Never-ending kerosene lamp prose

in our daily study, work and life, have you all read some classic essays? Prose does not pay attention to phonology, parallelism, and there are no constraints or restrictions. Do you know what problems should be paid attention to when writing prose? The following is my essay on kerosene lamps that will never die. I welcome your reference and hope it will help you.

It was the spring of 1988, when electricity was connected to my hometown, and finally the lighting bulb was used, which completely ended the history of lighting kerosene lamps from generation to generation. The whole village, men, women and children, rushed to tell each other, just like the Chinese New Year, and they couldn't help smiling when they saw each other. They stared at the thief's bright light bulb at home, just like studying their first love over and over again, but they couldn't get enough of it!

As long as I can remember, the lighting in the countryside at night is all kerosene lamps. Every household has at least one kerosene lamp, which is hung on the wall or placed on a clay table, lit with matches when in use and blown out when not in use. The work of kerosene lamp is very simple. First, find a small medicine bottle or an empty bottle containing ink, and remove the cover. Some use scissors to cut a small piece of iron sheet the size of a bottle cap, drill an eye in the middle, then find a thin piece of iron sheet with a width of about 5 cm, roll it into a cylindrical bobbin, and the height is slightly longer than that of the oil lamp bottle. Put it into the eye of the small iron sheet to make the two closely connected. Then, put the pre-synthesized cotton thread. There are also plans to save trouble, simply do not use small iron pieces, not to mention piercing again, just put the wick directly in the bottle and use it. The size of the wick can be adjusted. If it is bigger, just lift the small iron piece with one hand and tap it lightly with the other hand. If you want to be smaller, just squat the small iron piece down a few times. Every time the sun sets and the smoke from the farmhouse rises, the kerosene lamps of every household light up. Some are busy cooking and eating, some are busy washing pots, some are feeding pigs, and the adults are busy around, all in order to save a few cents on kerosene.

The children couldn't sleep, so they went out in twos and threes to "pull the mad dog" to play games, took off their jackets and put them on the firewood pile, and only cared about playing happily. Until the adults at home called for going home to sleep, they were reluctant to go home with their clothes in their mouths, dripping with water all over, with wisps of hair steaming outwards, like a "little donkey". Middle-aged people visit their neighbors' homes, sit in the yard for a while, and talk about the short family, the cold feet like cats, and have to go home; Older people are even less sleepy. They move the spinning wheel to the door of the hall, wrap their legs in a cotton-padded jacket, and sit on the plaited lawn. By the bright moonlight outside, they spin the spinning wheel in circles with their right hands, while their left hands stretch up and down, working under the spinning wheel music of "Uh-huh", and spinning a cotton ear in the middle of the night before they are willing to sleep.

Our older children have already gone to school, and the teacher gives us homework every day. Sometimes, we are asked to write new words in the text, and every new word is written ten times, so we have to be punished for missing one. There are also extracurricular math homework, which can't be found in the book. It's all arranged by the teacher. These homework must be completed on the same day. Before class begins the next day, the monitor should check them one by one, and then report to the teacher. Those that have been completed will be praised in class. If they can't be finished, their heads will droop like frost-beaten eggplant. If the teacher criticizes them, they will have to inform their parents to come to school and lose face. When they get home, they will inevitably get a broom. I am very introverted and afraid of making a fool of myself. I always finish my homework before going to bed. Over time, I formed a good habit of studying at night. I studied under kerosene lamps, washed my face with cold water when I dozed off, and kept on studying. Many times, my parents urged me to sleep, and the kerosene lamps creaked, and the kerosene in the lamps shortened one by one. The flames with big beans were like ripe "red dates", and under the action of airflow, they gently danced the unburned oil black smoke clouds.

When I get up in the morning, I cough a little, and my mouth is full of thick black phlegm, and my nose is dirty, which makes people dizzy and often makes me feel sluggish in class. Writing here, I naturally remembered the scene when kerosene lamps were lit and a prank was made. That night, my mother made a pot of miscellaneous noodles paper, long tender cabbage and a few drops of sesame oil for our sisters. Usually, we have never eaten such a good meal, so we were so anxious that we were drooling early! Especially when it was about to be cooked, the fragrance ran out from the crack in the lid, which was very tempting. We turned around the pot table in the kitchen room and pestered the adults to lift the pot quickly. The adults told us to count, from one to five hundred, and the buns were cooked after counting. How can we count? We count every three jumps. My brother and I sat in front of the pot waiting to eat while counting. My mother repeatedly arranged for us to wait for a while and then went to the main room. As soon as my mother's front foot left, we were eager to try, scrambling to lift the pot and take the bun. I don't know whose jacket sleeve knocked over the kerosene lamp on the pot table, and the kerosene in the lamp poured into the pot, and the room was suddenly dark. We knew that we had caused a "disaster". One person took a bun and started to "take refuge" at grandma's house.

Later, I was admitted to a high school in the commune. On the day of registration, my father sent me to school. I see that the campus of high school is very different from the housing in the village. The houses here are red brick and red wall, the indoor and outdoor floors are all concrete, and there is no soil. The classroom is tall and spacious, with four meters long electric batons hanging on it, which is very atmospheric. At night, inside and outside the campus, the lights are brightly lit, as bright as day, which is in stark contrast to the darkness of the farmers' homes across the road. My father told me enviously that he really didn't want to go home. I live and study here, trying to suck the sweet spring of knowledge, and here I begin to raise my hopes and dreams, helping me to plug in the wings of literature!

From kerosene lamp to electric lamp, I have walked for half a century. It is that kerosene lamp that illuminates me and embarks on the road of diligent study, where I gather knowledge and study hard. It was that kerosene lamp that helped me to illuminate my ideal and see the dawn when I was confused and helpless many times.

Kerosene lamp, Kerosene lamp, you are really the "street lamp" in my life voyage. You give silently, and you don't want to return. You burn yourself, but you illuminate others! Aren't you our parents in the world? For the sake of your children, you have worked hard and have no regrets! In my heart, the "lamp" of parents will never go out------.