There is a living method called reading and answering questions.

That summer, in order to make up for the financial shortage at home, I signed the application form for poor students at school privately. Everything I do is to share some worries about tuition for my father, because the school stipulates that once I am identified as a poor student, I will be exempted from tuition and miscellaneous fees all year round, which is enough for my family to live for one year.

Finally, in the school, only another student named Gazi and I are the help objects of quasi-poor students. The reason why it is called quasi-poor students is that only one place is given, so only Gazi and I can be regarded as formal relief objects.

Next, the school is going to organize a family survey. The school will send two teachers to two families in our mountainous area to make an investigation, and then decide the final quota.

Two teachers and I walked on the rugged mountain road. When we got home, it was already morning. Father hurried forward to meet them, and then took two teachers into the yard full of stones. Father said: Welcome the teacher's home visit.

My father made a welcome gesture, and I quickly told my father that the teacher was not coming for a home visit today.

After that, I asked the teacher to sit down, then dragged my parents into the back room and explained my application and the story with Gazi in detail. Finally, I solemnly said: there is only one quota, so we must seize it.

Father lowered his head and thought about this problem. Then he asked me: How is Gazi's family?

I said: not much better than me. His father went up the mountain to collect firewood and broke his leg. His mother spun for a living.

My father finally said to me: I think this quota should belong to others, we can't take it, our family background is stronger than him, and your mother and I can still make money.

My father scolded me and called me a snob. I didn't learn well when I was young, and I felt aggrieved.

Father went outside to meet the two teachers, turned to his mother and said, Son of a bitch, we have a distinguished guest today. Kill one of our chickens.

Next, he said cheerfully to the two teachers: Nothing, as long as the children are obedient. About tuition, my mother and I feel nothing. We can afford it. Please tell the school leaders.

That morning, my father made an exception and took out more than ten years old wine from the well. That day, my father was very drunk. I didn't go back to school that night. Wake up at night and hear my father's cough and my mother's sobs.

Many years have passed, and with the death of my father, that past event will be buried in my young memory forever. It was not until many years later that I suddenly understood my father's good intentions as a father. He told me with a kind of persistence that I live with another kind of strength. He is willing to give the indicators to others, just to establish my determination to struggle. In the face of despair, it is easiest to exercise children's creativity and potential.

It turns out that in this world, there is a living method called the power of character.

Is this it? If so, ask and I'll answer.