Essay about when I was little. When I was little, I thought that all adults are smart. When I was little, I passed

When I was little, I thought that all adults were smart

When I was little, I thought that all adults are smart, all children are the same, and a dude named Klubkin travels the world and shows his travels on TV.

But let's talk about children.

Once I looked at a boy who was hysterical in a store, demanding a chocolate bar, and thought - fi. You just don't know how to educate them. In a house where there are books on the shelves and classical music sounds in the air, the child does not beat in hysterics. He pushes the volume of Schopenhauer away from him and asks, “Mommy, can I have a chocolate bar?”.

I looked at the girl who was bludgeoning her partner in the sandbox with a shovel, and thought - fi. My child will never hit anyone with a shovel. Never and no one. In a house where there is music on the shelves, hereinafter.

And then I had two children. One by one without regaining consciousness.

Since then, the girl with the shovel comes into my dreams. She beats me on the compol and asks in the voice of Schopenhauer: “So what? Received? Received? You just don’t know how to educate them properly!”.

The fact that I do not know how to properly educate them was the discovery number one.
The fact that all children are surprise! - different, was the discovery number two.

Let's take the girl Sanechka.
The room is a mess. Come on, I say, let's clean up. Cleaning in the morning, I say, in the evening - cartoons.
The girl Sanya honestly cleans the room and watches well-deserved cartoons.

And now let's take the boy Seryozha. Serezha first asks how many cartoons he can watch if he cleans the room. The price is negotiated on the shore, the boy Seryozha rightly believes. Then Serezha trades. He tastefully brawls about the fact that 2 cartoons are not enough, and he needs 3. Because 3 cartoons, mommy, is better than 2 cartoons, mommy, you are some stupid mommy.
After that Serezha builds a castle, draws a dinosaur and talks with a toy hamster. Then he comes and says that Seyezinka is tired, that her tummy wants to eat, and her eyes want a cartoon, and her arms and legs can’t do anything at all.
I don't know how to get Serezha to clean the room. Hello to you, o girl with a spatula.

Or let's take how you spent the day.
The girl Sanya loves to tell how she spent the day. As she came to school in the morning. Met Nina. Then they went to breakfast. For breakfast there was a tasteless porridge, then there was mathematics, then they went to the buffet, and so briefly for 40 minutes.

The boy Seryozha does not spoil us with information.
Papa started drinking me into the garden, we kusiyi, then Maxim beat me, then I beat Maxim, then I sleep, then dad pisey. Se!

The girl Sanya loves to put her sweets in a beautiful box, and then admire and count them.
The boy Seryozha loves to gobble up his candies, and then steal strangers from a beautiful box.

The girl Sanya went to school at the age of 6. When we were at the interview, Sanya saw a glass figurine of a deer on the secretary's desk. Glass deer, motherfucker! This is what you need to think about.
Sanya sobbed for two hours with burning tears that her life without such a deer now is not sweet. Right there, at school, and sobbed. Pupils walked by, teachers looked sternly, and under the secretary's table a girl with a spade giggled maliciously.

Sanya picks out the raisins from the pie and eats only the dough.
Seryozha picks raisins out of the pie and eats only raisins.

Seryozha sleeps during the day for two hours.
Sanya has not slept during the day since she was two years old.
I don’t know, it’s about different children, or about a girl with a spatula, think of it yourself.

Sanya has never put coins, beads and details from the designer into her mouth. Never never never.
Serezha makes us happy to this day. I recently swallowed a coin and began to choke. If not for my sister, who quickly turned it upside down and shook out this coin, then I don’t even want to think.

Neither Sanya nor Serezha know how to go to the museum. All they are interested in in the museum is to eat. Eating in museums usually does not happen, so they are not interested in museums. Hello, books on the shelves and music murmuring in the cistern.

I have always dreamed of baking with my children. You know, this idyllic picture, a beautiful mother in an apron, and next to her are two children with their hair cut out Christmas cookies with cookie cutters.
I had three attempts.
For the first time, it turned out that I had dangerous molds. If you press them on the dough from the wrong side, you can cut yourself cool. At that time, Sanya covered the whole kitchen with blood, my hands were shaking, and I threw out the molds.

The second attempt took place after Seryozha was born and grew up a little. With new, safe plastic moulds. It turned out that Seryozha loves dough very much. As soon as I turned away, Seryozha ate the dough. Actually, there was not enough dough for cookies.

