As a sixth grader, I found it hard to fit in and make friends.

Our teacher had assigned (分派, 布置) “secret friends” for the coming week. She wrote each kid's name on a piece of paper and threw them into a glass; then we each closed our eyes and picked out one. By the middle of the week，everyone had turned this assignment into a competition to see whose secret friend could leave the best gift. It seemed that everyone was getting cool presents from their friend except me.

On the last morning of our assignment. I walked into my classroom and noticed a package with a box of powder (胭脂粉). The girls sitting near me laughed at the gift I had received. What's worse, the powder had already been opened.

I tried to forget about the embarrassing gift, but when I was in the bathroom during the break, the girls started speaking ill of my secret friend of giving it to me. I quickly joined in. “How terrible,” I heard myself saying “What could my friend be thinking by giving me such a stupid gift? My grandmother wouldn't even want it.” The girls laughed at my remarks (评论) and rushed out of the bathroom. I stayed to wash my hands and let water run through my fingers as I thought about what I had just said. It wasn't normal like me to say mean (刻薄的) things like that about someone.

Then I saw my classmate Janet come out of a bathroom booth (厕所隔间), tears streaming down her face.

Along with my apologies, I explained the reason.

I looked around the crowded waiting room at the hospital and sighed. Would the doctor be able to see my eight-year-old son next? I tried steadying the ice pack(冰袋) over his forehead, but it was no use. I couldn’t stop shaking. The wound in his forehead was deep, but at least blood wasn’t pouring from it anymore.

His face was full of tears, he seemed really brave for his age. I handed him the ice pack, and he covered his forehead with it. He was doing a much better job than I had. We were at the hospital because another child had thrown a rock at Luke during class break as he was running around the corner. His teacher called me, and when I arrived, I found him in her lap. His teacher was caring for his wound, trying to keep him calm. She felt terrible about what had happened, but I knew none of it was her fault.

Lulse received four stitches (缝和) and didn’t cry once throughout the whole treatment. For the next two days, his eye was swollen shut and black and blue. I felt like I’d had a mini nervous breakdown. Every time I tried to sleep or tend to housework, horrible thoughts crept into my mind. Fear had taken over, and then the fear turned to anger. I was angry with the child who’d thrown the rock. I just couldn’t shake it. What was she thinking? She should’ve known better.

Luke’s headmaster and teacher called me that evening to see how he was feeling and told me Katie, the girl, felt terrible. I wanted to stand up for my son, do the right thing, protect him.

The next day, Luke’s teacher stopped by to see how he was feeling and dropped off a get-well card that Katie had made. Luke and I read it several times, and I couldn’t help but feel a little choked up. It was a sincere apology.

The Charm (魅力) of Schoolyard

In the charm of school life, where classrooms are seats of knowledge and the schoolyard becomes source of memory, there are a fund of stories mixed with humor, warmth, and teacher-student relationships.   

Mr. Smith was a country teacher, but not an ordinary one; he was a storyteller, a mentor (人生导师) , and a friend to all his students. His classroom was a world of its own, full of colorful characters and brilliant ideas. One day, during the noon break, a student named Alice noticed a wandering kitten padding (潜行) through the familiar grounds where many schoolyard tales were born. Alice took her to Mr. Smith, who had magical Tricks for handling even the smallest things. With Mr. Smitt’s permission, Alice and her classmates built a shelter for the kitten in a corner of the campus.

The days turned into weeks, and the kitten grew under the tender care of Mr. Smith and his students. Once in a while, she became a temporary resident of the classroom, much to the delight of the whole class. They named her “Schoolyard”, a name that generalized the spirit of their school days.

As the year progressed, Schoolyard became not just a kitten, but a tie connecting each of them and a thread of continuity in their lives. She played on desks, slept in chairs, and hid in folders, thus becoming an unofficial mascot (吉祥物) of the classroom. The students found comfort in her presence, and Mr. Smith, joy in watching them grow through her company.

As graduation neared, Mr. Smith gathered his students for one last lesson. He told them that they would soon be exploring new horizons. He reminded them that life was full of unforeseeable twists and tums along with unexpected potentials, just like the appearance of a kitten in their schoolyard. At the moment, the students were greatly touched and deep down there arose a strong love for those memorable warmth and hearty laughter of their school days.

Thereafter, Mr. Smith and the students agreed to meet here once again in ten years.

A decade later, Mr. Smith greeted his former students at the school gate.

“Isn’t that our Schoolyard?” cried Alice, gazing at the classroom door.