long-lost joy suddenly welled up in my heart. I ran into grandma's room excitedly. I was about to open my mouth to call grandma, but I stopped. Grandma fell asleep in bed. I went to the bed and couldn't bear to wake her up, so I looked at her kind face carefully ... At this time, grandma woke up and was always sleepy. I know this is a mistake branded as a child. Grandma opened her eyes deeply sunken by time, raised her mouth and said, "Granddaughter, my lovely granddaughter ..." I choked out a cry, "Grandma!" . Immediately, grandma stroked my hair with her cocoon-covered hands and said earnestly, "My granddaughter's hair is really black and smooth, just like grandma's hair before …". When I heard this, my nose was sore at once. At that moment, I really wanted to dye grandma's white hair black with a pen.
Grandma took my hand and walked under the old banyan tree that accompanied me through my childhood. In grandma's hand, I found the familiar temperature in my childhood. Grandma and I sat on a mossy stone bench under the banyan tree, and grandma told me my childhood attentively. I stood up and massaged grandma's back. In an instant, I found that grandma's back was not as straight as before. In the sun, grandma's dazzling white hair caught my eye again. I can't hold back my emotions any longer. I raised my hand and gently stroked grandma's white hair, just like grandma stroked my hair when I was a child. "Yes, grandma's hair is all white ..." At that moment, I really wanted to take a pen to dye grandma's white hair black.
Time goes by little by little, like a candle burning out slowly ... I want to go back to the city where I live day and night. I sat in the car and rolled down the window to say goodbye to grandma. Every time I leave my grandmother, I can't live without the words: "study hard and don't be just a farmer like grandma." You seem incoherent. My tears have filled my eyes, but I'm trying not to let them flow out, because I want to leave you my smile and my happiness, even if it's just a smile mixed with tears …
The car is drifting away. Every time you leave, you always watch us leave. In the mirror, I saw your bent body and your messy white hair in the wind. At that moment, I really wanted to dye your white hair black with a pen!
2. Grandma's white hair composition Grandma has a lot of white hair, saying that I can't let her worry as before, and don't lose my temper with her.
I didn't really do these simple things. These things are the best, the simplest and the most important. At this time, I began to confess what I had done to her before.
Once, grandma prepared a thick and simple cotton-padded jacket for me in the morning. Because it was late autumn and I wanted to wear frivolous clothes, I began to make trouble. She finally agreed with me. Then I caught a cold. Only then did I realize that what the old man said was always reasonable.
Another time, when school was over, my grandmother came to pick me up and brought me fresh milk to drink, but I wanted to drink it, and my grandmother insisted on buying it for me. I didn't finish it. The next day, I found a trace of toxin in the drink, which solidified into glue.
Since then, I have always believed grandma's words, and I don't respect her as before. Grandma, I won't worry you as much as before.
3. What are the white-haired diaries of the first-grade grandmother? On Saturday afternoon, a big brother and an old woman were sitting at the table in their yard.
The golden sunflower in the yard showed a lovely smiling face, as if to say, "It's really comfortable for the sun to shine on you." Big brother is reading a book carefully. Eldest brother looked up and found that grandma's hair was white and gave off a soft light in the sun.
He asked his grandmother, "Why is her hair black and her hair white?" Grandma smiled and said, "My white hair is half from you and half from your father."
My brother quickly said, "Grandma, I will study hard in the future and won't worry you any more." Grandma smiled and said, "I'm kidding, good boy." Be a useful person when you grow up. "
4. Write a paragraph like grandma's white hair. The teacher's white hair is like a pencil, which has written a lot of knowledge for us, but it is worn away a little, and the more it is worn, the shorter it is; Teachers are like burning red candles, burning themselves and illuminating us; The teacher is like a big tree, big and strong, sheltering us from the wind and rain; Teachers are like ... My head teacher, Mr. Wu, is a male teacher in his early thirties. He has been teaching grade one to grade five now. We have established deep feelings for each other. He is our teacher, our father, our bosom friend and our idol.
If you ask any student in our class: Is Mr. Wu a good teacher? They will all give you a positive answer: yes. Because my teacher is really good.
He not only taught us knowledge, but also taught us how to be a man. Once, when the teacher gave me a batch of homework, I saw that the teacher's black hair was mixed with white hair.
God, the teacher is still in his thirties. How can he have so much white hair? Recalling the dribs and drabs in my study, I understand how the teacher's white hair came from, which was caused by the teacher's worry and trouble for us.