The third time the stars were on our side. No one cut himself or pooped raw dough for two days in a row.
I just washed the kitchen, the corridor, myself and the children for half a day. And then I decided - well, fuck him, these are cookies.
But yesterday, for some reason, I made the dough again! Lying in the refrigerator, threatening. I'm also a bit of a fighter. Proud!

But with the deer - the problem.
Do you know where you can buy a small glass deer?
I suspect the spatula girl knows.
But he doesn't speak.

Svetlana Bagiyan

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Sun

I was about three years old, I fell ill and did not go to kindergarten, my mother and I were at home.
Mom was cooking something in the kitchen, and I went up to her and asked her for a bowl of jam. The jam was strawberry. A few minutes later I came with an empty vase for another serving of jam. Mom was surprised, but poured me more. Well, when I came for the third time and said: "Renya." Mom decided to see where I put it. And when she entered the room, she froze in place: on a light lilac carpet, the sun with rays was laid out with strawberries, and the middle was filled with jam syrup.

Boots

My dad took me to kindergarten, and my mom picked me up. It was early spring outside and the roads were slippery. I often fell and mom or dad had to pick me up, and sometimes carry me in his arms.
And then one evening I went up to my dad and said:
“And I know why I fall.
- Why? Dad asked me.
- My boots don't have eyes. And they do not see where they need to go and go on the ice.
“Well, then they need to glue their eyes on,” said dad, after a little thought.
We took scissors and a band-aid, cut out two circles-eyes and glued them onto my boots.
Then I proudly told everyone that my boots do not drop me anymore, because they have eyes, and they see everything.

Best friend

My grandmother Toma had a spaniel dog. Her name was Jinka. But it was difficult for me to pronounce Jink and I got Jink. She and I were best friends.
Every summer we lived in the country, there was a large clearing in the yard, overgrown with clover (now it is gone, our house now stands in this place), and Jinka and I liked to sit and play in this clearing. I tried on my panama hats and hats on the dog, tied the ears with bows, and she endured everything. She probably liked it too.
And somehow, my mother's brother, Uncle Gena came to us and brought me a Picnic chocolate bar. As always, Jinka and I sat down on the blanket spread out for us by our mother on the grass and began to eat a candy bar. First, I took a bite, and Jinka fidgeted on the blanket and squealed with impatience. And then I handed the bar to her, she carefully bit off a piece and chewed for a long time, snorting comically. So we ate it, and Jinka even licked the wrapper.
Well, when my mother scolded us, we ran out of the gate out of resentment and harmfulness. And we couldn't do it. And that's why the gates were always closed. But we found a way: Jinka arched her back a little and darted under the gate. I got on all fours and how my girlfriend arched her back, and crawled under them. Well, then we were again scolded for escaping from the yard.
That's the kind of funny friend I had.

When I was little, one Fedka fell in love with me. He gave me a very beautiful antique porcelain doll, slightly bald, in a lace dress.

But I fell in love with the science teacher. She traded the doll for a guinea pig and gave it to him.

And the natural history teacher fell in love with the physical education teacher. I sold a guinea pig at the Bird Market, bought a hefty weight and presented it to a physical education teacher.

And we all got sick with scarlet fever. But it was not from the doll, not from the guinea pig, and not from the kettlebell that we became infected. We got infected from the Hero of the Soviet Union, pilot-cosmonaut Zatykaichenko, who came to our school and greeted all the teachers by the hand, and stroked the students personally on the head.

Well, I’m all lying, because astronauts don’t get sick with scarlet fever…

how i became a girl

When I was little, I was a boy. Well, first as a boy, and then as a girl.

This is how it was. As a boy, I was a hooligan and always offended girls. And then one day, when I pulled the pigtails of two girls at once, a wizard passed by and shook his head. And in the evening I turned into a girl. My mother was surprised and delighted, because she always wanted a daughter. And I began to live as a girl.

Oh, and unsweetened was the girl's life! All the time they pulled my pigtails, teased me, put my legs up, poured nasty puddle water from spray bottles. And when I cried or complained, they called me a sneak and a crybaby.

Once I shouted to the offending boys:

Hey! Here you go! They will turn you into girls, then you will know!

The boys were very surprised. And I told them what happened to me. They, of course, were frightened and did not offend the girls anymore. They were only treated to sweets and invited to the circus.

I liked this life, and I no longer began to turn back into a boy.

How was my name chosen?

