Top 9 Best Essays on Teachers

Teacher, do you still remember me, one of your noisy little students from back then? The skinny girl, dressed lightly in the cold winter, her feet freezing in broken plastic sandals.

The crooked bicycle, its pedals warped, carried both teacher and student along a rough, tree-lined dirt road to the county's gifted class. The class was small, with only three students left after many had dropped out. In the fifth grade, one loved poetry, another adored fairy tales, and the last was always daydreaming.

Back then, I was so passionate about literature. I cherished the book you gave me: a collection of award-winning essays from various writing competitions. I was fascinated by the rhythm of words, learning how to convey emotions in writing, how to make a sentence meaningful and impactful.

Despite having only three students, our class was lively, filled with energetic debates. My notebook was frugally used, its pages scribbled with your lessons. I admired your literary voice, especially during those chilly early winter lessons, when the red leaves of the maple trees and the cold air surrounded us.

The little essay, so simple, yet so full of love. You sat beside me, correcting my innocent spelling mistakes. You would fix one word, then another, then another… your eyes squinting, and your brow furrowed behind the yellowed glasses. I learned to be more careful when writing.

There were times when I secretly brought a copy of Xuân Diệu's love poems to class and read it quietly under the desk. You sternly punished me by making me stand at the back of the classroom. Teacher, did you think that at the age of eleven, I wasn’t ready for adult topics? You shook your head. Literature is about learning life, and it must be learned at the right time, in the right context. I had to explore on my own; without guidance, I might fall into sentimentality and lose touch with the rich history of poetry...

I remember swallowing every word you said that day.

Do you remember, Teacher, the essay I wrote about 'My Cat'? Who would think a cat could have a 'beauty mark on its nose'? Despite the teasing from my classmates, I still defended my beloved cat. You read my childish essay with kindness and generosity, saying, 'Perhaps there's a cat like that, especially if we help it have a beauty mark!' You were always gentle and encouraging.

Then the class dwindled down to just two students. One left to pursue another specialty based on their parents’ suggestion. It was just you and me, still chatting and laughing like sparrows. As the exam approached, you remained calm, teaching each lesson with care. Literature is the endless flow of life, and you taught us to see it through the right lens…

And you would pat my head and say: 'Your writing is good, full of emotion and creativity, but… your handwriting is terrible.' I felt proud, snuggling against your back, laughing softly. To you, I was always your good little student, wasn’t I?

Then the exams came and went. The awards followed a long series of study sessions. I fell deeper in love with literature, dreaming of becoming a famous writer. I became detached from my childhood, the small village, and the red dirt road I used to walk every day to school.

By now, I’m sure you’ve grown old. The memories of those twelve-year-old days don’t help me find you anymore. Life moves fast, and I’ve become a true writer now.

One day, I heard the song 'Things the Teacher Never Told Us' and was suddenly filled with longing. I missed those quiet days, the place where you guided me in those first steps. You helped me form each word, each sentence of my little essay.

Author: Lưu Trang

I’m not sure how you define the words 'teacher' and 'mentor,' but for me, TEACHERS ARE PARENTS. While they didn’t bring us into this world, they gifted us with knowledge, wisdom, and the opportunity to embrace life!

As November rolls in with cold winds sweeping through the country lanes, I suddenly realize that this month is a time of gratitude… It has been eleven years since I first started school, and this year, on the 20th of November, I feel a sense of nostalgia, regret, and even fear. Soon, a time will come when I’ll leave school, leave my teachers behind, and I wonder, in the whirlwind of time and life, will I ever find myself thinking about returning to visit them? I fear that life will carry me away, and I’ll drift further from the days when we honored our teachers!

Where should I begin to recount the immense efforts, the unforgettable memories with teachers and friends? It has been more than two years since I’ve lived under the roof of this school, guided by the care of my teachers and the love of my friends. Three years of high school have passed in the blink of an eye, like a short afternoon nap, and suddenly, the carefree days of being a student are gone!

Our teachers give us their whole hearts, but we, the oblivious students, never find the words to thank them. While teachers tirelessly prepare lessons for us, we rush to pack up our books and leave when the clock strikes the end of class. We apologize for our thoughtlessness. So, on this 20th of November, I want to express my deep gratitude with words. If people in other professions look beautiful when they dress up in sparkling clothes or apply intricate makeup, our teachers are at their most beautiful when they diligently work on their lesson plans, when they passionately teach us in class, when they kindly guide us on the right path, and even when they discipline us for breaking school rules. As we grow, teachers smile, knowing their efforts have paid off. I once heard a wonderful saying: 'If an engineer is happy to see the bridge they’ve just built, and a farmer smiles when they look at the rice they’ve planted, a teacher’s greatest joy is seeing their students grow and mature.' But little did I know, behind that smile, there are struggles and concerns for their students. I see my teachers’ hair turning gray, their bodies growing frail… How can I turn back time to those mischievous days when I caused them worry, or stop the clock from ticking and the days from passing so quickly? What can I do, dear teachers?

