Top 9 Most Meaningful and Inspiring Stories of Class Management in Primary Schools

Respected Judges,

Esteemed delegates and fellow teachers!

My name is Nguyễn Thị Hiền, and I currently work at the school ............ Today, I would like to share a story that has been deeply connected to my journey in class management.

Comenius once said: 'Under the sun, no profession is as noble as teaching.' Yet, alongside the white chalk and blackboards where we impart knowledge to our students, there are still the worries and concerns of those of us in class management. The story I wish to share with all of you is a memory of a troubled student who left a profound impression on me, one that I still cannot forget to this day.

Dear respected audience! I was born in ……….. and now live in……… so every day I have to travel over twenty kilometers to reach my workplace. Quang Trung School, where I work, is located in ………, a mountainous area at the westernmost edge of the ……… district, where the local economy still faces many challenges. Most of the residents work far away, so there is little attention paid to the education of their children. Since I started working here, I have continuously managed classes …., class …. But in the school year ………. I was assigned to manage class …, and at first, I was quite uncertain and anxious, as this was a final-year class, and the students at this age have very unique psychological characteristics...

The class I manage has thirty-two students, including eighteen boys and fourteen girls. Many of them are orphans facing very difficult circumstances. However, they all demonstrate a strong sense of unity and good academic performance. Despite this, I was particularly struck by Nguyễn Quốc Lanh. Looking into his eyes, I saw a distant loneliness...

Though Lanh came from a well-off family, he lacked the love and care of his parents. His parents worked abroad in China, only returning home a few times a year. Lanh lived with his elderly, sickly grandparents, who were not able to care for him as he went through his changing years. In the year Lanh was in …., he started skipping school and engaging in bad habits like playing games, gambling, and drinking, which led to his average conduct grade at the end of the year.

In the school year of class ….., Lanh continued to skip school and break class rules. I called his guardians several times, and when his grandparents were sick, I even visited their home. I spoke to Lanh at length, and after that, he tried harder, attended school more regularly, broke fewer rules, and even started participating more in class discussions and school sports activities. I remember one time during break, Lanh was playing with friends when his shirt tore. The next day, he wore that same white shirt, with dark, uneven stitching all over it, which made me feel sorry for him. I gently asked:

- Who sewed your shirt, Lanh?

Lanh hesitated before answering:

- I did!

- Where is your grandmother? Why didn’t she sew it for you?

- My grandmother is in the hospital and hasn’t returned yet.

- Then, bring your shirt to my office, and I’ll sew it for you!

Lanh smiled and replied:

- My grandmother will be back this afternoon, teacher. With that, he quickly said goodbye and left, and I watched him go, feeling a pang of sympathy.

In late November, Lanh started missing school more frequently. Through discussions with his classmates, I learned that he had started hanging out with a bad crowd and was being led into gambling and other harmful activities. I asked the class parent committee to help visit his house, where his grandparents tearfully told us, 'Now, he doesn’t listen to me. His parents have been away for too long. I am sick and can’t move, so all we can rely on are you and his teachers.'

After much persuasion, Lanh promised to attend school more regularly and complete his assignments. However, after a week, things returned to how they were before. He would skip lessons and not do his homework, and on days I wasn’t in class, he would attend but sit in silence, refusing to participate. It seemed like he was avoiding me. I learned from other students that Lanh was considering quitting school and was upset about something at home.

One rainy Tuesday morning, although it was a holiday, I decided to make the long journey to school to speak with Lanh. He was still attending, carrying only a single notebook in his bag, and staring out the window with a distant, sad look. I asked him to follow me to the school’s Youth Union room. Lanh sat silently, not looking up. I gently asked:

- You promised me you’d attend school seriously and make an effort. What’s causing this, Lanh?

Lanh remained silent, his eyes vacant, not daring to look at me. When I opened his notebook, a photo of a woman in her thirties fell out. On the back of the photo, Lanh had written: 'Mom, I’m leaving…' At that moment, his eyes welled up with tears, and they began to fall like rain. I tried to keep my emotions in check as I asked:

- How long has it been since your mother came home?

Lanh choked out, 'It’s been over a year.'

I asked again:

- Has she called recently?