When I was little, I really didn't like my name. Well, where does it fit - Ksyusha? That's just what cats are called. Of course, I wanted to be called something beautiful. Here in our class one girl was called Elvira Cherezabornoguzaderishchenskaya. The teacher's pen even broke while she was writing this girl in a journal. In general, I was terribly offended, I came home and cried:

Why do I have such a funny and ugly name?!

What are you, daughter, - said my mother. - Your name is just wonderful. After all, as soon as you were born, all our relatives gathered at our house and began to think about what to name you. Uncle Edik said that the name Prepedigna would suit you very well, and grandfather decided that you should simply be called Rocket.

But Aunt Vera believed that there was nothing in the world more beautiful than the name Golendukh. Golendukha! After all, that was the name of your fourth cousin great-great-grandmother! She was so beautiful that the king married her. And she made him jam from young fly agarics, so tasty that he overate them to death. And everyone was very happy, because this king was very harmful and evil. I canceled birthdays and fought all the time with just anyone. Horror, not a king! But after him came another king - cheerful and kind. That's what your fourth cousin great-great-grandmother is doing! She was even given a badge: "Excellent in the fight against evil kings"!

And then Aunt Vera suggested calling you Golendukha. “What else Golendukha ?!” Aunt Masha shouted and even threw a plate of raspberry jelly at Aunt Vera. The plate hit Aunt Verina's head and made a hole in it. I had to take Aunt Vera to the hospital. And there such a kind and skillful doctor quickly, quickly sewed up a holey head, so that there was no trace left. This kind doctor's name was Ksyusha Igorevna Paramonova. It was in honor of her that we named you Ksyusha.

Since then, I even like my name a little. After all, all sorts of Golenduhi there are even worse!

Fake teeth and a cuckoo clock

When I was little, all sorts of other many other people were also small. For example, my friend Alyosha. We sat at the same desk with him.

One day the teacher says to him:

Well, Alexei, read by heart the poem that I asked for at home.

And he says:

I didn't learn. I lost my last milk tooth yesterday. And even a runny nose began ...

And the teacher says:

So what? All my teeth have fallen out, and I go to work.

And how he will take all his teeth out of his mouth at once! We were so scared! Irka Belikova even started crying. And our teacher's teeth were simply not real. The principal entered the classroom. And he was also scared. But he didn't cry. He brought us another teacher - cheerful and with real teeth that cannot be removed from her mouth.

And that teacher was presented with a cuckoo clock and sent to a well-deserved rest - that is, to retire. Long time ago!

When I was little

When I was little, I was very forgetful. I'm still forgetful, but before - just awful! ..

In the first grade, I forgot to come to school on the first of September, and I had to wait a whole year for the next first of September in order to go straight to the second.

And in the second grade, I forgot my backpack with textbooks and notebooks, and I had to return home. I took a knapsack, but forgot the way to school and remembered it only in the fourth grade. But in the fourth grade, I forgot to comb my hair and came to school completely shaggy. And in the fifth - she mixed up - it's autumn now, winter or summer - and instead of skis she brought flippers to physical education. And in the sixth grade, I forgot that you have to behave decently at school, and stomped into the class on my hands. Like an acrobat! But then in the seventh grade ... Oh, phew ... I forgot again. Well, I'll tell you later when I remember.

Nasty old ladies

When I was little, I was very nasty. I'm still disgusting, but before - just awful.

Here they tell me:

Ksyushenka, go eat!

Pe-pe-pe-pe-pe!

It's embarrassing to even remember.

And then one spring I was walking in the Hermitage Garden and showed everyone my tongue. Two old women in berets passed by and asked me:

Girl, what's your name?

Hooray! - the old woman jumped for joy. - Finally, we found a girl named No way. Here's a letter for you.

And they jumped. The letter read:

“A girl named No way! Scratch your right ear with your left foot, please!”

"Here's another! I thought. - Really needed!"

In the evening, my mother and aunt Liza and I went to Detsky Mir. Mom and Aunt Liza held my hands tightly so that I would not get lost. And suddenly my right ear was itching terribly! I started pulling my hands out. But my mother and aunt Liza only squeezed my hands tighter. Then I tried to scratch my ear with my right foot. But I didn’t reach it ... And I had to contrive and scratch my right ear with my left foot.

And as soon as I did, I immediately grew a big curly mustache. And so do all the other children. In the "Children's World" a terrible squeal rose - it was moms and dads who were afraid of their mustachioed children! And rather ran to the doctors and policemen. But the doctors were able to cure the mustachioed children not immediately, but only after a few days.

