But at the time, I didn't know what my behavior meant, my act of writing so many of my own names, maybe I just wanted that ideological and moral textbook to be mine from the outside in, although there were many voices in my heart that kept echoing, "This is not my book", "This is what I stolen", "I am a book thief", "Don't be discovered", "Don't be told to your parents", "Tell my mother I will definitely be beaten"......

So I'm more cautious. I plastered my fingers and turned the pages of the book because it was so clean that I would get it dirty and it wouldn't be discovered.

Then, with trepidation in my heart, I went on with each lesson, until I began to take the moral lesson, and I took out the book I had stolen.

That day, my tablemate searched for a long time in his school bag, and he took out all the books and flipped through them several times, but he couldn't find the book of his ideological and moral class.

The teacher quickly walked up to our seats and saw and asked, "Why didn't you bring a book?" ”

"I haven't found it yet," he said. ”

My teacher said, "Then you can look for it." And he departed.

I quickly put the book I stole from him in the middle and said, "Let's read it together, this is the book my mother bought for me when she went to the city the other day." ”

He didn't doubt at all what I had said. Maybe he was only grateful for a while, because I lent him the book to read and relieved him.

After a while, he picked up his book and looked at it, as if to make sure it was his, but he didn't recognize it.

I quickly added, "This is not your book, my mother bought it for me." ”

He said, "Well, there's your name, my book doesn't have a name." ”

He seemed to be telling himself, and he was telling me. Then, he said, "My books are at home." ”

My heart finally let go. However, the next day, when he went to his morning reading, he told me, "I didn't find my book at home, and someone must have stolen it." ”

He asked to see my book.

However, this time I didn't dare to let him see it, I was afraid that he would leave some clues.

Then, I said, "It must have been stolen by someone else."

"My book can't be yours." I argued again.

"Quite possibly," he said. "He doubted me and didn't dare to say it was me. Because in his eyes, students who study well will not do such a thing. Besides, I thought so before I stole his books.

My lies became more and more complete, and even I believed that the book was mine.

I showed it to him again, and he still had no proof that the book was his.

After a few weeks, he still did not find his book, and he gave up, believing that his own book had been stolen by someone else.

I packaged his book of thought and character as my book, and showed it to him in the thought and character class, and he was happy to show me all the books he had that I didn't have.

And he started talking to me.

I remember when I was in kindergarten, I watched other children buy snacks at the school gate, and I was very hungry and wanted to spend money to buy them and try them. I once took a dollar from my father's pocket and bought a dime of lollipop tooth candy. Unfortunately, my second sister happened to see it, and the second sister asked me where the money came from, and I said, "Dad gave it." ”

The second sister went home and told my parents, and then in order to educate me, my parents hit my hand several times with a bamboo stick, saying, "You are not allowed to take things from your parents' pockets in the future, and the beating is for you to remember." ”

When I knew that this behavior would upset my parents, I didn't take their money.

However, in the second semester of the first year, when I completed a book stealing act without being discovered, and I lied to my table mates to become a book thief, I learned how to write the word "thief".

At first I was nervous, guilty, and felt like I wasn't a good student anymore. Later, he became numb and bolder. When there was no one in the classroom, I couldn't help but look through my deskmate's bag many times, it was a black backpack with a broken zipper, and the books were all lined up in it, while I was carrying a bag sewn by my mother.

It wasn't to steal books, and even I didn't know what I was expecting. Maybe it was out of curiosity, curious that he had a backpack and a whole set of textbooks, but why didn't he carry it?

Until one time, I found five dollars in his bag. I started to act as a thief again, this time the behavior was much worse than the last time, I took the money he put in his school bag, and began to secretly buy sweet and sour sugar, spicy strips, jelly, instant noodles and other snacks, every day with care.

I didn't dare to buy anything at the school commissary because it was opened by my teacher. I had to go back to my village to buy snacks so that my classmates wouldn't be able to find out, but my father found out.

That day, I bought a pack of instant noodles from the commissary and couldn't help but eat them as I walked. On the way, I met my father, who worked as a small worker in the village, building buildings for other people, and the smell of earth all over my body made me remember it very vividly.

Dad asked, "Where did you get the money?" ”

I lied and said, "I said I picked it up." ”

Dad asked, "Where did you pick it up?"

I lied and said, "On the way." ”

Dad asked, "How much money did you pick up?" ”

I replied, "Five dollars." ”

Then, after a moment of thoughtful silence, he asked me to give him the money.

I gave him all the money I had left in my pocket.

He said, "If you have any instant noodles, go to school and have a good class." ”

Suddenly, I felt like a bad boy, not the well-behaved and smart kid that my dad used to talk about. Thinking of this, my tears began to flow uncontrollably.

I began to wonder if my stealing had been discovered by the people around me.

Then, I noticed that my table mate's attitude towards me had changed, and since he had lost his five dollars, his bag had been changed to a zipper, and he had started to come home from school with him.

He didn't even read his textbooks on ideology and morality in class, he didn't let me read his textbooks on nature, art, physical education, and physiology, and he didn't talk to me anymore.

But he didn't tell the teacher the secret, but since then, I didn't dare to look him in the eye, and I always had the feeling of being stared at.

Later, I didn't even fall in love with the ideological and moral classes. Even when I started to go to class, I couldn't concentrate. And I brought it home with me.