Lanh didn’t answer, only shaking his head. At that moment, I didn’t feel angry with him anymore but deeply felt for him. He was missing maternal love while his parents were still alive. I gently patted his head and comforted him: 'I know you miss your mom very much. But it must be very hard for your parents to work so far away. No mother in the world would want to be apart from her child.' He cried even harder. I continued, 'As a boy, why are you so weak? If your mother knew you were like this, she would be very sad. You have to try hard in school so your parents can be happy, do their work, and come back to you and your brother soon! Whenever you feel sad or need someone to talk to, you can treat me like a sister or a friend. I’ll listen and share with you. Hang in there, Lanh, I believe you can succeed!' Lanh wiped away his tears with both hands, and as he looked at me, there was still a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

The next morning, as I was heading to the staff room, Lanh suddenly appeared out of nowhere, startling me. 'Teacher, last night my mom called and said she’ll be home in a week!' Lanh said joyfully before running off. I couldn’t help but feel happy for him, and I felt as though I was sharing in his joy. From that day on, Lanh attended school more regularly, worked hard, and actively participated in class activities. When there was a competition, he was always the first to volunteer. He was recognized several times by his classmates. Whenever his parents sent gifts or called, he would tell me about it. By the end of the semester, he had worked hard and achieved an 'advanced student' award. The troubled student at the beginning of the year was no longer there.

At the end of the school year, I presented three gifts to the three best students in the class, and I also gave an additional gift to Lanh – the student who had made the most progress. He received the gift with tear-filled eyes, reminding me of the student who once wanted to quit school because he missed his mom. Every time I think of that moment, I feel a deep, indescribable emotion. I wish that all mothers in the world would always stay close, protect, and care for their children because to children, their mother is the strongest shoulder, the one they can rely on for their entire life.

Mother means light,

A lamp lit with the blood of the heart,

Mother means forever,

Giving without asking for anything in return.

Even when grown, we are still our mother’s child,

And throughout life, a mother’s heart follows us.

As a class teacher, I also pledge to always be like a mother or a dear sister to my students, so that a smile of love will always bloom on their faces.

That is the end of my story. I wish the judges and all teachers good health and happiness.

Thank you very much.

The journey of my career in nurturing young minds has been filled with countless moments of joy and sorrow, each accompanied by a range of emotions. However, one recent memory that I can never forget is the image of my little student Hồng Vy. This memory inspired me to write the story titled: "The Pitiful Student."

In the school year 2014–2015, I was assigned to be the homeroom teacher for class 2B. After receiving the class, I took great care to learn about the family backgrounds of each student and followed their academic progress closely, administering self-assessment tests to identify the students' levels. Hồng Vy was one of those with a particularly difficult family situation and had poor grades in both subjects. In the following lessons, I paid extra attention to her, always calling her up to the board to check and guide her through assignments. In the beginning, she was quick to respond, but after a week, then two, and then three weeks, not only had she made no progress, but her condition seemed to worsen—her actions became sluggish, and her memory deteriorated further. One day, I called her to the board to solve a problem, but she stood there, frozen, silent. No matter how much I encouraged her, she wouldn't answer my questions. Frustrated, I raised my voice: "Why aren’t you answering? You should respond, whether it's right or wrong!" Yet, she remained silent, and my anger grew.

Looking at her, I saw her face dirty, her clothes shabby. I continued in my anger:

"Vy, did you forget to wash your face this morning?"

The whole class burst into laughter.

Meow, meow, the cat... Ha, ha, ha...

Vy lowered her head, tears welling up, and answered through sobs.

- Yes... Yes... Teacher, I... I woke up late and didn’t have time to wash my face!

I softened my tone and told her to return to her seat.

I continued with the lesson, still angry at her.

The class ended, and Vy came to class the next day as usual. That evening, as I reflected, I realized that Vy was more pitiful than deserving of my anger. The next morning, when I arrived at class and saw the empty space where she usually sat, I was momentarily worried but soon regained composure and sought to understand the cause. Her mother told me Vy had cried and begged not to go to school. I asked her mother to bring Vy to school.

I greeted her and asked, "Why don’t you want to go to school?"

She didn’t answer. I thought she might be embarrassed about yesterday’s incident. Suddenly, I felt guilty. I gently asked, "Are you tired?"

- Vy remained silent.

- Please speak, I won’t punish you.

Suddenly, she broke down in tears, saying: "Teacher, my head hurts. I don’t want to go to school, but everyone keeps forcing me."

I hugged her and gently asked, "Where does it hurt?"

- It hurts here! It really hurts, Teacher!

Seeing this, I called for Ms. Hằng to discuss Vy’s condition. I encouraged her to take Vy to the hospital, but Ms. Hằng smiled and said, "I’ve already taken her to the hospital. The doctors said it’s just bronchitis; it’s nothing serious. She’s probably just lazy to study."

Days passed, and Vy still refused to come to school. The family had to try different ways to get her to attend. Sometimes she would only attend half a day, and other times she would leave after recess. Given the situation, I had to call her mother to meet with the school administration to find a solution. The teachers encouraged the family to take her to the hospital, but her mother replied, "Our family is very poor, Teacher. How can we afford constant medical visits?" My heart ached for the family’s struggles—her father was always drunk, and her mother was seriously ill. Moreover, knowing that my student was enduring severe headaches made my heart ache. I worked with the school administration to organize a fundraising initiative among teachers and students to support her family.