But the police immediately caught two nasty old women in berets. These old women have been walking around Moscow for a long time and doing all sorts of outrages. Only they were already quite old, and their opposition was not enough for disgrace. Therefore, they looked for nasty boys and girls and misbehaved with their help.

"Wow! I thought. “It turns out that nasty girls become nasty old ladies…?”

I did not want to become such an old woman, and I ceased to be nasty.

Enchanted Snow

When I was little, I loved to eat snow. As soon as a little bit of snow attacks, I immediately go out into the street - and eat, eat, eat ...

Until I get caught and scolded. And no one could wean me from this terribly dangerous habit.

And then one day, when winter came, I immediately ate snow. And he was not simple, but bewitched. And I turned into a cake.

My mother comes home from work, and instead of me in the kitchen there is a cake.

Wow! Cake! Mom rejoiced.

She was only surprised that I was not at home, and then she thought that I had gone to the next entrance to Ninka Akimova. And I couldn’t tell her anything at all - after all, cakes can’t talk! Mom put me in the fridge. I turned not into a simple cake, but into an ice cream cake. Mom waited for me a little, and then she decided to eat a piece of cake. She took me out of the refrigerator, took a sharp knife in her hands ... And then splashes from the cake in different directions! Mom tasted the spray. And they were not sweet at all, but salty, like tears. Mom took a closer look and noticed that red bows were molded on the cream cake - exactly the same as mine in pigtails. It was then that my mother suspected something was wrong. And she quickly called a rescue team of three wizards and two ice cream men. Together they disenchanted me and turned me back into a girl.

Since then, I often have a runny nose - I caught a cold in the refrigerator. And I don’t eat snow anymore, although I sometimes want to.

Is he bewitched again?

Hooligan

When I was little, I loved to ride my bike through the forest. He chimed so well, jumping over snags, I rushed along the brown forest road, hedgehogs and frogs scattered to the sides, and the sky was reflected in deep transparent puddles.

And then one day in the evening I was driving through the forest and met a hooligan.

Hey you, redhead, - said the bully in an ill-mannered voice. - Get off your bike.

The bully's eyes were sad, sad. I knew right away that he had a difficult childhood.

Well, what are you staring at? - asked the bully. - Get down quickly, I have to go to the sea.

Sly! - I said. - I, churn, also want to go to the sea. You're taking me in the trunk.

And we went.

How will we get to the sea? I asked.

Easy, said the bully. “You just have to drive all the time along the banks of the river, and someday it will eventually fall into the sea.

We were driving along the bank of a small dark forest river.

Then it will expand, - the bully promised. “Steamboats will start sailing, and we will get to the sea on a passing ship.

At sea for breakfast we will eat only watermelons! - I said.

And for lunch - roach, chewing gum and pickles!

And for dinner - jump loudly and play the guitar!

We drove out into the field. Wind started to blow. I pressed my ear to the bully's back and heard his bully heart beating. It began to get dark. The river did not expand and did not expand, and for some reason the passing ships were not visible. I remembered my mother, Aunt Lisa and the cat Watermelon. How they wait for me, look out the window, and then cry, call the police, the ambulance and the firemen, just in case.

Hey! - I tapped on the bully's back. - Stop, I need to go home.

And what about the sea?

Sometime later, I promised. - Next.

The bully's eyes grew even sadder.

Oh, you, - he said, - a coward.

And you are a bully!

But I, when I grow up, will not marry you, - said the hooligan got off the bike and left.

The most interesting thing is that this is how it happened! Already the king married me, and the evil sorcerer, and the astronaut, and the fool. A bully - not married! I haven't even seen him since. He must have grown up and has a real beard.

But that's a completely different story.

When I was little, there were many wonderful, unprecedented and wonderful animals in our forests. To read...

This is what is happening in schools now! That's the story, that's the story...

