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粉笔灰落在她的裙摆上
徐老师的嗓子是三年级下学期开始哑的。每天第一节课她还能清清脆脆地讲课，到下午就像嗓子里卡了一把小石子。可是她从不带保温杯进教室，她说端着杯子讲课不方便，粉笔灰落在裙摆上，她也不拍，一节课下来裙摆上一层白。
那节下午的数学课，我走神了。老师在讲长方形周长，我的铅笔在课桌角上画小人，一个、两个、一排，还给小人画了风筝。我画得入迷，连老师走到我桌边都没发现。全班安静下来，我抬头，她正低头看我那一排小人。我以为要挨批，把脑袋垂下去等。她只看了三秒，说了一句：风筝画得不错，可是周长公式比风筝重要。然后她直起身，走回黑板，接着讲她的课，嗓子还是哑的，粉笔在黑板上一下一下地敲。
下课我趴在桌上想那句话。她嗓子哑成那样，一下一下敲黑板，我在下面给小人放风筝。她完全可以停我的笔、罚我站，她没有，她把那三秒留给了我的风筝，把剩下的四十分钟留给了全班。我忽然特别想让她那四十分钟不白费。
第二天开始，我给自己定了一条最笨的规矩：眼睛钉在老师身上，她写到哪我看到哪，手跟着抄，不给铅笔留画小人的空。头三天难受，思绪一飘我就掐一下自己的手背。一个星期后，我发现那道周长题我居然能自己讲给同桌听。徐老师课堂提问点到我，我答对了，她笑了一下，那个笑很轻，可我看得清清楚楚。
现在我的数学单元卷上再没有出现过那种粗心错。我在心得本上写：感恩老师，原来不用买礼物，也不用写多漂亮的句子。她哑着嗓子敲黑板的时候，我把眼睛钉在黑板上，这就是我的谢谢。上个月教师节，我在讲台上给全班讲了一道题，徐老师坐在最后一排，裙摆上还是落了粉笔灰，可她没拍，她在给我鼓掌。
Chalk Dust on Her Skirt Hem
The voice of Teacher Xu began to go hoarse in the second term of third grade. In the first class of the day she could still lecture in a clear bright voice, but by afternoon it sounded like a small stone stuck in her throat. Yet she never brought a thermos cup into the classroom. She said holding a cup made it hard to teach. Chalk dust settled on her skirt hem and she did not brush it off; by the end of a lesson the hem was coated white.
In that afternoon math class, I lost focus. The teacher was explaining the perimeter of a rectangle while my pencil drew little figures on the corner of my desk: one, two, a whole row, complete with a kite for each figure. I was so absorbed that I did not notice her walking up to my desk. The whole class went silent. I looked up and she was looking down at my row of little figures. I expected a scolding and dropped my head to take it. She looked for only three seconds and said one sentence: the kite is well drawn, but the perimeter formula matters more than the kite. Then she straightened up, walked back to the blackboard, and continued her lesson, still hoarse, the chalk tapping the board stroke by stroke.
At break I lay on the desk thinking about that sentence. With her voice that hoarse, tapping the board stroke by stroke, I had been flying kites for my little figures underneath her. She could have confiscated my pencil or made me stand. She did not. She gave those three seconds to my kite and the remaining forty minutes to the whole class. Suddenly I wanted very much to make those forty minutes worth something.
Starting the next day I set myself the dumbest rule: eyes nailed to the teacher, following wherever she writes, hand copying along, leaving the pencil no spare time for little figures. The first three days were rough; whenever my mind drifted I pinched the back of my hand. After a week, I found I could explain that perimeter problem to my deskmate myself. When Teacher Xu asked a question and called on me, I answered correctly, and she smiled. The smile was slight, but I saw it clearly.
Now that kind of careless mistake never appears on my math unit tests again. I wrote in my reflection notebook: thanking a teacher actually needs no gifts and no beautiful sentences. When she taps the blackboard with a hoarse voice, I nail my eyes to the blackboard. That is my thank you. Last month on Teachers Day, I stood at the podium and explained one problem to the whole class. Teacher Xu sat in the last row, chalk dust still on her skirt hem, but she did not brush it off. She was clapping for me.