The next morning, as I arrived at school, the students hurriedly told me, "Teacher, Vy is vomiting blood!"

I rushed to the class and saw Vy’s mother standing at the door, and in front of Vy was a pool of blood. I quickly cleaned it up and urged Ms. Hằng to take her to the hospital. But because of the lack of money, she hesitated. That night, Vy fainted, and her family rushed her to the district hospital. There, she was transferred to a higher-level hospital after doctors diagnosed her with a brain tumor. Her mother was devastated.

She borrowed money from relatives and neighbors, and with the help of the school, Vy and her mother went to Hanoi for treatment. The tumor was too large, and Vy had to undergo surgery. I was heartbroken to learn her condition was worsening. I wrote an article for the Dân trí newspaper to call for donations to help her family. Many generous people from across the country responded.

Every day, I called to encourage her. Despite her pain, she always asked to speak to me on the phone. Her mother told me, "Whenever the phone rings, Vy asks, 'Is that Teacher Hiền? Please let me talk to her!'"

After her surgery, Vy had to stay in the hospital for an extended period. The doctors did their best, but one late winter day, she passed away, leaving her family and everyone who knew her with a deep sense of loss.

She is gone, but my heart is heavy with sorrow because, if I had been more gentle with her when she didn’t know her lessons or when she took time off without explanation, she wouldn't have felt so ashamed in front of her classmates.

But at least I realized my mistake and helped her as best as I could before she passed away.

After Vy’s passing, I became more mindful in my interactions with students, always striving to understand and connect with them on a deeper level.

Dear colleagues, there are some pains that leave scars on the heart, scars that never fully heal. But there are also pains that teach us to cherish the values of life.

Through this story, I want to send a message to my fellow educators: Love, be compassionate, be close to your students, and share with them as a second mother at school. Don’t be quick to scold them before understanding the reasons behind their actions.

She’s gone, but now I understand her better

And my heart is filled with love and longing

I miss her now, lying in her final resting place

Through rain and sunshine, I wonder, is it cold where you are, my dear?

Every morning, when I look at her empty seat,

I am silent, my heart aching with pain,

And I ask myself, why is life so cruel?

Why did such a young shoot wither so soon?

Written by: Nguyễn Thị Thu Hiền

As a teacher, it’s inevitable that throughout our teaching careers, we accumulate countless memories that leave indelible marks, some of which may accompany us for life. Personally, after more than six years in the profession, I’ve experienced many ups and downs, but the most profound memory for me is that of a student from the village of Huong Dinh, in Quang Loc commune, in a class that I was responsible for. The story I wish to share today is called: “The Pitiful Student.”

That year, I was assigned as the homeroom teacher and to teach class 4A. The class had 28 students.

In general, the class was obedient, respectful, and lively. Through teaching and learning from the previous teacher, I knew that Quoc Anh was an energetic student who loved to participate in class activities. Recently, however, I noticed he seemed tired, with clothes dirty from mud, and he would often doze off during class. He wasn't focusing on the lessons. One day during math class, even though I knew he loved the subject, he dozed off. I noticed him, and his classmate called out:

- Quoc Anh, Quoc Anh, the teacher’s here!

I walked over to him and said:

- Go wash your face and come back to class.

He listened and went to wash his face, then returned to class. I resumed my lesson. During break time, instead of going to the teacher's office like usual, I stayed in class to talk to him.

- Quoc Anh, why have you been falling asleep in class recently?

He hesitated, then finally answered:

- Teacher, I wake up early every morning to catch eels. After catching them, I sell them and then come to school.

- Where are your parents?

- My mother works far in the South, and my father usually does construction work, but because of his weak health and frequent drinking, no one hires him anymore. I live with my father, my grandmother, who is old and has poor eyesight, and my younger sister who is five years old.

Hearing this, I felt immense sympathy for him. The next day, I visited his home. There, I found that he lived in a small, old house. The home lacked the nurturing touch of a mother, and everything was scattered around carelessly. His grandmother, though nearly blind, greeted me with pride, telling me about her grandson.

I asked:

- Why doesn't Quoc Anh’s mother stay home and help? Why does she work so far away?

- To be honest, teacher, last year Quoc Anh’s father fell ill and had to go to the hospital, which cost a lot of money. So, Quoc Anh’s mother went to work in the South to earn money to pay for the bills. Sometimes, she sends money home. Out of love for his parents, Quoc Anh still goes out to catch eels to help his family. I’ve told him to focus on his studies and stop catching eels, but he doesn’t listen. I need your help to convince him.