This year, I’m a senior, and my classmates and I are standing at a crossroads. There are many paths ahead, and I’m unsure how to choose the right one. Some tell me to go right, others say left, while some say to go straight ahead. At times, I feel lost, struggling with choosing classes, schools, and discovering my passion.

Sometimes, I want to leave it all behind and follow my whims, sometimes I just want to close my eyes and let everything pass by. But it’s in those moments that my teachers are there, placing their hands on my shoulders, guiding me toward a path full of dreams and possibilities. I see in their footsteps a long, wide road. I see in their eyes a sky full of aspirations. Truly, without them, I would be like a 'ship without a rudder.'

'As time passes, the autumn feels different
Many boats have crossed the deep river
The teacher’s kindness cannot be repaid in a lifetime
Though my life crosses many bridges.'

Dear teachers, no matter how far I go in life, no matter how many goals I achieve, I will always understand that I can never fully repay all the lessons you’ve imparted. I may forget some lessons from school, but the lessons on how to become a better person will stay with me forever. Each piece of knowledge is a step that builds a person who can contribute to society, and you’ve nurtured all of us. But for so long, you’ve remained silent, quietly guiding us, selflessly sacrificing. How can words ever be enough to express my gratitude?

The past can never be brought back, but it will never fade from my memory. Your guiding hands are like a lighthouse, lighting up the vast ocean. I want to thank you so much for your quiet contributions to the noble profession of teaching. As November 20th approaches, I would like to represent all my classmates at Tây Tiền Hải High School in sending heartfelt thanks and best wishes to our beloved teachers. We wish you good health, boundless passion, and a love for teaching, so that you can continue to inspire future generations of talented, virtuous, and socially responsible students.

'Seasons come and go, and time’s dust falls
And one morning, your hair turns gray
The sky remains peaceful outside the classroom door
But the love and knowledge you impart will never be forgotten.'

Author: Tô Tuyết Trinh

We walked along the riverbank, tracing the paths by the mulberry trees shedding their leaves, their bare branches swaying gently in the golden autumn sunlight. The rainy season had softened the dirt on the narrow path, leaving sticky mud on our sandals. This road, which we used to take as children, hasn’t changed much—except for the thickets along the river’s edge and a few weeping trees that used to stand tall by the water, now gone. The three of us took long, weary steps, undeterred by the cool breeze that tousled our hair. It’s been so long since we last visited this place, where so many sweet memories of our childhood, when we carried our schoolbooks to the village school, were born. This place nurtured our early dreams, giving us the opportunity to reach for the stars and make them real.

We walked in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, after bidding farewell to the teacher we loved so much, sending him back to Mother Earth. Childhood memories of those early school days with him welled up, bittersweet, in the hearts of us old students, now graying at the temples. Perhaps each of us was lost in memories from a time long past, only the sound of our sandals rustling against the grass along the path broke the silence. After walking the final stretch with him, we felt the need to revisit the old path, though now it was devoid of the boatman’s steps who once ferried students across. The small children we once were, adored by our teacher, were now walking back to the old place in a quiet autumn afternoon. When we heard the news that Mr. Hong had passed away, we weren’t entirely surprised. The cruel cancer had ravaged his body for years after he retired from teaching. I grabbed the hands of my two friends, and we sat down on the grassy bank near a turn leading to the village school, nestled among the fields. Nga, my friend who teaches in the city and hadn’t walked on these rough dirt roads for years, was exhausted and lay down on the grass, catching her breath. I broke the silence with these words:
- What I remember most is the advice Mr. Hong gave us when we left the village school. His words seemed prophetic, binding me to the teaching profession: “Study hard and become a teacher when you grow up, okay, children?”

After that, we all gazed at the evening sky, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

When we were children, Mr. Hong was a hero to us. To the small, poor students at the village school, he was almost supernatural—he seemed to know and could do everything. His deep voice as he taught lessons captivated me from the very first day. I idolized him the way young people today idolize pop stars from Korea. His gentle and approachable nature made him beloved by all of us, even the poorest children with torn clothes in the small village. His bag always contained scissors to trim the sun-bleached hair of little boys, or a needle and thread to fix the buttons torn by playful mischief. On rainy days, he would climb onto the roof to fix leaking tiles or block the wind from entering through the classroom windows, knowing that we all wore threadbare clothes. His love for us, like that of a father to his children, made him a giant in our eyes. Everyone in the village, old and young, cherished him. His dedication was like that of a father to his children, hoping that we would grow up to overcome the limitations of our village and reach for something greater, to surpass his generation and our parents’ generation. When Mr. Hong saw the children in the village leaving school to help their families tend cattle, his heart ached. He would visit their homes every evening, offering encouragement, and sometimes he would bring them to his house for extra tutoring, so they wouldn’t fall behind. His selflessness inspired many parents, and thanks to his efforts, many children in the village escaped illiteracy.

