一直有一件事如鲠在喉。那是四年前,新一届初一年级,我任某班的语文老师,是这个年级的年级主任。学校在开学举行了全校性的感恩活动,孩子们带着板凳整齐地坐在操场上,家长们被邀请过来一起参加活动。此时绿草茵茵,斜晖脉脉,请来的讲师团很卖力地煽动着孩子,“你们感恩父母吗?你们……”孩子们这时已经完全进入主持人设置的状态中了,情不能自已,有一个礼仪队的孩子拿着鲜花捧到爸爸面前:“爸爸我爱你,谢谢你养育了我!”父女抱头痛哭。 One thing has always been in my throat. It was four years ago, the new first grade, I was a class of language teacher, is this year’s grade director. The school held a school-wide gratitude at school, with children sitting neatly on the playground and parents were invited to come and join the event. At this time green grass Yan, Xie Hui, invited lecturers very hard to incite the child, “You are grateful parents? You ... ...” The children have now fully into the state set by the host, Love can not be self, there is a ceremonial team of children holding flowers in front of my father: “Father I love you, thank you for raising me!” Father and daughter cried.