After visiting his home, I blamed myself for not understanding the situation of my students better. I wondered:

- Why didn’t I know about the difficult situation of the most needy student in my class until now?

Countless questions flooded my mind, making it impossible to sleep. The next day, I bought Quoc Anh a new set of clothes and encouraged the students in the class to contribute books, stationery, and learning materials.

Every day, I spent time getting closer to him, encouraging him to improve in his studies.

I reported his special circumstances to the school, and he received more attention from the school, the parent association, and other organizations. He no longer needed to catch eels every day. As a result, his academic performance improved significantly. He also became more sociable with his classmates. In particular, during the first semester exam, he achieved high marks, especially in math. He was praised in the mid-term assembly.

Then, one day at the beginning of spring, when the warm rays of the season began to shine, we were having a Vietnamese literature lesson about trees. Suddenly, a man rushed into the classroom. I stopped my lesson, sensing something bad. He greeted me and said:

- Please let me take Quoc Anh home early. This morning, Quoc Anh’s father went to spray pesticide on the rice field, but because of his poor health, he collapsed. They took him to the hospital, but it was too late. He passed away at 9:20 AM.

I froze. The class went silent out of sympathy, and Quoc Anh burst into tears and ran out of the classroom, forgetting to say goodbye to me and the class as usual.

The next day, the school principal, teachers, and I visited Quoc Anh’s family to offer condolences. Seeing Quoc Anh and his younger sister sitting beside their father’s coffin, crying uncontrollably, was heartbreaking. My heart ached deeply. A week later, Quoc Anh returned to class, looking lost and withdrawn. The class and I tried to comfort him, and every month, I would use a portion of my small salary to buy him a gift as encouragement. Slowly, he began to heal from his grief.

Now, Quoc Anh is in the 8th grade. Every year on November 20th, he and his classmates come to my house to celebrate Teacher's Day. He shares stories about his family’s life. Although things have improved and his family isn’t as poor as before, the pain of losing his father still saddens him.

He told me:

- My mother doesn’t work in the South anymore. She now stays home and raises animals. This year, she’s raising two sows, 25 laying ducks, and many chickens. As for me, I’ve been selected for the district math and chemistry competition.

He promised me that he would keep trying hard to make his mother forget the hardships she endured. Hearing him speak made me happy for him, and my heart felt warm.

The story I’m sharing happened a while ago, but it remains a lesson and experience that has taught me: Every homeroom teacher should understand their students more, offer them sincere love, and ensure their childhood is filled with laughter and happiness.

Author: Vo Thi Hue

For as long as I can remember, I dreamed of becoming a teacher, and that dream eventually came true. Throughout my career, I've encountered many students, but none left a deeper impact than Hương, the young student from years ago. Today, I would like to share the story titled 'The New Shirt.'

One evening, as I was pulling into my house, a young man rushed out and hugged me. After a moment of surprise, he said, 'It’s me, Hương, Lê Viết Hương, the student from class 5C, do you remember me?' It was Hương, my former student, and after 20 years, I finally met him again. I suddenly remembered.

Back then, I was 22, newly assigned to teach at Hương Trạch Primary School. I was tasked with being the homeroom teacher for class 5C. In the early days, I struggled with the mischievous behavior of many students, especially Hương, though I couldn’t remember all the details. But one event is forever etched in my memory:

It was my birthday, and my boyfriend, now my husband, had given me a beautiful white shirt. On Monday morning, I excitedly wore it to class. As usual, I began reviewing the previous lesson, and when I called on Hương, he hadn’t done his homework, so I made him stand. While I was checking another student’s work, a classmate spoke up:

- Teacher, Hương spilled ink on your shirt.

Looking down, I saw dark ink stains all over my shirt. I couldn't hold back my anger and scolded Hương harshly before asking him to leave the classroom. Without hesitation, he grabbed his bag and ran out of the school gate. The next day, and the day after, he didn’t show up for class. I began to worry. I asked the students, and they told me Hương had quit school, claiming he hated how I always punished him.

That afternoon, after school, I hurried to Hương’s house. I was shocked by the sight: Hương's father was drunk, yelling and chasing his children with a stick. I quickly took Hương and his sibling to a neighbor’s house. There, the neighbor shared the difficult circumstances Hương was facing. His father, once a hard-working man, had borrowed a large sum for overseas work but was deceived, returning home with heavy debts. This led to a deep despair, and he turned to alcohol. When drunk, he would often abuse Hương and his mother. Hương’s mother worked in town and only came home once a month. With no parental care, Hương’s studies deteriorated, and his behavior became rude and rough.

