The 1964

I went to my elementary school reunion today after not having attended one before. 56 years old, I wanted to see what my 12 year old playmates had become today.

It was 1964.

On January 18, New York announced concrete plans for the construction of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.

On January 21, there was the "mutiny" in Hukou.

On May 3, Taiwan's first expressway was completed and opened to traffic, named after the recently deceased MacArthur.

On June 12, Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment. During his trial, he gave a speech in court, "I would like to die gracefully."

On October 1, the world's first high-speed rail line, the Shinkansen between Tokyo and Osaka, opened to traffic. At the same time, the Olympic Games were held in Asia for the first time, and Tokyo faced the international.

On October 5, 64 East Germans fled to West Germany using excavated tunnels.

On October 16, China succeeded in the first test explosion of the atomic bomb.

On December 10, Martin Luther K. Krausen was killed. Luther King, Jr. King received the Nobel Peace Prize.

On December 11, Che. Che Guevara gave a speech at the United Nations.

That year, we were 12 years old and our fathers lived an average of 64 years and our mothers 69 years.

The world of country children was simple and beautiful. Outside the school there was a wild stream, covered by thick tropical plants along the shore, and the sweet smell of berries mixed in the air, filling the air with an inexplicable sense of happiness. The water in the stream is as clear as crystal, and when you walk barefoot in it, you can see transparent shrimp and black tadpoles swimming among the rocks when you look down. Large birds with brilliant plumage appear and disappear in the luxuriant trees, making old and mysterious calls. Weeds stick in my hair, with a muddy air, carrying my shoes and half-rolled trouser legs, I walked into the school and first saw a row of phoenix trees far outside the classroom, full of red flowers in the July heat. The cicadas began to chirp.

When I entered the classroom and sat down, the Mandarin teacher slowly taught poetry. As he reads the poem, he shakes his head, just like the head of a mountain school in ancient times. He talked about being a human being because it was a time of "mottos": our desks had a clear glass with reminders, encouragements, and expectations pressed underneath. In our diaries, there was a life motto every few pages. In essay writing classes, we often came across the topic, "My motto: Helping people is the essence of happiness. If you want to reap what you sow, you plow what you sow. Rome was not built in a day. If you are straight, understanding, and knowledgeable, you will benefit. I know so I am. Life is like fishing, a rod in hand, hope is endless. The sky is healthy, the gentleman to self-improvement. Today's work is done today.

The teacher on the podium, with a good tone of voice, said, "Your future is bright, just work hard ......"

At 56 years old, we sit around the dining room table, and as soon as we stand up to introduce ourselves, because we can't recognize who is who without introduction. Our eyes darkened, hair gray, dense wrinkles since the forehead pulled to the corners of the mouth; from the age of 12 to 56, what happened in between?

If, in the year we turned 12, there were the same red-burning phoenix blossoms outside the window, the same fish and shrimp playing in the stream between the gurgling, the wild snakes crawling slowly along the tropical ivy, and then lying on the rocks to sunbathe, if we had such an old soul, sitting on the podium, saying to us in a warm and calm voice.

"Children, today you are 12 years old, in 40 years, if we meet again, you will find that among the 50 of you, two of you will suffer from severe depression, two of you will die from illness or accident, five of you will still struggle with the daily difficulties of food and clothing, one third of you will feel that your marriage is not very happy, one of you will commit suicide as a result, and two of you will have cancer. "

"Of the four brightest and best children among you today, two will become doctors or engineers or businessmen, and the other two will spend their lives down and hardships. All the others will go through marriage, childbirth, work, retirement, a life made up of faint sadness and faint happiness, living each day in small anticipation, occasional excitement and silent disappointment, and then making a final turn away with a kind of 'understanding' that you want to say but can't."

What if someone had taught us a lesson like this when we were 12 years old?

Of course, no teacher would talk to 12-year-olds like that. Because, how can this be the "motto" of life?