On the final days of school at the village, Mr. Hong put his arm around me and told me to study hard, so one day I could take his place and teach the younger students. I was moved to tears. His image and his encouragement became the driving force for my decision to enter the teaching profession. Even in the face of life’s many difficulties, when it seemed like I couldn’t go on, the memory of Mr. Hong kept me going, helping me stay committed to teaching the children in this central region. Every time I visited him on Teacher’s Day, I always saw his smile, which never faded, even after decades of dedication to children. Mr. Hong gave his youth and nearly his entire life to nurturing the seeds of knowledge in us, so that we could grow and reach new heights. In that smile, I saw his satisfaction, knowing that we were continuing the path he had hoped for us. He always encouraged us to stay optimistic, even when society seemed to turn its back on the teaching profession. In his final years, Mr. Hong aged daily, but the fire of his dedication to teaching never dimmed. Even when he was bedridden, he still urged me to stay in the profession and keep teaching, telling me not to give up because of difficulties. His commitment to teaching never waned, even in his last moments. I held his frail hands, the hands that had written on the chalkboard for so many years, and tears flowed freely, knowing that the day to say goodbye to those hands was fast approaching. Though I understood that death is a natural part of life, it still felt unjust that such a wonderful teacher had to leave us. Before he passed, the legacy Mr. Hong left to the world was his priceless lessons in humanity. His love for the children of the poor village, his dream of seeing us break free from the confines of the village and reach for the vast sky beyond, and his desire to see us succeed in life—all of these are his gifts to us. Rest in peace, Mr. Hong. The school remains, echoing with your voice, even as your body returns to the earth. I will carry on your work, guiding young hearts across greater horizons. You will forever remain our hero!

The wind from the village river continues to blow across the field where the village school once stood, now replaced by a new two-story building. The road to the school has been paved, but it feels wider, emptier without the old teacher’s footsteps. Wind, please gently carry him to rest, for after a lifetime of dedication, he deserves peace. The evening has fallen. The three of us walked slowly, following the flight of birds heading towards the mountains where our beloved teacher rests, as if to send unspoken messages. I urged my two friends to hurry back, for the familiar path now felt foreign in the darkening dusk. This quiet moment we share, remembering him, is also a time for our hearts, now growing old, to beat in time with the memories of our childhood. Tomorrow, we will return to our teaching duties, but in every lesson we teach, there will always be a part of the “legacy” that Mr. Hong left behind.

Author: Bùi Duy Phong

Once, by chance, I heard a song with a melody and lyrics that were so heartfelt, sincere, and vivid, like a story being told:

"The words of our teachers, we will always remember, etched in our lives,
The kindness from the past shapes who we are today and tomorrow."

I listened to this song with a strange emotion. Its pure lyrics filled with memories felt like an echo from the past, reminding me of the teachers who guided me.

The Vietnamese people have always emphasized the importance of respecting teachers, a value passed down through generations: "A single character learned from a teacher is worth more than half a book learned by oneself," "Without a teacher, you can achieve nothing." We all have memories of going to school. And in our journey of life and career, the teacher's presence is indispensable. Teachers equip students with knowledge as a foundation for stepping into life and helping their dreams soar. The lessons from yesterday, sometimes only fully understood today, are vital. Indeed, students don’t just grow through knowledge, and teachers don’t only teach how to solve math problems or write essays. Teachers also instill countless feelings, sharing sacred and miraculous lessons beyond the textbooks.

In my childhood, from the first days of school, our teachers carefully taught us how to write each letter, explaining the meaning of phrases like "Grateful for the one who planted the tree" or "A father’s love is like the high mountains, a mother’s love like the flowing river"... These first lessons about etiquette and the way of life are etched in my memory.

I’ve traveled far, seen much, and learned many lessons in life, but there’s one thing I haven’t done: to thank my former teachers. This hesitation has troubled me for many years. Strangely, whenever I think of my teachers, the most vivid image in my memory is of the teacher—kind-hearted, living a simple, modest life with worn-out shirts, a bag that had faded with time, an old bicycle, and gentle eyes behind glasses. On rainy days, the teacher would cover the bag with a piece of plastic and shield his clothes with it. The lesson plans were dry, but his shirt was soaked!