Seeing this, my heart ached. I told Hương:

- I’m sorry, please return to school tomorrow.

- I’m not going back to school. Everyone is the same - he answered bluntly.

I returned home feeling sorrowful. The next day, Hương still didn’t come to class.

The following day, I visited his home again and tried to convince him to come back to school.

I said:

- I understand now, and I’m sorry for not fully understanding your situation before. Come back to school, I will help you. I also visited his father, who admitted his mistakes and promised to encourage Hương. I gave his father the last of my money to buy rice for the family. He took the money, tears in his eyes, and thanked me. As I was leaving, I told Hương:

- More than ever, I hope you will come back to school tomorrow. Your classmates in 5C are waiting for you.

The next morning, Hương showed up:

- I’m sorry, may I come back to class today?

Overjoyed, I hugged him and said:

- You’ve done well!

- I’m sorry about the shirt.

- No, I’m not angry anymore.

The lesson that day went smoothly as I was filled with happiness. In the following days, I encouraged the class to help Hương, and I frequently visited his family. Sometimes on Sundays, I took him to visit his mother. Afterward, his mother returned home and sold vegetables at the local market. From that point on, Hương began to change. He became more respectful and diligent, and at night, he would come to my apartment for extra lessons. We became close, and he shared everything with me. At the end of the first semester, he was ranked as a good student. By the end of the year, he was recognized as an excellent student. The following year, he said goodbye to me, promising to continue his studies in the South, and I never saw him again.

Today's meeting was a surprise for me. It had been 20 years since then. Now, Hương is a doctor working at a hospital in Dak Lak Province. When we said our goodbyes, he gave me a gift: a beautiful, stylish white shirt and a short letter: 'Thank you, teacher. Because of you, I am who I am today. I know this shirt may no longer suit you, but I believe that what you did for me will always be relevant to every generation of students.'

As I read those words, tears streamed down my face.

Above all, those of us who steer the ships of knowledge need love and compassion. For it is love that ignites the flame of care, ensuring that every student enjoys a childhood full of innocence and happiness.

Author: Nguyễn Thị Thu Hà

That year, I was assigned by the school board to teach and be the homeroom teacher for class 5C. Starting with a new class felt overwhelming. The first week passed by quickly. After some investigation, I discovered that many students in class 5C followed the Christian faith, and most of them were very polite and diligent. However, among them, one student, Lan, caught my attention. She was very intelligent but rarely participated in class activities and often missed school. There were times when she seemed distracted, and her homework was incomplete. Her face was always sad, and she didn’t play or joke with anyone. One recess, I approached her gently and asked if anything was wrong. Before I could say anything, her large, dark eyes were filled with tears. I noticed that she was trying to hide her bruised hands. I softly placed her small hands in mine and asked:

- Why are your hands like this?

Lan sobbed, her words choked with tears:

- My father... hits me, teacher.

I was struck by a wave of sorrow. How could my little student endure such pain? From that day on, I made sure to learn more about Lan’s circumstances. She came from a Catholic family, was the eldest of five children, and lived in poverty. Her father, an alcoholic, would often beat her mother and Lan when he was drunk. At just ten years old, she had to help her mother survive and support the family. Seeing her tears made my heart ache even more, as she had to face so much hardship for someone so young.

At night, I couldn’t sleep, the image of Lan’s bruises haunted me, driving me to find a solution. I met with the parish priest to ask for assistance. Days passed, but Lan didn’t return to class. On the fourth day, I was relieved to see her back, but my hope quickly faded when I saw the fresh bruises on her face. I thought of her future and became even more determined to help. I gathered the school board, the parent committee, and the neighborhood’s social welfare committee to visit Lan’s family. After a heartfelt conversation, her father fell silent and didn’t say much. We left, filled with hope that a better life awaited Lan. Eventually, her father, touched by our care, reduced his drinking, and the family life improved. Lan was able to attend school regularly and on time. By the end of that school year, she had become an excellent student. On her graduation day, she hugged me tightly, tears in her eyes, and said:

- Teacher, I want to be a teacher like you when I grow up.

Five years later, on November 20th, I received a surprising gift – a bright red coral flower. It was from Lan, my once little student. Holding the gift in my hands, I felt a surge of joy and emotion as I remembered her. She had risen above the hardships like a coral flower flourishing amidst the stormy sea. I felt proud and deeply grateful for my teaching career.

Through this story, I have come to understand that as a homeroom teacher, our duties go beyond following the rules. We must have empathy for the challenging circumstances our students face and seek ways to help them with kindness and care, guiding them to overcome obstacles and grow stronger in life. Only then will our students remember us with love when they leave school, cherishing their old school and teachers, as the song "Phượng Buồn" expresses.

