The simple happiness of a teacher

(Baonghean.vn) - The gifts Sen told me about sounded like they came from my school days in the 90s, when some kids would bring chickens, others eggs and bouquets of chrysanthemums, roses, and peonies to give to their teacher on November 20th.

Ethnic minority students in Nghe An province present flowers to congratulate their teachers on November 20th. (Photo by Duy Khanh - Ky Son)

1. This morning, my friend showed off a batch of beautifully colored glutinous rice balls, saying they were for her son's teacher. The sweet, fragrant rice balls, with their ginger and honey aroma, are perfect for the slightly chilly weather at the end of the year. I'm sure the teachers will enjoy their afternoon snack. Of course, a small envelope of money is essential; every parent does, so I have to too. If not an envelope, it definitely has to be a supermarket gift voucher – who knows what the teacher would like?

She's a fellow Nghệ An native whom I met by chance in a group of friends, all from Nghệ An. Once, while chatting, she boasted that shortly after graduating, she started teaching in Nam Đàn. One day, parents brought her a gift: two guava trees laden with small fruits. They said, "We don't have much, just these guava trees, so please don't disdain them. These trees have the most fruit, so we're giving them to you. Just take care of them for another two or three months, and you'll have fruit to eat." Without further ado, they planted the two guava trees in front of her house. That guava season, the trees were overflowing with fruit, their fragrance filling the air, and flocks of sparrows chirped around the garden. There were so many guavas that even the teachers at the school couldn't finish them all, so they invited the students to come and pick them. And the students didn't come empty-handed; they brought apples and oranges from their own gardens, making the house feel like a party. That's one of the most beautiful memories from my friend's teaching career.

2. She's the younger sister of a friend I met when she was tiny, as small as a candy. After graduating from Vinh Teacher Training College, she went to Saigon to teach, but when she had the chance, she returned to her hometown in the Mekong Delta, Nghe An province. Because the students are from mountainous areas, and life there is nothing like in the city. From where she taught to her home was nearly 400 kilometers, with many difficult stretches of forest road. She was also small and prone to motion sickness… all sorts of difficulties for the journey home. Friends and many others said it was "hard to understand," but after hearing her story, I understood…

Students in Nam Can commune, a border area in Ky Son district, present flowers to their teacher on November 20th. (Photo: Lu Phu)

She recounted that yesterday afternoon, nearly 30 students and teachers were busily cutting paper to decorate the room in time for the holiday. Suddenly, they ran out of glue. The teacher, in the middle of her work, asked the quickest student to run back to her room, get the money she kept in her bag, and buy some glue. A little later, the student came running back, breathless: "Teacher, your bag has so many compartments, I didn't dare open them all. I opened the first compartment and found a large wad of money. I took out a 100-dollar bill!" Then, around 2 pm, the teacher returned to her room and, unable to find her bag, frantically searched. It turned out that after taking the money, the student had hidden the teacher's bag on the bed, covering it with a blanket to prevent theft, even though the door was carefully locked.

The boy recounted, "The other day, a student confided in me, 'Teacher, I have something I want to ask you. My dad bought me a ceramic bowl, and a friend borrowed it and broke it. His family is very poor, so I didn't ask him to pay for it. Today, my dad came to visit, and he asked where the bowl was. I told him, and he scolded me. The bowl cost 30,000 dong, and I absolutely don't want to ask him for it. How about he gives me 15,000 dong, and I contribute another 15,000 dong to buy another bowl so my dad won't ask again next time?'" The teacher listened, feeling sympathetic. Most of the students here are poor, yet they care for each other. She said, "Okay, I'll give you one of my bowls." "Thank you, teacher, but I don't dare take it," the boy replied, and then ran off. It turned out he had only told her because he wanted to share his story.

Teacher Sen – my younger sister, whom I've always wanted to hear sweet stories about her time at the boarding school – said: "Sister, being close to the children, living with their innocence, warmth, and honesty, is a great gift for a teacher." Occasionally, Sen would proudly show off a gift she received today: sticky rice from the mountain fields – a fragrant dish with the aroma of freshly harvested rice and the smell of wood smoke. Another day she received a melon from the hillside, and a bouquet of wildflowers, picked and arranged by the students themselves, hung outside her room…

The gifts Sen recounted sounded like something from my school days in the 90s: some bringing chickens, others eggs, and bouquets of flowers in every color imaginable – chrysanthemums, roses, peonies… all kinds of flowers – to give to her on November 20th. Those days were simple, yet on November 20th, she was happy and the students were overjoyed. That joy has spread to this day; decades later, when she meets her students again, she still mentions it with a sparkling sense of happiness. Once, when visiting her at the Polish Hospital (now the Nghe An Friendship General Hospital), she held the hands of her students and proudly told the surrounding patients: "These are my students! They've been coming to see me for almost 30 years."

A gift for her would be meaningless if it didn't convey her love and respect.

Vo Thu Huong