By the time I entered second grade, my family environment had changed dramatically. Business began to show signs of improving, and the cash in my mother's pocket gradually became fuller. At that age, I would ask my mother for money every day to hang out. At first, my mother would patiently take five dollars out of the cabinet and give it to me every time, and then tell me not to spend it indiscriminately. However, as time went on, I began to sneak money out of that cabinet on my own, and that little foul feeling made me feel a little weak, but more of a thrill and a sense of freedom.

There is a supermarket near the elementary school, and I often go there to buy all kinds of drinks and small pieces of paper with stars, and those colorful pieces of paper are like shining stars in my eyes. When I go to school, I always take these little pieces of paper with me and give them as gifts to my classmates. I hope that through these thoughts, I can get closer to my classmates and become one of them. However, the results were not what I had imagined.

Every time I send a small piece of paper to a classmate, more students come to me. My little gift seemed to start their greed, and I, at that age, had not yet learned to refuse other people's requests, and I just silently endured the pressure. My kindness and simplicity were taken for granted by them, and what I originally gave was turned into an endless demand for them. This feeling of powerlessness made me very sad, and I began to feel lonely and lost in my heart, and I began to wonder if I was really part of them. I felt as if I was a bird that would never fly into the lively nest, and could only look out from afar.

It was a sunny afternoon in the second grade, and the class meeting began, but the calm atmosphere was broken by a group of black jackets who suddenly broke in. They came from a publishing house, they brought all kinds of books, and they wanted us to buy them. Even though the head teacher didn't explicitly ask us to buy it, the cold, almost imperative tone made me suspicious. I was so immersed in my own thinking that I couldn't hide my confusion and uneasiness.

On the way home, I was thinking about how I would explain this to my parents. As night fell, as I lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep, I plucked up the courage to tell my mother. My mother looked at me with doubts and concerns in her eyes, and she asked me, "Did the teacher force you to buy it?" At that moment, my eyes widened, and I was lying on my chair, my heart pounding. I gripped the edge of the chair with my teeth and exhaled a "yes yes yes" sound that was full of fear and nervousness.

My mother immediately dialed the number of the head teacher, and I sat on the sidelines, nervous and unable to move. The head teacher explained that it was not a mandatory purchase, and I was shocked and ashamed to hear this answer beyond words. I realized that I might have misled my mother, and I couldn't hold my head up with self-blame. However, my mother still spent a lot of money on these books. At that moment, I knew I had to take responsibility for my mistakes. So, I learned the hard way and read the books as hard as I could, even though some of them were not within my comprehension. I want my mom to know that I'm not a casual and irresponsible kid, that I'm willing to take my own mistakes, and that I'm willing to apologize to my mom through my actions.

At that time, there was an old shop in the town where we lived, and it used to sell all kinds of interesting toys. At one point, the owner started putting out a buildable toy every week, and each piece was like a treasure hunt for us to look forward to. My brother and I would ask our grandmother to buy it for us every Friday afternoon. Although each part costs 20 yuan, the price is not a problem because of grandma's love for us.

Once, however, on a Friday afternoon, my brother and I were so immersed in our game world that we forgot to buy new toy parts. While we were playing in the house, grandma went out. And when she returned, we saw that she was holding the part we had forgotten.

That part was one leg of the entire robot, but when viewed alone, it looked like a nimble blue fawn. I remember that time, the setting sun shined through the window on the blue fawn, and it was like a vivid blue fawn jumping in the sun, making our eyes light up. However, while we were overjoyed, we were also deeply saddened that we had only bought 4 of the 5 parts we needed. That last part has never appeared in the small shop.

I've often wondered, where would that missing part be? When will it appear? Sometimes, I imagine that it awaits us somewhere in the future, perhaps through time and space to the future. I would lie in bed, look out the window at the moonlight, and imagine the shape, the color, and how it would eventually appear to us. My brother and I would also argue about the fate and fate of this part, each with its own assumptions and theories, and that part, like the unknown of the future, is full of mystery and infinite possibilities.

During that time, my brother and I spent every Friday afternoon with toys and imagination. We expect, we speculate, we imagine, and while the last part never appears, it leaves a deep imprint on our hearts. Every time I see that robot with only four parts, I think of those Friday afternoons, of my grandmother's smile, of the unknown full of anticipation, of the part that may have traveled to the future.