1. The innocent and delightful things that happened in childhood

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My childhood doesn't leave much of an impression on me. As a child in the countryside, I was just as busy and happy as the adults, content with having enough to eat and wear. I didn't care about anything else.
Children are the purest and most innocent beings in the world. Even though they grow up being breastfed by their mothers, they can't recall a single memory of it.
My only memory related to sex is that I accidentally and out of curiosity peeked at my mother taking a bath. It was probably the summer when I was five or six, or seven or eight years old. My mother had already started asking us to stay away when she took a bath. Of course, she would use a method we could understand and accept, such as asking us to go play at the neighbor's house. I always went to the neighbor's house obediently and happily. But that day, the neighbor's family was probably not home, and I came back early. When I got back, the door was closed. For some reason, without knocking or calling out, I just leaned over the threshold and peeked through the crack in the door to see what my mother was doing inside. No one had ever taught me to do this; it was entirely my own independent action. Perhaps, in my nature, I do have a bit of that kind of "wickedness."
The memory of peeping was actually quite faint in my life afterward, or rather, I never really thought about it. Only now, with this deep reflection, do I vaguely remember that such an incident happened, a hazy recollection. But that's all the memory I have; at the time, I just thought, "Oh, so Mom's taking a bath." As for why Mom was avoiding me while bathing, I didn't think about it, nor did I consider the physical differences between Mom and me. Mom is Mom, and I am still me, ignorant and innocent, and of course, a little mischievous.
Looking back, there are other mischievous moments from when I was a little older. Many of us probably played "house" with our childhood friends. That's how childhood sweetheart stories often begin. Unfortunately, it seems like everyone around me my age was a boy, so there was no chance for childhood sweethearts to develop. The games played by a group of boys were nothing more than fighting, chasing, and hide-and-seek—fun, but unrelated to women. However, I do remember one time, for some reason, we boys wanted to play house, but no one wanted to be the bride, and there were no girls around. After some deliberation, we boys, incredibly bold, decided to "kidnap" a much older girl and force her to play our wedding night game. We little rascals chased and pulled at the girl, dragging her into our makeshift "wedding night" made of straw. He seemed quite enthusiastic at the time, but his attempt ultimately failed because she was, after all, a "grown-up girl" and not so easily swayed.
Childhood memories that might have been slightly related to "sex" extend back to elementary school. I want to emphasize that these "slightly related to sex" memories are actually very beautiful and pure, although the naive behaviors and psychology of early childhood can be explained from a psychological perspective, such as the subconscious understanding of gender or sex.
In first and second grade, boys and girls were deskmates. In my long school life, this was practically the only time I shared a desk with a girl; afterwards, I always sat next to boys. So, that experience of sitting next to a girl in first and second grade is truly precious. I wish I could turn back time and treat my female deskmate kindly again, making up for the sin of "bullying" her. Who was my female deskmate back then? I can't be sure anymore; trying to recall, I only have a vague impression of her as "weak." Little girls are indeed very "weak," so "kindness is often taken advantage of." Even if it wasn't frequent, I still clearly remember how I bullied her, how I deliberately pushed her to the corner of the desk, taking up most of the space myself. Then, I would smugly show off to the boys how powerful I was, while she could only hide to the side, glaring angrily.
I was probably a little proud of myself back then, because starting from second grade, my grades were consistently among the top in the class. The top student is naturally the teacher's darling, and although I was a bit of a "bully," it could only be described as "mischievous and naughty." "Mischievous and naughty" is, if not a compliment, at least a neutral term for a child, so the teacher naturally wouldn't scold me much.
Why am I so certain that I was a top student from second grade onwards? Because my second-grade homeroom teacher was a woman, and a young one at that, who taught us both Chinese and math. In my memory, she was incredibly beautiful. She was probably a recent graduate, full of passion for teaching. It was this idealistic passion that led her to dedicate so much effort to our growth, making her the "goddess" that my classmates and I have always cherished. I remember she once taught us a lesson, Wei Wei's "My Teacher." She led us in reciting the poem, "The round sky covers the vast sea, the black water carries the lonely boat…", her voice melodious and resonant, soft and clear, penetrating straight into my heart. At that moment, in my mind, she had already become the "teacher" Wei Wei so fondly remembered, and also the "teacher" I will cherish for life.
As I type these words on the keyboard, my heart is filled with warmth. This is the beauty of emotion, the wonderful feeling it brings—a benefit that will last a lifetime and a source of endless remembrance.
Unfortunately, like Wei Wei's teacher, she was transferred after teaching us for a year. When we returned to school at the end of the summer vacation at the end of second grade, our homeroom teacher had changed. At the time, I probably went to ask the new homeroom teacher, quite indignantly, "Where's Teacher X?" The new homeroom teacher smiled and replied, "She was transferred, went to get married." "Getting married? Why did she get married? Why does getting married mean she has to be transferred?" "You'll understand when you grow up." This dialogue is, of course, just my imagination now. Even if it didn't actually happen, it at least happened in my mind. Back then, I truly hated "getting married," hated that "marriage" had taken Teacher X away. However, as young children, we were helpless and could only cherish the memory of this female teacher forever. Of course, children's longing, while always appreciating the teacher's beauty, is a very pure and beautiful kind of longing. It's a feeling of being unable to truly understand or appreciate the teacher.
Inserting such a wonderful teacher and such wonderful feelings into this reflection and self-examination article is simply an attempt to objectively reflect the complexity of a person. On the surface, I am pure, noble, and idealistic, but deep down I always carry a heavy cross. However, this cannot extinguish the pure and beautiful feelings that once truly resided in my heart. I truly hope to be forgiven for my later depravity, for defiling the beauty of the past.

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