I remember those rainy days, when the teacher stayed behind to ensure we could leave only after the rain stopped. I don’t know when, but the teacher had become our companion. Many years after leaving school, the most beautiful memory I carry is the image of the teacher raising a hand to greet us on the first day of class.

Generations of students have grown and matured from these invaluable, unspoken lessons. These lessons aren’t in the curriculum but are found in the book of life, and no matter how many pages time turns, they remain beautiful and meaningful.

I think of my teachers—devoted educators—with deep respect. The knowledge they impart might fade over time, but the life lessons they shared, teaching us how to live with purpose and meaning, will never be forgotten. Teachers have taught us more than what’s written in the books. We’ve heard stories of their own struggles with learning, how they embraced education as their joy, their goal to escape poverty, and how they lived with dignity and purpose.

The words of our teachers, I will always remember: “In life, there must be trust and fear.” And from that extracurricular lesson, I learned to fear disappointing my loved ones whenever I didn’t achieve the best results, which encouraged me to strive for success. Whenever I lost faith, I remembered the story of my teacher’s life. Despite many difficulties, the teacher always remained optimistic, sometimes even with humor: “Whining is weakness, complaining is futile.” From what the teacher taught me, I truly understood: “Without belief, success is impossible” and silently thanked my teachers for helping me trust in life, guiding me to understand the meaning of human kindness and see the hidden beauty and potential in every individual. I realized that these were words of encouragement for us—students of the teacher—to always stand strong and confident in life. Teachers have instilled in us a strong belief in ourselves, igniting a passion to grow stronger and more responsible. I once felt inferior because of my poor family or my physical shortcomings compared to others. Amid confusion and worries, I received encouragement from my teachers: “Life will have meaning if you use adversity to shape yourself.” When I felt discouraged or incapable of doing something, the warm hands of my teachers gently lifted me up, giving me the strength to continue: “When one lives carelessly and without confidence, nothing succeeds.” For me, these words of love came straight from the hearts of true teachers who have followed me throughout my life. Even now, as I take steps, sometimes steady, sometimes shaky, sometimes hurried or hesitant... those lessons of love from my teachers continue to guide me on the right path.

Teachers—those two dear words are carried in my heart for life. No matter how long I live, I will never fully grasp all the wisdom my teachers shared. If one day I stand on the podium of success, I will always remember that the hands that lifted me up were those of my teachers. The past, with its memories, may never return, but the moments of school, receiving my teachers' kind guidance, will never fade from any student’s heart. Teachers have guided us, taught us how to accept failure, and enjoy the joy of victory: “It’s more honorable to accept a low exam score than to cheat.” Teachers also taught us to value time, honor our word, and live with integrity. They reminded us: “Character is what we gain from the environment that nurtures and educates us,” and “The greatest mistake we can make is to waste time making excuses for our failures.” Teachers, oh how many years have passed, and we students still hold firmly to the belief: “Nothing warms us like the fire of self-respect in our hearts.” Teachers have taught us patience, the joy of reading, and how to appreciate the human experience: “Never mock another’s pain, and treat others well by first thinking of their goodness.” No one in the class forgets when we were given extra assignments, the teacher would always add a note: “If anyone doesn’t understand, ask!” It was simple and humble, yet filled with love. Whenever we had questions, the whole class would eagerly call out: “Teacher, can I ask,” “Teacher, why is this so,” “Teacher, help me,” “Teacher, teacher…” The teacher would continue speaking without rest, even after lunch hour. It wasn’t just time running out, the teacher was also exhausted from answering our questions long after class was over. The beauty of the teacher’s soul and noble character was a shining example for students to reflect on and improve themselves.

As time passed, now looking back, I can truly feel: “The steps we take today, who can forget the hands of those who guided us?” Teachers have planted the seeds of knowledge, illuminated our minds, nurtured our hearts, and passed on the torch of spirit… so we could boldly move forward and become useful individuals. After many years, who can count how many “boats” teachers have carried? How many dreams and aspirations have teachers helped lift? We only know that, even with silver hair and faded eyes, teachers continue to steer the boat with unwavering hands, dedicating themselves to the noble cause of educating others. For teachers, success in life isn’t a tangible achievement but a grand, invaluable legacy: the growth, maturity, and character of each student.

We all deeply feel that the days spent under the guidance of teachers were the happiest and most fulfilling of our student years. The joy and happiness from these moments form the lasting, treasured memories of the student-teacher bond. We want to thank our teachers so much, but it’s impossible to express all the gratitude in words because the contributions of teachers are far greater. This deep respect and admiration will forever be engraved in the hearts of their students, both now and in the future:

"The debt of a teacher’s kindness can never be repaid,
Even if we cross many bridges in life."

