A long time ago, I think I was still in second grade.
I had a home visitation and my homeroom teacher came to my house, which I had just moved into.
It hadn’t been long since I moved to this new school, so I didn’t know much about the teacher and had no idea what she would say.
The teacher was a middle-aged woman with an amiable appearance.
She praised me for the diligent work I did from the first day I started at the school and said that there was a decision to be made in the next class to determine who would be the person to erase the blackboard.
I was happy to be praised in front of my mother.
Besides, I was lonely in this new environment. I believed I now had an adult looking out for me.
But I did not.
On the day of the assignments, everyone in the class raised their hands and ran for various tasks.
Caught off guard by the tremendous momentum of that moment, I was afraid to come forward to be in charge of the blackboard eraser and failed to raise my hand.
The teacher had prepared the children in other suitable tasks during the home visits in order to smoothly proceed with the class assignments.
Some of the people in the class were so overwhelmed that they started crying.
I couldn’t forget the teacher’s happy face back then. She didn’t take notice of me or the children who had left their desks. However, it seemed to me that there was a feeling of joy that everything was assigned in such a short time.
At that time, I first learned to look down on myself.
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