The sound of the school drum

Having been away from the wooden desk, the old royal poinciana tree and my beloved school for many years, but now, every time I hear the sound of the school drum, my heart is filled with nostalgia. The school years have passed, and so many happy and sad memories, sweet and sad, seem to be rushing back with the sound of the school drum...

That day, my mother took me to school on the first day of school. The village road was bumpy with bricks and dirt. My mother had just bought me a pair of brand new flip-flops for the new school year. It was the first time I walked and walked so far. I was afraid that my flip-flops would get dirty, so I sneaked back to pick them up and walked barefoot. My feet were covered in dirt and sand. My mother shook her head and pointed down to the bridge by the roadside, telling me to wash my feet and put on my flip-flops, I had to be neat and clean to go to school. That was all I could remember of my first day of school because I was so young back then and time had passed so far. That was also the story my mother often told me whenever we had a new grandchild in first grade, so I will always remember it!

Later, when I grew up a little, I understood the hardships of my mother and father to take care of their children's education. Every time preparing for the new school year, if she could not get old books from someone, my mother would "bite the bullet" and bring a few baskets of rice to sell to buy new books for her children. Selling rice meant that during the lean season, my mother would have to run around to borrow more from relatives and neighbors so that her children would not have to go hungry.

Knowing that their mother was busy with farming, the children asked each other to go ask for cement bag lining paper to bring home and wipe clean to wrap books and notebooks. They also measured, cut, and wrapped them neatly. The books and notebooks were the same dull yellow color as the cement bags but were flat and clean. To make the books more sturdy, their mother punched three holes in each book and used parachute cord to sew the spines. Back then, having books and notebooks to go to school was a joy, they didn’t know how to choose between good and bad.

In the new school year, we didn't nag our mother to buy us new clothes. Because at night, she would sigh and worry. But she would definitely find each of us a new outfit to wear on the first day of school. The new clothes were always baggy and bigger than us. Mom said, make them a little bigger so that when we grow up, we can wear them for a few years to avoid wasting them. It's just that every year when winter comes, she can't buy enough warm clothes for her children. Our bare feet wearing sandals year after year are always red and cold. Every day after school, we all run home as fast as we can to keep warm. The sweater we wore as children got shorter and shorter, but we still wore them. Our elbows rubbed against the desk, and over time the wool broke, and the two holes grew bigger and bigger. I will wear the shirt my mother made for the first day of school outside to cover up the short sweater and the two holes in my elbows to get through the cold winters of my childhood. Every day after school, the children rush into their mother's arms to enjoy the warm straw stove...

The years keep passing by. Every school year always reminds me of my mother. And the children grow up to the sound of the school opening drum!