With their silent, challenging yet incredibly noble and glorious work, teachers—no matter where or in what era—deserve to be cherished and honored. To respect our teachers isn’t just an obligation but a noble gesture from every student and from society. Promoting the tradition of valuing teachers isn’t something for just one day but for every day of our lives.

The Teachers’ Day is drawing near, and songs of praise and gratitude for our teachers fill the air.

*****

[1] Song: The Words of Our Teachers – Composer: Nguyễn Đức Trung
[2] Excerpt from a poem by Tố Hữu
[3] Song: The Words of Our Teachers – Composer: Nguyễn Đức Trung

Author: Mai Mai

On a mild November morning, with soft golden sunlight and a gentle, cool breeze, I found myself reminiscing about the days when I was a young student in a rural village. It was a time when many parents wished their children could quit school to help with farm work.

It was around mid-winter, when the cold cut through everything, that we eagerly anticipated visiting our teachers. We were excited not just out of love for our teachers, but also because the day meant running around with friends, passing bouquets of flowers in all colors and sizes to bring to our teachers.

Aside from flowers, we never gave our teachers anything else. No one told us to. Our parents were too busy struggling to make ends meet, and respect for teachers was expressed in the humble way of the poor. Even if we had money, in our poor village there was nothing to buy for teachers.

The flowers we gave were mismatched, colorful, and carefree. We didn’t buy them because no one sold flowers. As Teacher’s Day approached, we decided that each of us would find a few flowers. The type didn’t matter, just as long as they were flowers.

On the morning of November 20th, we gathered at one friend’s house. Each of us contributed a few flowers from our garden or picked them along the way, sometimes even taking a few from a neighbor’s yard or the elderly villagers’ gardens.

The bouquet was a mix of flowers: bright marigolds, fragrant velvet roses, tiny purple chrysanthemums, and even red cockscomb flowers as vibrant as a rooster’s comb.

And that wasn’t all. Amid the chaotic, mismatched bouquet, there were also a few white lilies... and even now, whenever I think of them, my eyes well up with emotion.

And yet, we thought our bouquet was perfect. I loved those flowers just as much as my friends did. We fought and argued over who would hold the bouquet. As we walked down the road, we passed the flowers from one to another. Some of us walked barefoot, in torn pants, but we were all happy, as if we were attending a festival.

Our teachers were just as happy to see us and greeted us warmly. They accepted the humble bouquets with gratitude, never showing any disappointment or displeasure at the clumsy, awkward gifts we brought.

My teacher, though poor, had a tidy home. She pulled out chairs for us to sit and offered us bananas. She must have known we would visit, so she had prepared in advance. She kindly asked if we had eaten cassava rice at home, or what we usually had for lunch. Occasionally, I noticed her eyes blink, and for a brief moment, they seemed moist, but then she smiled again...

Now, students still visit me on Teacher’s Day, giving me flowers—beautiful, carefully arranged bouquets. Every time I receive flowers, I am deeply touched, and my mind drifts back to the bouquets we gave our teachers long ago.

My teachers are now old. Some have passed away, but the memories of those difficult times and the bond between teacher and student will forever remain in our hearts.

Author: Yến Bùi

(Dedicated to the Teachers)

She loved autumn, but not for the same reasons others did. She didn’t wait for the season to arrive just to feel the cool breeze or to get lost in the wistful sadness that the falling golden leaves bring. Nor did she revel in the crispness of the season, with the sky clear and the trees gently swaying in the wind!

She loved autumn for the busy days it brought, for the excitement of immersing herself in pages filled with emotions. She thrived on the eager, bright-eyed children in her classroom, and on the fresh scent of newly printed lesson plans. Her mind was buzzing with ideas from the scorching summer, ideas that had simmered during the long, hot days. She walked to the podium each day with soft determination, her heart full of passion and love for teaching.

It has been twelve autumns since the first time I met her. I remember the day clearly, when she softly greeted us: “Hello, my dear students! Congratulations on being the victors! We will continue this journey together. Are you ready?” None of us dared to respond aloud, but we all felt like she was a second mother to us. And that, too, was in autumn!

