An economic killer's self-recognition

An economic killer's self-recognition

In 1945, I was born in an ordinary middle-class family, and my parents are of the north of New England. They are strict, conservative, and firm, adhering to the religious ethics inherited from generations of ancestors.

My mother later became a middle school Latin teacher, while my father was a naval officer.

During the Second World War, my father was a Navy captain on a tanker in the Atlantic Ocean and was responsible for leading the armed gunshots.

When I was born in Warwick, New York, he was still wounded in a hospital in Texas.

I never met him before I was 1.

Later he taught language at Tilton School.

Tilton is a private boys' boarding school in the suburbs of New York.

The school is situated on a high mountain, proudly-arrogant-standing, overlooking the town with the same name.

The external student seems to be a dedicated School, recruiting 9 ~ For students of grade 12, a maximum of 50 students can be recruited in each grade.

The students here are generally from rich families in Buenos Aires, Caracas, Boston, and New York.

My family is very poor, but we never feel that we are poor.

Although at school teachers can only get a meager salary, the necessities of our life: food, housing, heating, water supply, even the grass-cutting and snow-shovel workers for us are provided free of charge by the school.

Since I was 4 years old, I have been eating in the dining room of the preparatory school, chasing football in my father's coach's football team, or distributing towels to players in the cloakroom.

The teachers and their families here have a strong sense of superiority in front of the local people. I once heard my parents say that we are the "Garden master" and manage the cheap towns and people.

I know, it's not just a joke.

My primary school and middle school students both belong to the peasant class. Their parents are farmers, lumbers, and mill workers who face the loess. They all hate "pre-students on the hill ".

As a result, my parents won't let me approach the girls in the town who call them "bitch" and "slut.

However, from the first grade, I began to mix with them. I shared my crayons, laptops, and other stationery with them.

Later, I gradually fell in love with three of them: Ann, Priscilla, and Judy ).

It's hard for me to understand and accept the opinions of my parents. However, I still listen to them.

My father has a three-month vacation each year. At this time, we will go on vacation to a lakeside cabin built by grandpa in 1921.

Surrounded by forests, you can hear owls and coups at night.

Here, we have no neighbors, and I am the only child in this place.

In the first few years, I thought of trees as the brave knight in the Round Table novel, or as a confidante like Ann, prisila, or Judy (in different years, think of them as different people ).
 

See: http://book.qq.com/s/book/0/5/5866/5.shtml