It was when I was in Grade 2. That year, we had a gardening project to grow sweet potatoes. Early summer, each of us planted a sapling, and it was our assignment to continue watering the plant throughout the summer vacation.
Over July and August, the saplings grew into a sea of dark green leaves, and in September, some rocky shapes started appearing underneath them, buried in the soil. By the time my teachers finally gathered us all for the harvest day in October, my excitement had reached its peak. I couldn’t wait to hold the plump potatoes in my hands, bake them in an open fire, and eat them with my classmates.
After teachers’ instruction, we all went into the sea of dark green leaves with shovels in our hands. We then started digging the ground searching for sweet potatoes. There were several just below the surface, but after taking out those, more serious digging was needed. Squatting on my two feet, I concentrated on my search for sweet potatoes.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
Suddenly, a voice rang behind me. It was my teacher, pointing at my hands.
“Don’t throw the mud on me!”
In my total concentration, I hadn’t realized that the mud I was discarding was showering over my teacher.
“Good to be absorbed in your task, but watch where you’re throwing the mud. Please!”
I apologized and carried on with my sweet potato hunt.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
A few minutes later, another voice rang from my other side. It was my classmate who was digging next to me.
“You’re throwing the mud in my direction!”
When I looked up, the latest batch of mud from my shovel had just showered on him.
“Sorry!”
“Look where you’re throwing,” he continued. “Throw in that direction. Please!”
After that, I carefully chose the direction to discard the mud so that there was no more victim of my mud showering, and the harvest party was enjoyed in peace.