My teacher's surname is Li. When my father gave him my tender little hand, he was already in his sixties. Miss Li is slender, slightly hunched, with a pair of yellow tortoise-shell glasses on her high nose, a few deep wrinkles on her broad and prominent forehead, her short hair covered with frost and a long cigarette bag in her hand. A black cloth bag with tobacco leaves is tied to the pipe, and the hookah is made of brass and shiny.
Teacher Li loves life as much as a child. Although he has been buried underground for decades, his touching image still appears in my mind from time to time. On the occasion of Teachers' Day, my mood is hard to restrain. I will write the second and third thing about my teacher.
Once in a Chinese class, Miss Li checked her homework, and I forgot all about it, because I was too playful. Watching the students pass the exam one by one, my heart is in my throat. I was afraid that his dry hookah would fall on my head, and finally I was found out. He asked, "Where is your homework?" "I, I forgot to go home." Knowing that I was lying, he angrily held the pipe high, and I gritted my teeth to prepare for "all of a sudden", but the pipe slowly fell and pulled back, just close to my scalp (I later discovered that he "hit" every classmate in this way). He asked me to go to his office after class. I think not leaving my classmates in the office will really hit me. I walked into his office nervously. He has been waiting there with a long pipe. I stood at attention, ready to be beaten. I didn't expect him to "do the same thing again", but he told me the story that the ancients studied hard. Later, my Chinese level was greatly improved, and I was praised every time I commented on my composition. Moreover, because I learned Chinese well, I became a class representative of this course every time I was promoted to senior one, which was inseparable from the teacher's good teaching.
There is a small river in front of our primary school, and there is a small bridge on the river. Mr. Li is afraid of an accident. Every day, he waves a pipe to direct us to cross the bridge and rescues drowning students many times. On a cold autumn evening, I accidentally fell into the river and the river overflowed my head. Seeing that he didn't even take off his clothes, Mr. Li jumped into the river to save me. When he sent me home, the teacher was shivering with cold. My parents quickly took out dry clothes and changed them for the teacher, but the teacher waved his long pipe and said, "no, no, I want to go back to school!" " I once imagined that when he gave us a lecture, his long pipe was like a navigation mark, guiding us in the ocean of knowledge. When he leads us to sing, his long pipe is like a musician's baton. When he leads us in the game, his long pipe is like a starting gun. ...
I will never forget the day when the cold wind roared. On that day, the wheat straw pile in the back wall of our classroom suddenly caught fire. The wind helped the fire, and smoke and fire swallowed up our classroom. Mr. Li waved his pipe and directed the students to leave the classroom. Because of the narrow doorway, students can only squeeze out of the room one by one. When the last student was left with Mr. Li, he suddenly heard Liang Ao's "click" and the teacher suddenly pushed the student out of the room. At the same time, the classroom collapsed, some wood and firewood burned wildly, and the students shouted for help. The villagers braved the smoke and fire to carry Mr. Li out, but our facial features were blurred and we curled up on the ground motionless ... The fire was put out, and my classmates and villagers cried ... The teacher's long pipe was gone, and people scraped it for a long time before finding the brass ashtray. After wiping, it becomes more and more brilliant under the sunlight.
Unforgettable composition of kindness 1000 words (2)
After a long time, I have been in the sixth grade, but in my memory, the shadow of my first teacher, Miss Da, has never faded.
The great teacher is an old teacher with rich knowledge and teaching experience. He has been teaching for 25 years. The big teacher's face is covered with wrinkles of different shades, like the folds criss-crossing mountains. Her eyes are a little cloudy, too, and sometimes she squints. In addition to giving us lessons, he mostly bends over his desk, corrects our homework, or writes quickly in a thick lesson plan book with a red pen. In his spare time, Mr. Da will lean back in his chair, close his eyes quietly, still holding a cup of swaying brown health tea in his hand, taking a sip from time to time and making a "sigh" sound.
I remember that on the day of the lecture, the big teacher was sitting at the lecture table, surrounded by many parents. The big teacher swept the parents' faces with eyes that seemed to see through everything, and suddenly popped up a creepy sentence: "If necessary, do you mind if I give you some appropriate punishment?" "It's okay, son! Too naughty, but you can't. Please also ask the teacher to take care of it. " The teacher took a leisurely sip of tea, licked his chapped lips, then stood up slowly and sent his parents away, and did not forget to add, "Call me if you need anything, and your mobile phone will be on at any time." Just after my parents left, I suddenly heard a bang, and a piece of chalk dust was raised on the table, which was a bit like a beautiful fairyland in a fairy tale. What they can hear is not the princess's soft voice, but the teacher's roar: "Sit down! No rules! " I was startled, my legs were a little weak, and I hurried back to my seat. The atmosphere didn't dare to come out, and the class suddenly quieted down. Every child is quietly listening to every word and word said by the big teacher.
Big miss has always been very strict. (m.taiks.com) I seldom see her smile. But I can feel the teacher's deep expectation for me from the severity of the big teacher. I got 90 points in a Chinese exam. I thought I did well in the exam, so I picked up my schoolbag and went home humming a tune. When I got home, my father didn't greet me with a smile as usual, but sat on the sofa with a serious face and a look of consternation. I was just about to ask what was going on when my father said, "The big teacher just called and said that you didn't play well this time. You only got 90 points in the exam. This paper is very simple. Almost all the students got 80 points. This is not what you deserve! " I bowed my head in shame. Recently, in order to watch more TV, homework is done with a coping attitude. I am not very attentive in class, and my thoughts are always attracted by extracurricular books I read in the morning. The next day, the teacher marked the paper and said, "Sheng Oak, 75 points, 73.5 points, Zhang-good criticism, especially Zhang!" The teacher's voice suddenly rose by eight degrees. My back is wet and sweaty. My head is down to my chest. I am seldom criticized, so I feel sad and want to cry. To tell you the truth, I want to complain. In the morning, I saw that Li Xiaoxuan got 85 points in the exam. The teacher patted her on the head kindly and praised her progress! But why should I be criticized for getting 90 points in the exam? After this incident, I listened attentively in class every day and finished my homework with high quality. It was the great teacher who taught me good study habits with her strictness.
Later, I transferred to another school. If I see my teacher again, I will definitely say a long-awaited thank you to her!
The kindness of the teacher will never be forgotten.