I could see the autumn in her face, in her gentle, serene expression. I never saw her smile brightly, but we all admired the warmth in her eyes during class. It wasn’t that her eyes were dreamy, but there was something soothing about them. Her eyes glistened when a student answered correctly, and they shone with love when she taught us about literature. Her gaze became thoughtful whenever she saw a lazy student, and at times, her eyes glistened with unshed tears after reading a poem or an emotional essay written by a student. She often spoke to us about the poetry of Xuân Quỳnh and Xuân Diệu, teaching us to love life and be compassionate through simple lessons. And through her continuous battle against persistent coughing, she would press on, refusing to let it stop her teaching. Honestly, we only learned about her life through her endless coughing (because she never spoke about herself). Like we never questioned why autumn was so beautiful yet also melancholic! We secretly called her ‘Autumn Maiden.’ (Just among ourselves, because we liked it!)

Now, twelve autumns later, we return to our old school with memories in our hearts, searching for our Autumn Maiden amidst the changes. But she is no longer there. The cruel throat cancer took her away the previous autumn.

Teacher, we stand silent, frozen, amidst the happy laughter and chatter of the new school year...

Outside the school, the golden leaves still fall sparsely, the sunlight gently caresses the tree trunks, and the breeze tenderly brushes the leaves. The children still wear new clothes, their belts neatly tied...

And it feels as though the Autumn Maiden is still here, gently walking through the halls, watching the students’ clear-eyed gazes directed toward the blackboard, full of excitement and eagerness. In the air, there’s the fresh scent of white, clean paper, and the budding ideas of creativity taking root. I silently wish that, wherever she may be, she knows we will always remember her words:

“Living is about giving, not just receiving.”

Author: Khánh Phượng Vũ

Every time November arrives, especially on the day dedicated to honoring teachers, all my school memories flood back. It’s the day we reflect on what teachers have done for us. I recall their words of advice, the encouraging pats on the back, and sometimes the stern reprimands when we made mistakes.

Teachers are the ones who give their love unconditionally to their students, even to the ones who might have driven them to frustration, the ones who were sent out of class or maybe even suspended for a week.

They are the ones who endure all the chaos caused by students, and yet, they are the rescuers for those who are bullied. Teachers are like idols to their students, or perhaps second parents.

Teachers were the ones who taught me how to write my first letters, and only later did I realize the depth of their care. They didn’t just teach us how to write; they were shaping our characters, one letter at a time. They stayed up late rewriting essays to convey their feedback, sometimes just writing 'your analysis is too shallow' in red ink, all while pouring their hearts into it. Everything they did was to ensure that we, their students, would become better, wiser, and more capable.

I remember the 20th of November from years ago, a time when I begged my mother to buy a gift to give to the teacher, but the real struggle was always having her accompany me. I was too shy to go alone, and I just wanted to give a gift like everyone else. Back then, our gifts were simple – shampoo, seasoning powder, milk, notebooks, or pens. If we were from wealthier families, we might give fabric to help teachers make their own teaching outfits. As I grew older, I started buying gifts for teachers on my own, but every time I handed them over, I was nervous. Even though I saw my teachers every day at school, meeting them alone made me freeze. I would just rush in, hand the gift to the teacher, and blurt out a quick, "Happy Teachers' Day!" before running out. And of course, the teacher would call me back to sit and chat, but I’d only last for five minutes before excusing myself. Even the next day, I wouldn’t dare face them.

When I reached high school, Teachers' Day felt more like a relaxed holiday. Teachers would usually skip the quizzes, and we no longer had to anxiously await the usual lesson checks. Sometimes we’d just chat casually and not even have to attend that class. It was often a time when the class would present flowers to the teachers, and the day would be over. But for teachers, the joy wasn’t just about receiving flowers and gifts. The real happiness came from seeing how their students had grown. The most fulfilling part of being a teacher is knowing that all their efforts, all the hard work, led to the success of their students. That is the pride and greatest joy in a teacher’s life.

I don’t know what your Teachers’ Day is like, but for me, it’s always filled with emotions. Even though I work far away and can’t visit my teachers, I always feel their presence. When I call them, even before I say my name, they recognize me right away. I feel so happy, and sometimes I even cry. Despite all my mischievousness and antics in school, they remember me fondly and laugh, saying, "The class troublemaker, where are you now? Are you doing well? Next time, remember to visit me!" After so many years and so many students, my teachers still remember me, and that proves how much love and care they give to their students, even if they had to be strict at times. And I believe everyone can feel this. After all, without these teachers, could we be where we are today, reading these words?

As I sit here writing, I remember the mischief I caused, and I wonder how I could have done such things. But as the saying goes, 'The worst troublemakers are the students.' Still, I hope that as Teachers' Day approaches, we all take a moment to visit our teachers, if possible. They won’t forget us. If you can’t visit, at least take a few minutes to make a phone call. Don’t just post a picture on social media with a short message: 'Happy Teachers' Day, hope you have a wonderful day.' It’s so much more meaningful to show we care.