Elena Rooney

When I was a kid

two stories

When I was little, it was easier to fulfill desires. One had only to come up with something necessary and good, as it came true. Either immediately, or after a short time, while I still remembered what I wanted. Probably, in our childhood, guardian angels work faster. Or we are still outside the Matrix. Or our desires are light and unpretentious, like the days of the week, like the change of seasons. Everything is completely natural, natural and subject to some kind of cosmic logic...
So, for example, when I was 8 years old, I decided that I wanted to be rich. In principle, it's time, I did not wish anything special. Somehow it resolved itself. . What it means to be rich, I had difficulty imagining: the time was deaf socialist, and the issue of wealth was not brought up in the society of my parents' friends, and buying carpets or crystal on credit is not wealth, but just like people. By the way, huge crystal salad bowls, similar to glass prickly galoshes of size 47, which were bought by my mother at that blessed time, for many years on family holidays were clogged to the top with herring under a fur coat and Olivier. In my family, holidays were not secretly celebrated, guests from relatives, friends, neighbors and just acquaintances were not transferred, and "galoshes" allowed me not to lose face in the dirt. And the content was beyond praise. Made with love. :)
Why I wanted to become rich at the age of 8, I don’t remember. I remember that at that moment I was visiting my mother's sister in Donetsk, Rostov region, maybe I was impressed by her new carpet or a good library (there was always a good bookstore in Donetsk, right to the envy of Lugansk, and I, as a visitor at that time 3 libraries, I could appreciate it. Why three? Because earlier children were given books for 15 days. And I read everything in a day. The librarians did not believe that I had already swallowed everything and came to return the book, they arranged checks for me, asked me to retell.. .. And still they didn’t believe in. I had to pile up 3 libraries at once ... But this, of course, has nothing to do with wealth.)
I started talking about wealth with my mother's sister, aunt Lyuda, from afar. By the way, that is, between a pie with dried apricots and a cartoon about Wait a minute, I said that I have a hobby. I collect beads. I actually had a box with two of my mom's old torn beads and a bunch of pins my mom bought. I somehow managed to convince her that this is my hobby - collecting badges.
So, my statement about the beads sounded sad and very grown-up. Like I collect black diamonds... Or Akhal-Teke horses... And I don't know where to grow up....
Aunt Lyuda at that time did not yet have children, however, she oriented herself correctly, and quickly brought from the hall the very box that I found a couple of hours ago. Yes. I saw it on a bookcase and immediately knew what it was. There could only be beads, pebbles and buttons. I guess! I was presented with beads and badges, and just in case, they gave me a ruble. Ruble. Your mother... Those who did not live in the 70s cannot imagine this magnificent word. Ruble.
Like the hero of "Kalina Krasnaya", "money burned the thigh." Mercilessly. I begged to go "to the city" in order to squander immediately. By the way, these talents are inherent in everyone, I think, at the genetic level: spend or save. I have to spend. Nothing has changed in the last 45 years... Except the country and purchasing power. Moreover, countries have already many times ...
Why have money and not spend it? I didn't bother with this question. Definitely: money for pleasure.
I remember the feeling of wealth and freedom of choice.
I choose ice cream Chestnut. Fat, chocolate inside, in warm and thick chocolate glaze. I'm rich! The back is straight, the gait is a free head thrown up, in the eyes there is a slight boredom and superiority ...
You, everyone around you, everyone you met and passed by then, how you must have envied me! A little girl in a red jersey cape with gold buttons and a delicious ice cream in her hand felt this slight beautiful envy and enjoyed it.
I eat ice cream at a crazy price then - 28 kopecks! Fruit cost 7, tomato and milk -9, a small Leningradsky paralleliped bar in chocolate - 11, cream -13, creme brulee - 15, fruit in chocolate - 18, ice cream -19, popsicle thick and beautiful, on a stick, -22 , and thousand! Chestnut 28! Bingo! I thought that I would become an adult, I would eat exclusively protein cream with cakes from Baskets and Chestnut. While growing up, Chestnut ended: the technology and products are probably so expensive or unbearably natural that over the past 27 years no one has even come close to the Soviet Gost and rich creamy taste ... And I learned how to make protein custard for Baskets myself. When not only grew up, but even managed to grow old a little. I thought that at least some desires should be fulfilled. And learned. And I made a pan of this cream. White, thick, with a slight lemon note. Well, I ate a bowl. Everything! It doesn't pull anymore. Realized a dream... And Kashtan stupidly can't be repeated... Or I haven't met him yet. Actually, I'm talking about ice cream. :) So 100-28=72. 72 kopecks is not a joke! I considered myself rich enough to be generous and buy a gift for my two-year-old brother. I found a great dagger in Detsky Mir. Aluminium, matte, sheathed, full size, judging by the growth of the future happy owner. 33 kopecks! I swear my hand didn't move. I am very kind when I am rich and love to give gifts. Especially unnecessary ones. But which I like.
What do we have left? 39? I thought about spiritual food and dragged Aunt Lyuda to the bookstore.
If I have planned something, you can rest assured that I will implement it. I found a book for 39 kopecks! Unprecedented luck. It's called swindling to the penny. And I took it not for exactly the price, But for a beautiful White and blue cover, on which a boy in shorts and a beautiful shirt (the body shirt is called, I later found out), standing around the corner, followed some type in black spy coat.
Zenta Ergle. Uno and the Three Musketeers.
I read this book overnight. I re-read it in the morning. I read it about once a month until I knew it by heart. This is the harbinger of a series of detectives for children Black Kitten, if anyone is in the subject. This is an exciting adventure for 4 guys. For that time, it's just brilliant.
I must say that after 3 years this book was read by my entire class. And on the exam in literature, everything .. EVERYTHING! wrote that their favorite book is Uno and the Three Musketeers. The teachers were shocked. They did not know this book at all.
It's funny, but this is the favorite book of my brother, who is 7 years older than me (I suspect that the favorite is still :) . Just don't tell him
And this is one of my daughters favorite books. It's just that they have already re-read so much that one could forget the old tattered book already. But they remember. I asked...
It's not even about the book. I was really rich. Probably, the formula I found is "about 33% for the necessary (the Book. It has always been like air for me), 33 for a gift and 33 for luxury (then it was ice cream).
Then I often found money. And tried to spend them the same way. Necessary. Gift. Pampering.
And now you can't get rich. Probably because I just can not understand what is necessary for me. It always turns out that the necessary gas-light-water-rent-loans-insurance-phone-internet-food-water outweigh the pampering and gifts. Very much so palpably outweigh. But books, movies, hairstyles, cosmetics, travel seem to be necessary too? Yes! . Is champagne included? Not excluded. Depending on the degree of sadness :) And the stones? I can't live without stones. Semi-precious. Or from travel. Or magical. Or with history. What about smells? What about coffee? What about clothes? Yes! And beautiful and expensive? Vooooot. That is why wealth is somehow inhibited. But gochildchildrenchildren... Slowly. And I weigh everything and decide. Present. Pampering is a luxury. Necessary. And the formula works... Regardless of us.