周老师的第三遍和第四遍
我以前的英语课是这样过的：周老师在前面讲，我在下面数窗外的鸟。一只、两只，数到第七只的时候下课铃就响了，特别快。周老师讲什么我一个字没进耳朵，作业本上的红叉倒是一个不少。她把我叫去过两回，第二回她叹了口气说，你眼睛看着我的，可魂不在这儿。
改变是从借备课本开始的。有一次周老师感冒请假，代课老师让我们自习，我去办公室还书，看见她桌上摊着备课本。我拿起来翻了一页，那页上全是铅笔字，同一个句型写了一遍又一遍，旁边标着甲班这样讲没人听懂，乙班换成买文具的例子，举手多了。本子边角磨得起了毛，中间还夹着一贴止疼药贴，大概是腰疼用的。原来她每天回家不是回家，是回去想怎么把同一句话讲到我们心里去。
那天晚上我把英语书翻开，把第二天要学的句型读了一遍。第二天上课，周老师讲那个句型，居然就是备课本上买文具的例子。我一下子听懂了，那种感觉像蒙着的窗户忽然被推开。轮到大声跟读，全班声音嗡嗡的，我的嘴张不开。下课后我对着走廊的窗户读，读十遍，第二天再张一次嘴。
两个星期后的英语课，周老师问谁愿意上台表演买文具的对话，我手举起来了，自己都没反应过来。我和同桌演，我把钱包掏出来一张一张数钱，周老师在旁边笑，说这位同学的钱包准备得很专业。全班笑，我也笑，笑完心里发烫。
期末我在心得里写：周老师的辛苦不在嗓门，在备课本上那些划掉又重写的铅笔字。我以前上课走神，等于把她回家想的晚上全扔了。现在我每节课开口，回家先读一遍明天的课文，这是我给她的回报。她看到我的时候点头比以前多了，她的备课本我后来又借过一回，那一页写着：有个孩子开始举手了，下次多给他两次机会。
Teacher Zhou's Third Try and Fourth Try
My English class used to go like this: Teacher Zhou taught at the front while I counted birds outside the window. One, two, by the seventh bird the bell rang, always too fast. Not one word of her teaching entered my ears, yet the red crosses on my homework pile up nicely. She called me to her office twice. The second time she sighed and said, your eyes are on me, but your soul is not here.
The change began with borrowing her lesson plan book. Once Teacher Zhou was off sick with a cold, and the substitute told us to study by ourselves. I went to the office to return a book and saw her lesson plan book open on the desk. I picked it up and turned a page. The page was full of pencil writing, the same sentence pattern written over and over, with notes beside it: class A did not get it this way; for class B I switched to the buying-stationery example, and hands went up more. The corners of the book were worn fuzzy, and a pain-relief patch was tucked inside, probably for her sore back. So every day she did not simply go home; she went home to think about how to plant the same sentence inside our heads.
That evening I opened the English book and read the sentence pattern for the next day once. The next day in class, Teacher Zhou taught that pattern using exactly the buying-stationery example from her lesson plan book. I understood it all at once, like a covered window suddenly pushed open. When it came time to read aloud together, the class buzzed, and my mouth would not open. After class I read to the corridor window ten times, and tried opening my mouth once more the next day.
Two weeks later, when Teacher Zhou asked who wanted to act out the stationery-shopping dialogue at the front, my hand went up before I even realized it. My deskmate and I performed; I took out my wallet and counted the money bill by bill. Teacher Zhou laughed beside us and said this student prepared his wallet very professionally. The whole class laughed, I laughed too, and my chest felt hot afterward.
At the end of term I wrote in my reflection: the hard work of Teacher Zhou is not in her voice but in the pencil words on her lesson plan book that get crossed out and rewritten. When I daydreamed in class, I was throwing away the evenings she spent thinking at home. Now I speak up every class and read the lesson for the next day once at home first. That is my repayment to her. She nods at me more often now. I borrowed her lesson plan book once more later, and one page read: one student has started raising his hand; give him two more chances next time.
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