The teacher worked too hard. Every time I walk past the teacher's window, I will see the teacher approving homework under the lamp. It was cold, so the teacher reminded us to wear more clothes. When we came home from school, the teacher told us to pay attention to safety on the road. We were sick, and the teacher took us to the hospital to pay the medical bills. Looking at the teacher's white hair, my eyes are moist.
Although we can't do anything for the teacher, I think being clever and obedient, making the teacher less angry, studying hard and getting excellent grades is the best reward for the teacher. Teacher, you are like a hard gardener, carefully cultivating our naughty seedlings.
Teacher, you have worked hard, and we love you forever.
5. Grandma's white hair or hands Keywords: grandma's handwritten primary school article
I have a grandmother who is 63 years old. She has a few strands of white hair, a chubby body and hardworking hands.
After school in winter, I go out to play. Grandma is doing housework as usual. After an hour, I had enough fun. When I came back, I saw grandma was still busy and didn't finish eating. I came to have a look, and grandma's hands appeared a few calluses, and they became very red. After seeing them, I asked, "Is it cold outside?" Have you caught a cold？ Do you want a snack? "Then I touched my head and was relieved to see that I was all right. At this time, I noticed my grandmother's hands, which were much rougher in winter.
I went to write calligraphy after eating snacks. I licked my pen so much that I accidentally spilled black ink on my newly bought clothes. "Oh, what bad luck! I will be criticized by my mother! " Angry and anxious, tears fell unwillingly. I looked up at my grandmother who was knitting a sweater. She saw the ink on my clothes and frowned, so she let go and changed my clothes. I continue to write calligraphy. When I finished writing calligraphy, I found my grandmother in the bathroom. She is still washing my clothes. Although it is very cold, sweat still comes out from her head. She quickly brought a towel to wipe the sweat. Clothes for food, clothing, housing and transportation are all washed clean.
Grandma's hands are very considerate. Once, I didn't do well in the exam and went home dejectedly. Grandma touched my head and said, "I didn't do well in the exam this time." Pay attention next time. Come on! "
Ah! How great grandma's hands are!
6. Write Grandma's composition in 400 words. The root of sunshine is rooted in the heart.
Bitterness is life; Happiness is also life. Bitterness and joy are intertwined, and this is the real life.
-Inscription.
Grandma is full of white hair and has reached the age of enjoying her old age. But grandma is a restless person. She opened up a palm-sized place in her yard and planted some seasonal vegetables for her children and grandchildren to enjoy. On weekdays, I always see grandma busy weeding and fertilizing in the garden. Grandma says it looks good that way. But only a few petunias have been motionless and allowed to grow. But grandma often picks Penny's heart. I don't understand.
By chance, I saw an article about Petunia. It says: Petunia should be careful. The more you pick, the longer you get. Take off the flower heart on the trunk, and several flower buds will grow on the side branches. Think of Petunia in the garden. It is true. It blooms every year. I finally understand why grandma took Penny's heart.
I haven't been back to that yard for a long time, and my relationship with grandma in the yard is getting rusty.
Grandma's life seems very bitter to me. Grandma is an ordinary rural old man. When she was a child, she was very talented in learning, but because of various family reasons, she didn't finish primary school. Later, I formed a family with my grandfather who lost his father as a child and lived a hard life. In order to make children live better, she weaves a bright future with hard hands. Now life is getting better and better, but she is getting older and older.
Under the seemingly bitter life, grandma has a sunny smile every day.
Grandma is like Petunia. Although I have experienced the pain of picking up my heart, I still keep the sunshine.
Grandma planted the seeds of sunshine for me, and it took root and sprouted in my heart. The root of sunshine is rooted in my heart.
It's time to go back and see if Petunia is still blooming like that.
7. Ask for a composition. My grandma, my grandma.
I have an amiable and respectable grandmother who loves me very much. She has rough hands, wrinkled face, small bright eyes, black hair with a little white hair, and a loving smile on her mouth.
Grandma loves me very much. She always buys something during the Spring Festival or when someone comes home, but she leaves it for me. I don't want to eat it myself. If I eat it, it is something I pick up or throw on the table. I don't like it.
Because my parents can't cook for us at work every morning, I won't eat if they don't cook, but my grandmother doesn't agree, so I get up before dawn every morning to cook for me. Sometimes I don't want to eat when I get up late, but every time my grandmother picks up the bowl and pushes the car to leave, she will take it out and feed it to me. I said I wouldn't eat, and he said, why can't I eat all morning?
Every time I see the white hair on grandma's head, I can't help being sour. Isn't this white hair a witness that grandma works for * * *? I love my grandma.
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