"Smack!" I was in the middle of washing my hands when, before I could react, the teacher's hand had already struck my face with a sound. Before I could even comprehend what happened, she angrily demanded, "Why didn't you roll up your sleeves!?"
"My hands aren't wet yet…"
"But washing hands means you have to roll up your sleeves!" My homeroom teacher walked away without turning back, giving me no chance to explain. I was left utterly confused.
She was my second-grade homeroom teacher, surnamed Shi, and considered an excellent teacher by the school. But the wound from that slap has remained in my heart for twenty years. Before entering the workforce, I didn't understand why I was so afraid of making mistakes, of being scolded, of offending people. It wasn't until later, after reading many psychology books and watching related videos, that I discovered this fearful, unconfident personality was connected to those two slaps from second grade.
Reflecting on the "rolling up sleeves while washing hands" incident, the rule was indeed to do it that way back then. But perhaps I already had logical thinking at that age—I've always been someone who wants to understand not just the "what" but the "why." The purpose of rolling up sleeves while washing hands is to keep your long sleeves from getting wet. If a child is tall enough that washing their hands won't soak their clothes, then what's the problem?
"This is a matter of classroom management for a teacher." Last month when I returned to my high school to give a lecture, I mentioned this elementary school incident to my former homeroom teacher there. She explained to me that as a teacher, you need to maintain classroom order and atmosphere. If rolling up sleeves is part of establishing rules, then you must apply them equally to everyone, otherwise you lose your authority. I can understand that explanation now—because I'm an adult. But how did I survive these past fifteen-odd years?
As I mentioned earlier, there were two slaps in second grade. The second one happened like this: We sometimes needed test papers during class, but the teacher always kept them and only gave one sheet per student. Because I loved drawing, I bought my own booklet. When the teacher was about to distribute papers during a lesson, I excitedly pulled mine out and placed it on my desk, expecting praise. Instead, she slapped me again…
"Why did you steal the class's test papers?" "I didn't."
"Then where did this come from?" "I bought it."
"Where?" "The school store."
"How much was it?" "Ten dollars…"
After her aggressive questioning, she simply resumed the lesson without explaining anything or clarifying who was right or wrong, or why she hit me before even asking for the facts.
For an eight-year-old student, this was shocking and heartbreaking. I had prepared myself with good intentions, but instead received a barrage of scolding with no reason given and no explanation. I remember rubbing my burning face. Over the following years, I stopped initiating conversations with my classmates. By third and fourth grade, classmates asked me, "Why don't you talk much?" I answered, "Because I don't know what to talk about." But what I really meant was that I was afraid of asking the wrong questions, offending others, or making things awkward. This was completely unlike who I am now.
Of course, the transformation from receiving those slaps, to lacking confidence, to becoming who I am today—taking the stage as a lecturer and journalist, constantly meeting new people and striking up conversations—hasn't been easy. When I first entered the workforce, I was extremely lacking in confidence. I didn't talk to others and was terrified of making mistakes. I didn't dare communicate or ask questions. My relationships with supervisors were full of misunderstandings—it was a complete mess. A senior colleague even asked me, "Why do you have such good abilities but so little confidence?" I think I can truly attribute it to those two slaps.
You might think an eight-year-old wouldn't remember much, but the truth is, twenty years later, my memory of it is still crystal clear. How did I adjust to it?
After entering the workforce, I started reading different types of books—business, career development, psychology, and more. Through writing, I accumulated my emotions and recorded my personal growth. Through these books, I reflected on myself, asking why I reacted certain ways to certain situations, and observing how others get stuck in the same patterns. Through constant reflection, thinking, and correcting my behavior, I gradually overcame my psychological barriers, including my fear of cameras.
I used to be a television journalist, and honestly, I was truly terrified of cameras because I didn't think I looked good. But to overcome this fear, I chose to become a TV journalist, throwing myself into the depths of my anxiety to conquer it. I won't say I've become natural and composed about it, but at least I can tell others that I've managed to do it.
Finally, I want to say this: every teacher plays a crucial role in every student's life. Perhaps in this modern age, corporal punishment and unreasonable behavior have decreased, but there are still corners we can't see where all kinds of unacceptable abuse happen every day. And abuse isn't limited to physical harm—psychological wounds are the hardest kind to heal. Education is forever the most powerful tool in a child's life, and in an adult's life too. If you're a teacher, or a mentor to others, a little more empathy and perspective-taking can plant a seed in someone's heart, creating a positive cycle. Over time, that's enough to make this world a better place.
