As long as the school years do not last, the essay about which the reader’s imagination worries, eventually they end with the last trill of the call, the final exams and the farewell ball of high school students. All grievances and disappointments remain behind the closed door of the school, and graduates are sent to conquer new vital peaks.
Once our mothers and dads, grandmothers and grandfathers brought us to the first class. The school line with the first bell will remain in memory for many years. The first teacher. strict but fair, led us along the seemingly huge and endless, school corridor to our class, which became the second house for four years.
We mastered the primer and grammar, learned to count and sculpt from plasticine. We tried to be diligent, attentive
Boys pulled the girls for pigtails. Girls responded with tongues. We all roared with joy when we were scolded and rejoiced in praise together. At the changes, they merged with a flock around the teacher’s table, trying to catch a look of kind eyes, or a light touch of the hand of the beloved teacher. Holding hands, we went in pairs on excursions to the museum and to the city parks.
Teacher’s Day was a favorite holiday. Secretly, after the lessons, they gathered at someone’s house and prepared gifts: the guys cut something out of the tree, the girls embroidered napkins or made beautiful flowers from corrugated paper. Adults gladly helped us and supported our ideas.
School years have flown by in one breath. And then again the school line and, now, the last bell. The doors of the school will be closed behind us, in order to let in new first-graders tomorrow.
Each of us will choose his own way. We will scatter from the school nest with fledgling, strong chicks. But every year we will return again and again to the walls of our native school. to meet school friends, favorite teachers and to refresh in memory the memories of a wonderful school age and a happy childhood.