As the years passed, fragments of my memories quietly accumulated. I still vividly remember when I was in third grade, there was a class meeting and a group of salesmen came to our classroom with a Little Overlord reader. It was the first time I had come up close and personal with such a magical device, and I was fascinated by the contents of the textbook on the screen with just one click.

A child's vanity rose up at this moment, and when I got home, I begged my mother again and again to buy it with the longing and anticipation of the reader. Even though the price of the device seemed high at the time, my love and desire for it outweighed my concern about the price.

In the end, that little point-and-click machine became the most commonly used learning tool for me at that time, and almost all of my English proficiency came from it, and every light touch was accompanied by the accumulation of knowledge and the joy of growth. However, as time passed, I began to realize that the accumulation of knowledge does not happen overnight, and everything requires effort and time. That little point-and-click machine, although it brought me a lot of joy, was only a bubble in the end. It filled my heart with a deep heaviness and loss. I remember that point reader because it was a big milestone in my growth.

It was another seemingly ordinary day, I remembered, however, I met a unique character, an uncle with a knife hanging - Uncle Knife. His pocket knife is cleverly hidden between the keychains, the handle is tightly wound with duct tape, and the tip of the knife is only exposed by one or two centimeters, designed to leave only minor scratches in any intense conflict.

He used this little object to warn me to devote myself to my studies in school. He said that his life was so difficult because he did not cherish the opportunity to learn and avoided the pursuit of knowledge. His story was a deep warning to me and made me truly understand the value of education. While his image and behavior may make many people look away from him, he is my first "big friend" in this complex world.

However, I saw not only his marginal life, but also his endless regret for the past and his powerless hope for the future. Whenever I think back to him, that knife is like a mirror, reflecting the endless contradictions and challenges in life. I looked at him, but I saw my own future, a future that I had to avoid. He became a warning sign in my life that I couldn't walk the path he took.

He also showed me how to operate a computer, which was my first exposure to a computer in my life. Despite the ups and downs of his life, he opened the door to the electronic world for me, which makes him especially memorable.

In that summer vacation, which was hot and full of infinite possibilities in my memory, my mother seemed very serious. Her iron-clad rules filled our youth with rigorous discipline. When the summer sun shines in the yard and every corner is silent, it is our family's summer vacation. After the heavy farm work was put aside for a while, my mother's eyes would turn to me and my brother. She made strict rules that we were not allowed to indulge in the illusory world of TV shows.

I remember those days, every time my mother frowned and looked for us, my brother and I would quickly run away and hide in the changing closet in the men's bathroom on the second floor. That cabinet is our safest haven and the most intimate shared space of our childhood. Only then can you feel free and resist external pressure. That changing wardrobe, like our secret base, has accompanied us through countless summers and has become a special memory in our hearts.

We were obsessed with the evening DreamWorks animation, which started at 7:30 and ended at 8 every night, and was the moment we looked forward to the most. That's our world, our universe. After the end of the animated DreamWorks, it will be followed by the Galaxy Theater, but Grandma's rule is that the TV must be turned off at eight o'clock, and we need to conquer the sleeping territory and ascend to the bedroom on the third floor.

When I was in the third grade, many trivial little things became extraordinary in my memories. But I'm not going to tell them all in this story, I think I'm going to tell them in the real world to people who might like to listen to my storytelling, and slowly tell the stories that haven't been written into the article in reality.