Throughout my teaching career, I’ve accumulated countless memories as each school year comes to a close. However, the memory of Mai Phuong, a student from my class, has left an indelible mark that I will never forget.

In the 2016-2017 school year, I was assigned to be the homeroom teacher of class 2G. After receiving the class, I made sure to thoroughly understand the background of each student. Mai Phuong was a girl with a particularly difficult situation. Her father was suffering from a serious illness. During lessons and playtime, I always made sure to encourage and stay close to her. She played with her classmates, joined in the activities, and participated in school events with confidence.

At first, she was quick-witted, energetic, and confident in the tasks she performed. However, over time, I noticed a decline in her memory and focus during lessons. Occasionally, she seemed distracted while I was teaching.

After class one day, I reflected on what I had done for her, and I couldn’t pinpoint any mistakes. So why was she acting this way? The next morning, when I asked questions to the class, the first student I looked at was Mai Phuong. She looked tired, with a messy face and hair (an image that seemed familiar to me in recent days). I went over to her and asked:

- Mai Phuong, did you wake up late this morning?

- Is your mother... not at home? Where’s your father?

She didn’t answer. I suspected that something was going on with her family. I felt a sense of guilt over the situation. Wiping her tears, I gently said: "If something’s wrong, you can talk to me." At that moment, Mai Phuong choked on her words:

- Teacher, my father is in the hospital, and my mother is with him. I’m here alone at home.

My heart ached for her situation. She was so young, yet had to stay home alone, taking care of everything in the house by herself.

I, along with the student council of the class, made plans to support Mai Phuong. Every day, during lessons, her classmates helped her with any material she hadn’t understood.

During this time, at the end of each school day, the family allowed her to stay for an hour, and I assisted her with lessons she had trouble with or hadn’t completed at home.

In a short time, she made remarkable progress. During class, she eagerly shared her answers with the class, and sometimes she would be the first to find the correct answer.

Her academic progress was closely monitored by me and her classmates. Her parents were deeply moved. Whenever they saw me, her mother would say: "If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know what to do! Thank you so much!"

As the school year drew to a close, Mai Phuong won first place in the Math and Vietnamese language competition between classes, and she even participated in a city-wide arts festival. At that moment, I felt a great relief, as if a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

This story, which may seem ordinary, was a significant lesson for me. It awakened my sense of responsibility and conscience as a homeroom teacher, reminding me never to be complacent in my work. Most importantly, it taught me that as a homeroom teacher, I must constantly understand my students' circumstances so I can empathize and offer support when they need it the most.

After more than 12 years of teaching, I have had the opportunity to learn and gain valuable experiences, especially in the role of homeroom teacher. The following story happened two years ago, but the memory of one student changed the way I viewed students. They had truly matured in ways I didn’t realize, and their character had been shaped long ago, while I still thought of them as children. The story goes like this:

In the 2012-2013 school year, my class was the 5th grade. I was assigned to teach a class with several students who were struggling, and the burden on my shoulders was to help them complete the curriculum before handing them over to secondary school teachers. I felt anxious and frustrated, wanting to push them to learn as much as possible. However, my pressure had little positive impact, as shown by the low scores in the first regular test. The school allowed us to hold a second parent-teacher meeting to collaborate between the family and the school. After that lesson, when I announced the parent meeting schedule and the bell rang signaling the end of the class, I picked up my bag and headed to the office to leave. As I walked halfway, I heard small footsteps running behind me, and a soft, timid voice followed:

- Teacher, may I talk to you for a moment?

I stopped, and the student was Kim Anh, one of my weaker students who was receiving extra help.

- I asked her what she needed.

She hesitated for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes, her words caught in her throat. I pressed her gently:

- What’s the matter? You can speak freely with me!

Kim Anh gathered her composure and whispered:

- Teacher, during the parent meeting this afternoon, could you tell my mother that I got an average score in Math and Vietnamese?

Kim Anh had failed to meet the expected scores in the first test. I wondered what her request was really about. I asked her:

- Why are you asking me to do that?

She replied:

I'm afraid my mother will be upset, and I promise I will try my best to improve.

Her words, coming from an 11-year-old student, made me feel as if I were talking to a peer. I promised her: I will think about it, consult with the principal, and if I can, I will help, but only if you work harder.

Later, I met with the vice-principal and discussed the situation. With her approval, I followed Kim Anh’s request and spoke with her parents, advising them gently and allowing Kim Anh extra learning time at home.