Thank you to all the teachers who have guided me from the very beginning, teaching me manners and shaping my character. I offer my deepest respect, love, and gratitude to all the educators who made me who I am today. I wish them all good health and happiness, so they can continue nurturing future generations.

Collected by

The night is so still! Everything seems to fade into the quiet darkness. Even the distant chirping of insects startles the mind. Waves of emotions, both joy and sorrow, surge through me like a torrent. I sit here, writing these words, deeply devoted to you, mother: My first teacher!

You gave birth to me in the middle of a snowy winter, far from home, in the bitter cold below zero. Alone, you faced the struggles of childbirth without the presence of family, with only my father by your side. When I cried for the first time as a baby girl, your heart overflowed with joy. You called me your little angel, overwhelmed with feelings beyond words.

Through countless struggles, you faced the difficult choice between your career and raising me. In the end, you chose me, with an unconditional love. You chose to have me, sacrificing time and career advancement to be with me. The result was that you returned home early, ahead of schedule.

Mother, do you know how incredibly happy I am that you chose me to be born? Yet, with my arrival, your life became even more burdensome and difficult. The first lesson I learned from you was the power of maternal love—how it can triumph over all material gains. Love, like a flame, once kindled, will forever burn brightly!

To me, you are not just a mother; you are my best friend, my greatest teacher. Whether it was simple stories you told, your small gestures, or your wise advice, everything you did was of profound significance to me. From the moment I was born, through every stage of growing up, the lessons you taught me have shaped who I am today. They remain my guiding light as I navigate through life.

You taught me to love our homeland through every lullaby, made me cherish the beautiful images in folk songs. Your stories—like those of Tam Cam and Thach Sanh—taught me moral values that guided me through childhood. From you, I also learned to love literature and the arts.

Mother, I still remember the first day I went to school. You rode your bicycle for nearly 10 kilometers to take me there. You told me that I must respect my teachers, be kind to my classmates, and study hard to become a useful person for society. I still remember the first letters you guided my hand to write on my blank notebook page.

You taught me how to eat, how to speak, how to wrap and unwrap, every small detail about how to behave towards others. Your love and care cannot be measured in words. I remember back when I was in middle school, preparing for a literature competition without any reference books, you borrowed books and carefully copied each page into a small notebook for me. That year, I won a prize—not the top one, but I could see the glint of pride in your eyes.

Life is not always as beautiful as dreams, nor as poetic as the verses in a song. I’ve stumbled and lost my way many times. But during those moments, you were always there beside me, lifting me up.

There was the time I failed my university entrance exam. All my hard work seemed to have been in vain, all my hopes seemed shattered. Yet, you encouraged me to try again, to start over. You saved every little bit of money, staying up nights sewing on an old machine, just so I could buy books to study for the exam again. Every time I held those books, I could feel your silent sacrifice, and my heart swelled with gratitude. You taught me the courage to do what needs to be done, to go places I’ve never been, and face failure. In the end, I succeeded!

There were times when I studied far from home, and your letters kept me going, filling me with strength and determination. You taught me how to cope with homesickness and how to embrace learning new things.

There were also times when I fell seriously ill, yet kept going to school while battling the illness, feeling like the future was bleak and uncertain. You taught me that life is finite, and in this vast world, I must cherish every moment of my existence.

And then, there was my first heartbreak, bringing with it tears and sorrow. You taught me that “nothing lasts forever.” I would find love again, someone who would truly cherish me, and I would continue my journey through life. You taught me how to love someone other than myself. You taught me to forget the bad, to focus on the good, to see the beauty in life and in every person. You reminded me that beyond the darkness, life is full of flowers and light!

Now, though I am grown and far from your embrace, standing on my own, every moment spent with you in the past remains special and irreplaceable. Those memories are treasures, etched in my heart, and they will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Thank you, mother, for bringing me into this world. I am forever grateful for your sacrifices in raising and educating me. You are the teacher who imparted lessons beyond the pages of books. I want to shout out: “Mother, I love you so much!” And the image of you will always be cherished in my heart.

Author: Nguyễn Minh

I love autumn, because sugarcane tastes sweeter when the first cool breeze of the season arrives, because the clear, shimmering ponds reflect the calm and gentle image of the village girl, because the chrysanthemums and mustard flowers blanket the beloved countryside in golden hues! I often sit and talk with the old teacher about the dreams of youth, distant ambitions, and endless fantasies... I always liken this teacher to autumn in my heart! Sometimes I wonder, why does this teacher have such a strange sense of peace? How can he offer lessons as valuable as a vast field of golden flowers? How can his knowledge be as sweet as sugarcane in the early breeze? And then I understand that a person's worth is not defined by prestigious titles, nor is it equivalent to awards or medals! The true measure often lies in how those around them perceive them. The old teacher is quiet, but I know him well – Teacher Dong Ba Nghia, former Vice Principal of Lang Giang High School No. 3.

