Upper Elementary Limited-Time Writing -(Ma Xiaotiao's Writing)

Author: Yang Hongying
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: When guests come to my house, they often talk about me. Some say I look like my dad, while others say I look like my mom. One day, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the wardrobe and looked up and down at myself carefully: my face was a bit like my dad's, with a wide forehead and slightly chubby cheeks; but my eyebrows and eyes were like my mom's—big, clearly black and white, with long and dense eyelashes that even curled up. I'm a girl, but I love being active, and I don't know which one I resemble more. One day, the cicadas outside the window chirped nonstop, driving me crazy. A few strands of hair that stuck to my forehead kept falling into my eyes, so I picked up scissors and started cutting in front of the mirror. But I couldn't cut them evenly, especially at the back of my head because I couldn't see it, so I just hacked at it blindly. Later, I had to nervously wait for my mom to come home. When she walked in, she exclaimed, "Good heavens! What have you done with your hair?" I had to confess the truth. My mom couldn't tell whether she was angry or amused as she scolded me while fixing my hair. In the end, my hair became very short. Whenever uncles and aunts came to my house, they would comment on my hair. At such times, my mom would "embarrass" me, saying it was my own fault, and so uncles and aunts gave me the nickname "tomboy." I asked my mom, "Did you ever cut your own hair when you were little?" "No. Only you could do such a foolish thing." It seems I don't resemble my mom either.
Before this year's Spring Festival, my dad and mom said, "We won't give you a red envelope this year; instead, we'll give you a bicycle." It was the first time in my life that I rode a bicycle to my grandma's house for the New Year's Eve dinner. On the way back, I sped down the bridge, only hearing the "whooshing" sound of the wind, and felt a bit scared but also very exhilarated. Suddenly, my dad and mom shouted from behind, "Be careful!" Oh no, about 20 meters ahead, an uncle was riding a bicycle and talking to an aunt sitting behind him. Their bike swerved like a snake, going east and then west. "Brake quickly!" Dad's shout was filled with panic. My hands wouldn't obey, so I gritted my teeth and steered the bike to the left. Right on time, a motorcycle came speeding toward me head-on. I gripped the handlebars tightly and, as if flying through the clouds, squeezed through the gap between the two vehicles. When I got home, my dad and mom were still scared: "This child, so reckless—does she resemble either of us?" Who does she resemble? Her dad? Her mom? In the end, she resembles herself.
Fast Review: Overall, the young author's structure and organization of the story are very clear. She begins by describing how she looks like her parents (her face resembles her dad, while her eyebrows and eyes resemble her mom). The last sentence of the first paragraph, "I'm a girl, but I love being active, and I don't know which one I resemble more" (implying she resembles neither), is a very key sentence. If some resemblance to her parents is a "commonality," then "loving to be active" is the "driving force" behind her "individuality," connecting the two parts naturally and providing a great example to learn from. P4-5