Another kind of wealth in life
 

Wen / Su Zi
 

I grew up in poverty. When I didn't know what poverty was, I first learned shame.
 

My parents belong to the kind of hard-working, simple but rigid people. They have all their strength, but our era is no longer an era when we can live a good life by strength. The money earned by others talking and laughing is beyond the reach of my parents' hard-working life. The consolation is that the three of us can eat and wear warm clothes with the money they earn from working hard for a day. As an only child, I can also get the greatest love from my parents. Although the expression of love is not KFC, McDonald's, apple jeans, or all kinds of famous brand stationery I can't name. But I also had a peaceful and harmonious childhood under the protection of my parents.
 

My father's love for me is the most direct and simple. My father pedals a tricycle, so he pedals a tricycle to take me to school every day. He bent his broad back and tried to pedal the car. Sometimes he joked with me, "how many miles can dad get?" Especially in rainy and snowy days, I came to school clean and warm. At school, my father waited at the school gate early, which made the students who didn't know the details envious. They said that your parents really loved you and hired a car to send you to school every day. The words of my classmates suddenly reminded me that if they knew that it was not my family who sent me to school, but my father, what should they say? I was overwhelmed by a strong sense of shame that might come. I did the most repentant thing in my life. I acquiesced to the misunderstanding of my classmates.
 

My father didn't know my psychology. He not only pedaled me to school, but also often went to the school station. After I got off the bus, he rushed up and asked me to pay attention to a few words. Once this scene was seen by a classmate. She asked suspiciously, why is the person who pedals three wheels so close to you. I was afraid. From then on, I said nothing and asked my father to send me to the school gate. Far away, in an alley, I asked my father to stop, looked around and quietly got off the bus in advance.
 

My father didn't understand at first, but he still insisted on sending me to the school gate, but suddenly one day he seemed to understand something, so he didn't insist anymore. Our father and daughter reached a tacit understanding. My father, who came to pick me up after school, no longer looked forward to the school gate as before. He hid in that alley and waited for my arrival. One day it rained heavily. When I ran to my father, I was drenched through. My father, who was also wet, held me tightly. I saw tears in his eyes and rain flowing down his face.
 

When I went to middle school, I was determined not to let my father send me to school despite the strong opposition of my parents.
 

Father tried to do other things, but he was too honest and always suffered losses. Whenever he has to compete, such as occupying a stall, he always loses; Later, people's living conditions became better, more people took taxis and less people took tricycles, and the life of our family went from bad to worse.
 

Mother works part-time everywhere. My mother has a principle that the money she earns will never be spent on living. She wants to save it for me. Since I was a child, she has firmly believed that I can enter the University. She wholeheartedly began to save tuition fees for me more than ten years in advance.
 

I'm the only one in my family who can take pride. Since I went to school, the real festival in our family is not the new year, not the Spring Festival, not anyone's birthday, but every time the school announces the test results. On that day, my mother was elated and my father was elated. Our family would have a meal of braised meat, so in my impression, braised meat is always the best thing to eat and the most appetizing thing. Unexpectedly, a braised pork in college left me a lifelong memory of shame.
 

When I went to college, my mother was stunned by the amount of tuition fees. She took out her life savings, which was only enough for me for one semester, not including my living expenses. I had to apply to the poor school for a subsidy. Only then did I understand that when I was a child, my feeling of shame was like drizzle compared with this time.
 

A few days after school, the whole class knew that I was a very poor student, because my dormitory was arranged in the old building, where the accommodation fee was much cheaper. They are very curious about me. It is said that the university I study has an alias called noble school. Located in the provincial capital, many students' homes are in this city. Every weekend, taxis are lined up in front of several gates of the school. After a while, they are called away one by one, carrying the students in the city. When they return to school every Monday, they will bring back bags of small foods that I can't name, as well as fashionable clothes bought at home. During recess, they almost become a sea of snacks, and all kinds of beverage bottles, cans, packaging bags and so on are full of the classroom. With the latest CD headphones in their ears, they talk about the most popular words, and their mobile phones are often updated. For many students, poverty is as far away from their lives as the Sahara desert. Because I was different, I became the focus of their attention. I found out later. They looked at what I ate with curious and compassionate eyes, saw that I actually used soap for washing clothes when washing my face and hair, and saw my malnourished yellow skin without using any cosmetics. They often share different fresh things brought by each other, and even change clothes often. I had to hide quietly. Psychologically, I always have a feeling of being looked down upon and pitied by others, which makes me unbearable. When I eat, I usually hide from my classmates and don't walk together in twos and threes like other female classmates. I never go to the street or buy snacks. For more than a year at school, I still wear the clothes brought by my family. Wearing those clothes, I walk around the campus where youth, beauty and fashion are everywhere. The amazing eyes shot from front to back, left to right, make me like a thousand arrows through my heart.
 

The library has become my most frequent place to go. A steamed buns I often find a little easy to notice. I can wolf into a steamed bread without food. The best is a fried dough twist, preferably two buns, and I will not be embarrassed to see my embarrassment. The rest of the time, I use reading to accompany a friend in the university without loneliness. The book is not selective. It treats everyone who opens it equally.
 