I remember the first time I returned to the school, back then – a naive, strong-willed student turned teacher, I was so excited! The whole world seemed to shrink in the happiness of being called “teacher”. The curious and unfamiliar gazes of others made me nervous, and I fumbled, unsure of which room to go to and what to say to the administration. I can never forget the image of the old teacher with his white hair, his warm smile, and his kind eyes greeting me, guiding me to the departments, asking about me, and complimenting me. After that day, as I prepared for my first day of teaching, I couldn’t sleep! Looking back, I felt like a child stepping into first grade, but thanks to the teacher’s praise, I grew fond of and proud of the profession I had chosen.

The following days, and now seven years later, having worked with the beloved old teacher, we cherish his silver hair. In reality, he is someone who understands life, is tolerant, generous, and virtuous. He was responsible for school discipline and facilities, and so we rarely saw the troublesome students “not following his lead”. But amazingly, even the rebellious, rowdy teens, who often looked at us with unfriendly glares, were respectful and close to him! One day, while chatting with the teacher, we asked him the secret to handling troubled students. I was stunned when I learned that his only “secret” was his deep understanding of the students’ psychology, his ability to teach by example, and his gentle encouragement that awakened the goodness within them. When I first joined the school, I was assigned to be the homeroom teacher for class 11 A10 (2013-2016), a class with many students who had poor discipline. Lacking experience and being rigid in dealing with violations, I ran into many problems. Thankfully, this old teacher was always a solid support, quietly helping me from behind the scenes. He would meet the students privately, encourage them, introduce them to my strengths so they would gradually warm up to me, and then he would invite me to chat like a “mature student”. Through his advice, I started listening more, smiling more with my students. Gradually, I found myself loving my “little devils” and having more confidence. The students began to listen to me more. This became my first successful class, and they even dared to organize an event to show their affection for me before major holidays. I understood that behind me was the old teacher, the glue that held everything together, a lesson for both the young students and the older ones like me. When former students returned to visit me and shared funny stories about their school days, it always revolved around the old teacher. Tuyen, Phuc, The, Hoang Anh... these boys, often in trouble, saw him as a father figure, but sometimes said he was like a friend, someone with whom they could easily share everything.

Occasionally, during breaks, we would visit the teacher’s office. A little mental boost, a few stories about literature and life from him, and sometimes a small candy or instant coffee... how warm and precious those moments were! I’ve spent five years feeling the laughter, love, and appreciation from my colleagues, especially from this old teacher. Everyone loved him, calling him “uncle” or “grandfather”... or even jokingly, “The One Who Never Gets Angry”, “The Elder with Silver Hair”, “The One with the Purest Smile”. These affections were not something every school administrator received. I recall stories about President Ho Chi Minh, his simplicity, humility, and approachability... perhaps our old teacher has followed the moral example of the great leader!

In the blink of an eye, almost 40 years of dedication to education passed by. Suddenly, at the age of 60, the old teacher needs rest. Looking back on a long journey through the ups and downs of education, this teacher never stopped striving, contributing, and renewing himself. Facing three changes in the curriculum, major educational reforms, and many different work environments and positions, Teacher Dong Ba Nghia earned the love and trust of colleagues and generations of students. From a young student passionate about physics, he went to remote Cao Bang to teach, then returned to his hometown of Bac Giang, where Son Dong and Lang Giang forever imprinted on his footsteps. After over 10 years at Lang Giang High School No. 1 and another 10 at Lang Giang High School No. 2, I didn’t know much about this old teacher, but I remember that one day my former literature teacher, Ms. Lien, shared stories about her dear friend, Dong Ba Nghia. From those stories, I felt the sincerity and gentleness of this teacher. Back then, I didn’t know who he was, but I could sense the moral beauty and unique leadership of this teacher, which I now believe is “educating through love”. A gentle, humble, and sincere person, he became the admiration of every teacher at Lang Giang High School No. 3.

After nearly 40 years of dedication to education, generations of students still fondly visit him on Teacher’s Day. Though the old teacher has retired, he continues to support many teachers in need of guidance. Now, he enjoys his time with his small family but still performs acts of kindness, such as teaching how to fix electronics or explaining physics concepts and practical applications to kids. This teacher remains as calm as autumn in our hearts, in the stories we share whenever we meet – a model of “education through love and sharing”!

Author: Nguyen Thi Anh – Literature Teacher at Lang Giang High School No. 3