After the parent meeting, not only did Kim Anh improve, but so did her classmates. The thoughtful words and perspective from this student woke me up to the idea that students should be treated as friends, and I needed to encourage them to grow together. Since then, my class has consistently led all the school’s initiatives, thanks to my understanding of their psychology and treating them like friends or children to be close to. This creates an environment where they feel comfortable sharing and confiding in me. As a result, I was recognized as an excellent homeroom teacher by the school and represented the teachers of Nga Loc Primary School in today's competition.

Although this story seems simple, it has significantly changed my mindset and approach, leaving a lasting positive impression. Everyone, the kindness and understanding from teachers will greatly help students advance. If we can do that, our work as homeroom teachers will be successful.

Story written by: Đinh Thị Hương

Indeed! As educators, surely everyone has unforgettable memories with their students. Personally, I have more than 7 years of experience in the education field. While this period may not seem long, it has allowed me to gain valuable insights in teaching, especially in managing classes. Today, I am honored to share a story—an unforgettable memory from my journey as an educator. The story is called "The Lost Pen". I would like to begin now.

In the school year 20xx - 20xx, I was assigned to teach and manage Class 4A. The class was lively, and the students' abilities were relatively balanced, though there were still a few troubled ones. As such, aside from teaching knowledge, moral education was also very important.

It was the second day after the break, and when I entered the classroom, I saw a little girl sitting at the front crying uncontrollably. Seeing me, many hands were raised, all saying: “Teacher...! Teacher…!”. I gestured for the class to be quiet and invited the class leader to explain the situation. Tuấn Anh stood up respectfully and said: “Teacher, Trà My lost her fountain pen!” That year, the school had launched a campaign for “Beautiful Handwriting”, and over 10 students had purchased expensive pens to practice. I approached to comfort the girl and gently said: “Try looking one more time, maybe you’ll find it?” Trà My sadly replied: “I’ve looked over and over, but I can’t find it.” Trà My was an obedient and honest girl, and by her expression, I was sure she was not lying. To avoid disrupting the class's study time, I promised to help her find the pen later, but now the students should focus on their lessons.

After the lesson, I began investigating the matter.

I asked: “Which students stayed in the classroom during the break?”

Three hands were raised, so I asked further: “Did you notice anything unusual?”

I invited one student to speak: “Teacher, we saw Lan standing near Trà My’s desk for a while!”

Another student also wanted to speak: “Teacher, last year in Class 3, Lan took someone’s belongings twice!”

The rest of the class chimed in: “Yes, Teacher, that’s right!”

Many eyes turned toward Lan, making her embarrassed as she lowered her head. At that moment, I wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed because of last year’s incident or if she had taken the pen.

I approached Lan, gently saying: “In your studies, you’ve made a lot of effort, and I really admire you. I hope you won’t disappoint me. If what the others say is true, think carefully, and I promise you and the class will forgive you.”

Lan remained silent, only crying into her hands.

“Class, remember! I’ve often reminded you that taking someone else’s things is a bad habit. If you want something, study hard, and I believe your parents won’t refuse. If anyone has mistakenly taken the pen, please return it voluntarily. You can hand it to me privately, and I promise I’ll forgive you and keep it a secret. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to check each of your bags. Is everyone okay with this?” The entire class replied in unison: “Yes, Teacher!” Only Lan, with red eyes, said nothing.

I personally checked each student’s bag and searched under their desks but still couldn’t find the pen. I watched their faces closely but didn’t see anything suspicious except for Lan. After searching in vain, I let the students go home.

Two days passed with no news. The next morning, I arrived early at school and, while tidying the bicycle rack, I noticed a shy boy standing behind me, speaking softly: “Teacher, if you forgive me, I promise I won’t do it again!” In his hand was the pen, along with a self-reflection note. I was surprised—this well-behaved student, whom I had always trusted, had made a mistake. I patted his head and said: “It’s good that you admit your mistake. I believe this setback will help you grow.”

I entered the class, returned the pen to its rightful owner, and then went to Lan: “The class and I sincerely apologize for making you feel sad and uncomfortable. Wrongfully accusing someone is a serious mistake. Class, one of our friends here made a mistake and took the pen. As promised, I will keep their name a secret. It doesn’t matter who took it; what matters is that the person admitted their mistake and is correcting it. I hope that from now on, we will all be more united and loving toward each other, and no one will make this mistake again. Do you all agree?” The class replied in unison: “Yes, Teacher!”

As I had hoped, from that time on, the students became more obedient and friendly toward each other, and their academic performance improved significantly.

At that time, I was new to teaching, with little experience. In my haste, I had wrongly blamed a student, and I still feel regretful about it. This remains a valuable lesson for me: in any situation, educators must stay calm, thoroughly investigate the matter, and come up with the best solution.