But there is a luxury behavior that I have never given up. It is the online chat with several good friends in middle school once a month. It gives me a great comfort in my lonely college life. On this day, I go to an Internet cafe near my school very early, occupy a good position, and can't wait to open my QQ to find my old classmates who have missed me for a long time.
 

Once I met a classmate in an Internet cafe. His surprised appearance made me think there was something wrong with me. I checked myself and found nothing, so I forgot about it.
 

When I spent my first birthday in college, I was also alone, but that day I let myself be extravagant again. I bought a braised meat for the first time, and I sat with my classmates with a plate for the first time.
 

At that time, there were two of my classmates here. I still remember their surprised eyes clearly. They looked at me repeatedly as if they didn't know me until I ate the dishes on my plate.
 

Then came the humiliating day that I will never forget.
 

It was a group meeting. We discussed how to help students with special poverty. Some students put forward their own views at that time. They said that the extremely poor students should get our help, but some of the extremely poor students in our class still went to Internet cafes; Someone added that I saw the poor students in our class eat braised meat
 

The students looked at me.
 

I'm ashamed.
 

From childhood to adulthood, I only knew that poverty is a material concept, but when I got to college, I found that poverty is a spiritual torture to a greater extent. I can stand dry steamed bread without vegetables and old clothes like unearthed cultural relics that lag behind the times. What I can't stand is the feeling of being put into an alternative. I don't understand. Because of poverty, people don't even have the right to find their own happiness? Is it a crime to celebrate your birthday? If I had known that I would spend my college career in such an environment, I don't know if I would have the perseverance to study hard. The university let me know the huge gap between the rich and the poor. The sense of shame it brought to me is much stronger than the torture of poverty.
 

When help has become a kind of charity, I would rather not.
 

At that moment, I suddenly realized that I had been unfair to my father for many years. When I deprived him of the right to love me, in fact, it was only because he was poor and I was as cruel. I have disgraced my father, and I must bear the disgrace brought to me by others.
 

I hesitated for a long time between enduring this reality and dropping out of school.
 

I think of my father's generous back. In the hottest days of the college entrance examination, my father stubbornly insisted on sending me to the examination room despite my opposition. Because I was assigned to the farthest place from home. My father is getting old unconsciously. He tries to be faster, but he can't do it. In the scorching sun of July, sweat trickled out small ditches on his bare back. I was sitting in a car seat with a awning. I think of my determination at that time. Parents, don't worry, I will bring you the happiness in hope.
 

When I think of my father's back and my mother's smiling face when she received my admission notice, I suddenly feel that even if I face such a reality, I have no right to choose to give up. Poverty itself is not a sin. It is a sin to give up the dignity of their own survival because of poverty. It was at that moment that I was liberated from the humiliation that had oppressed me for many years, and life suddenly brightened up in front of me.
 

The next day is a writing class. I know the teacher's assignment is to feel the love in your life. Many students read their compositions with passion. They are grateful to their parents for bringing them happiness, rich and rich families, and the conditions created for them from childhood to adulthood, including changing meals every day during the high school period, including hotel rooms, so that they can have a better rest
 

The teacher listened quietly and didn't say a word. Until the end, he toured around and asked disappointed, "are there any other students to say?"
 

I raised my hand steadily.
 

I talked about my father's back, the snow falling on it in winter and the sweat flowing on it in summer; I talked about seeing my mother save money for me when I was a child. Every time she rounded up an integer, she was confident and worked hard towards the next figure. I talked about eating apples when I was a child. My parents carefully peeled the apples and fed them to me one mouthful at a time. However, the peeled apples were pushed around and humbly, and no one was willing to eat them. Finally, my mother cooked apple water for me with it
 

I said I'm glad that poverty may make our life more difficult, but it can't deprive us of the right to love. I thank my parents. Although they can't give me that kind of wealth, they give me the opportunity to taste the love that is easily diluted or replaced by wealth. I repent for the harm I did to my father when I was a child. I will apologize to him face to face, even though I understand later
 

As I spoke, I could hear a sob in the classroom.
 

After class, the teacher said to me, I thank you very much. You told you more clearly than I did, what is the true meaning of love and the meaning of dignity.
 

I picked up a plastic bag I had already prepared and picked up cans and drink bottles discarded by my classmates one by one. I was calm and calm. Poverty was still with me, but my dignity was also in my heart.
 

From this time on, the shame I once had has become a treasure in my life. From the sense of shame, I can get along with my classmates with a normal rather than inferiority complex mentality. Although the eyes left on me are special, they don't make me feel uncomfortable. I can enjoy the lunch with only one steamed bread calmly in the canteen; In full view of the public, I sent the recycled items I found to the recycling bin. I contract the sanitation and cleaning of the dormitory building where I live. I do tutoring and promotion, and do everything I can without affecting my study. I will try my best to finish college.
 

When that holiday came, I wrote a letter to my parents. I told them my exact time to get home and put forward my request. I asked my father to ride his tricycle to pick me up. I wanted to lie on his bent back and tell him all I had experienced
 

Poverty is not a disgrace, but giving up dignity is the real disgrace. I came out of shame and poverty. Shame has become another kind of wealth in my life.