My English Teacher My Highschool English teacher’s class was never exciting. I did everything I can to endure the dull time. I had colorful newspapers wide spread on the desk instead of reading the English text book. I wrote other subjects’ homework as if nobody was nearby. But this English teacher became a man like my father in the depth of my rebellious heart, then. I love English and English learning; his class, literally, was not “profound” to me. He always talking the importance of basic grammar and that was trivial and dumb for an “excellent learner” like me. Generally speaking, anyone who masters a language shall grasp its grammer. However, I thought and still think I am exceptional to this rule. I coudn’t tell predicate and object in a sentence until the preparation of TEM-4. What the hell are these definitions of grammer as long as I can put words in right place and use them properly? Once I was asked in the calss, “Why did you choose B, yes, it is the right answer. Can you explain?” I was ony left to be speechless for some seconds and muttered “Should I have any reasons? I think it should be B. And that’s it.” He just nodded. After class I was asked to have a talk with him over tea. Nervousness and annoyance overwhelmed me. When I entered his office, he was lighting a ciggerate. I didn’t like ciggerate, its smell makes me sick. “Mr. Hong.” I uttered. “ Oh, come and have a seat.” He raised his head and smiled at me, warm and kind. “You must read a lot. It is the application of grammar that counts, not the grammer itself.” What shall I say? I was happy that at least he didn’t blame me at all for not respecting his way of teaching and even supported and understood my own way of learning. He knows me and knows me well. Days went on. I still read newpapers in his class, but they were English. He still focused on teaching grammer, because most of the students needed to learn them to earn good scores. That old man often chatted with me, I don’t think there is any joy in talking with some conceited guys like me, about my studies. He knew math was my weak point, history and politics were my favorite. He remembered the marks of every subjucts I took last semester which even me myself could not clearly recall. He comforted me when I felt blue and stressful and encouraged me to stand on my feet. Classmates were so envious of me. I just took his care for granted and comlacency was all I was about. I thought it was my outstanding English mark that won me his love. ( Oh, really? How silly this girl was! ) I hate that arrogant girl in me who disregarded that kind and old teacher’s care. I still do not know why. And then I graduated and come to a big city. That old and kind teacher has retired last year, still like smoking. I didn’t ask why he was so patient to me. But never mind, I love him as if he were my father. He taught me love and forgiveness. 本文来源：https://www.wddqw.com/doc/2f688a34bcd126fff7050bf8.html