How to write a deceptive essay to rewrite dad s teacher into a narrative

None of you know my father, he is a great mathematician, he can solve even the most difficult problems, he is really knowledgeable.

My learned father, who has always been very gentle, looks serious today, and it seems that there is something important. I guessed and couldn't figure out what would happen. I asked my father

Dad, what's the matter? "Dad told me he was going to see a teacher. Look at my memory, it turns out that today is September 10 - Teacher's Day!

But it's strange to say, Dad, a big mathematician and a teacher, isn't it new? But I really want to meet this teacher.

I begged my father: "Dad, you can take me there, are you worried about me, it's okay, I will definitely be polite and keep it secret for you." Please. My father was silent for a while, blinking his eyes, and said to me, "Well, okay! ”

But before I left, my father repeatedly told me, "When you get there, you must first say hello to the teacher, then bow, and don't interject when we talk." Of course, I'll say yes.

I was thinking about this teacher all the time, what kind of person he should be. His beard should be very long, and his stomach is full of great truths and learning. He should be better than my dad and a mathematician, otherwise how could he teach my dad if he wasn't a mathematician.

But guess who Dad bows to? Maybe you can't guess it for three days and three nights.

If it's me, it's not unusual, because Dad's teacher is my teacher. But I'm in the third grade, and she's still teaching the first grade, she's my dad's teacher, how funny you say.

I have to thank you, teacher, for making me understand that two two get four, three three get nine.

I just learned that my father, although his grades were very big, had been taught by a first-grade teacher!

People often say that a father's love is like a mountain, but in my opinion, my father's love for me is not completely as severe as a mountain, but sometimes as gentle as water.

My father was a man of culture and high moral character, and although he was not as wealthy as other parents, he did nothing for me worse than other children, or even better than them.

When I talk about my father, I can't help but cry. He is usually very busy with work, but in any case, he insists on greeting me about study and life every day, and as long as I have problems with my studies, he will take time out of his busy schedule to tutor me. From school to the present, he has never been absent from every parent-teacher conference, he once said:

No matter how busy I am, my children will always come first to me."

Every weekend, I went to my father's place of work. Sometimes, when I arrived, I saw him at work, and I couldn't bear to disturb him, so I watched from the sidelines, looking at my father, who was getting older, and there was a trace of gray hair on his temples, and I couldn't help crying again. Watching that body get thinner and thinner day by day, my heart was extremely painful.

I remembered how my father had been subjected back then.

And my love for my father is more important than my love for my mother. My father has been an indispensable part of my life since I was sensible. He is a good teacher for me in my studies and a good friend for me in life.

If I did something wrong, his first reaction was not to hit or scold me, but to teach me calmly. No matter what I did wrong, he would find out the problem from himself and then educate me. He was very strict with me because he was very strict with me.

But I don't hate him, because my father is concerned about me and is afraid that I will go the wrong way.

I am proud of my father. He is very image-oriented in life. So he was very neatly dressed. He once said, "A person's image represents a person's qualities".

More than a dozen spring and autumn seasons have passed, and my love for my father has deepened. I also know that there is no one in my life who can replace him in my life.

Father, don't worry, I will live up to your expectations. When I grew up, I still remember the way home.