Dear colleagues, the hearts of children are pure and innocent, like blank sheets of paper. As teachers—who are also their second mothers—we must always be close, loving, and trustworthy, so the children can share their worries and concerns with us. Let’s write the best things on their blank pages.

Written by: Bùi Thị Kim Dung

Dear Judges, respected colleagues, and educators,

My name is ............, and I currently teach ............... at ............. Primary School.

Today, I would like to share with you a story that I will never forget. It is titled “An Unexpected Gift.”

As educators, we surely have many memorable experiences from our teaching journey, some of which stay with us for a lifetime. For me, after 21 years in the profession, I’ve encountered countless moments of joy and sorrow, but the most profound memory I have is about a student from ............. Primary School in .......... district, ............ province.

In the school year ............, I was a newly transferred teacher at ............. Primary School, assigned to be the homeroom teacher for class 5C. About 40% of the students came from economically disadvantaged backgrounds. Among them was Phong, a quiet student who often faced disciplinary issues and was known for misbehaving and provoking others. After speaking with his previous homeroom teacher, I learned that Phong was a problem student: he was disruptive, would often skip school, and rarely completed his assignments. I soon confirmed these observations, as Phong missed several consecutive days without explanation. I visited his home to understand the cause of his absences and was surprised to learn that as the only son, Phong was indulged and spoiled. He was stubborn, would argue with his parents and adults, and showed no interest in studying. However, he craved praise whenever he accomplished something, no matter how small. This was the turning point in my approach to teaching him. I realized that I needed to change my method of education to connect with Phong better. So, I began spending time with him every day, talking to him, asking about his life, and offering praise whenever he showed positive behavior towards his classmates.

Additionally, I made regular visits to his family, discussing Phong’s progress with his grandmother. I asked for permission from his family to allow him to stay after school so I could help him catch up on lessons he had missed. I also encouraged him to open up about his feelings, as I learned that he lacked the emotional support of his parents. Sometimes, I acted as an older friend, offering gentle advice and motivating him to keep striving academically.

On the way home from tutoring, I would often encounter street vendors selling lottery tickets and ask Phong:

- Phong, how do you feel when you see children your age selling lottery tickets to survive?

He remained silent, so I would continue:

- Do you think you’re fortunate to still be able to study and play like other children?

Despite his parents being incarcerated, I reminded Phong that they would return one day. He had the opportunity to build a better future for himself, and I encouraged him to study hard, so he could later contribute to society and support his grandmother and family.

He replied:

- Yes, I understand now.

After about two months, I noticed a significant change. Phong stopped provoking his classmates, and he no longer engaged in the disruptive behaviors that had been so common before. He became a well-behaved student, who listened to his teachers and helped his peers whenever they faced challenges.

Over the course of the next three months, Phong’s transformation was remarkable. He attended school regularly, completed his assignments, and stopped being a troublemaker. By the end of the year, he received praise for his improvement. His family was overjoyed, and his grandmother visited me with tears of gratitude.

Nine years have passed since then. Some of my former students are now attending vocational schools, while others are studying at universities. Meanwhile, I remain dedicated to teaching, balancing my professional and personal life. Then, unexpectedly, on my birthday (...........), I received a phone call from Phong. On the other end of the line, he greeted me with: “Hello, teacher, I’m Phong, your former student from class 5C. On your birthday, I wish you good health, happiness, and success. And I have a special gift for you – a song you love.” Then, I heard the song “Về đâu mái tóc người thương” being sung by Phong. I was speechless, overwhelmed with emotion. I never expected that the simple, everyday moments of interaction between teacher and student would leave such a lasting impression on Phong, who remembered me so fondly and cared enough to send me a gift. It was in those moments outside the classroom, during breaks, or after school hours, that I always made an effort to connect with him, offering advice, tutoring, and friendship, all in the role of an older companion. And now, Phong had given me a gift that left me deeply moved. Even more rewarding was the fact that I had been able to influence his thinking, watch him grow, and see him becoming successful – this is the pride I take in my teaching profession.

Today, Phong is a third-year student at .......... University. Since that day, we’ve stayed in touch, and he often asks me: “Teacher, do you still like that song?” I simply smile, feeling warmth and happiness in my heart.

This story reminds me that being a homeroom teacher is challenging, especially at the primary school level. However, if we employ the right educational methods and truly understand our students with love for the profession and for children, I believe we will succeed. I also want to share this message with my fellow colleagues: When we give love, we receive love. The dedication of a teacher has immense power to educate and transform students. How fortunate we are when, after each chapter of our teaching journey, we bring new joy by contributing to the growth of individuals who will one day benefit society.

Finally, I would like to wish the judges and all colleagues good health, happiness, and success. I hope this competition will be a great success!