桌上,一盒蜡笔,一沓白纸,我却再没动过它们,因为它们承载着童年的酸甜苦辣。那盒破得不能再破的蜡笔,那沓早已泛黄的白纸,曾是我孩童时代最美的梦。很小的时候,我就去学画画了。但是,因为天分不足,加上我也没有耐心,所以学了好几年,还是一点儿长进也没有。六岁那年的夏天,我去老师家里学画画。老师说画什么都可以,于是我就兴高采烈地拿起笔,认真地画了一个热气球。我笨拙地、小心地 On the table, a box of crayons, a pile of white paper, I never touched them, because they carry the ups and downs of childhood. The box can not be broken again crayon, that white paper has long been yellowing, was the most beautiful dream of my childhood. When I was young, I went to learn painting. However, due to lack of talent, plus I am also impatient, so I learned a few years, or a little more progress did not. At the age of six, I went to school and studied drawing at home. The teacher said that painting anything, so I happily picked up the pen, carefully drew a hot air balloon. I am awkward, careful