When I was little, I was very vulnerable and touchy. I especially liked to be offended by a large apricot growing in the yard near my mother's house. One apricot bore large, yellowish-green fruits, a bit like a peach. And the second apricots were sweeter, light brown, with a scattering of cherry freckles. Since my physiognomy was full of freckles since childhood, the second tree was somehow closer and dearer. I will climb on it, 3 meters from the ground, no higher, I will sit in a fork in the fork more comfortably and let's be offended.
On apricot, I usually took offense at my parents. There were many reasons. The decisive offensive factor was the birth of a younger brother and the complete dissolution of my mother in him. I loved my brother, of course. From a year on, he became fat and handsome somewhere (before this age he was somehow inconspicuous and indistinguishable from other screaming babies). But I also loved my mother. and she, if she communicated with me, now mostly on the topic of her brother. Plus, my household chores have grown since I reached the rank of nanny, which, to be honest, did not please me too much. The father was at work all the time, and when he came home, he could not stop looking at his son. Now I understand it. My brother-
a brave Cossack, two meters tall, smart, kind, with a big heart and a great sense of humor. But 46 years ago, all this was not yet noticeable, and therefore I climbed an apricot and began to feel sorry for myself.
-Here I die, so...-this is how almost all of my children's moaning began. And carry me past mom and dad. Bury. And how mom will cry. And as he says, “why didn’t I notice my baby, why did I love her so little, why didn’t I read books with her, I rarely made cottage cheese casserole” ...
It began to get dark. They didn't come to pick me up from the tree. Can't you see through the window? But I know what is visible. So mom doesn't go to the window. They put Sanya to bed and are already having dinner. And I'm here. Itself, Restless, Unfound. Finally, one of the parents caught on, they came for me, removed from the tree, reassured me and assured me of their love.
When I got older, I only cried when I was offended. There were no apricots nearby, but offenders met more often .. There were no thoughts of death already. At that moment, thoughts of revenge just began to be born. Whether I, whether fate or other people, accidentally or intentionally, realized my revenge. The offenders were punished, But often they did not connect the punishment with me.
Even older. I can still cry, but I'm already screaming. I scream at the offender. I am indignant at bureaucracy, I deal with doctors, I express my opinion on the forehead about the authorities, I convict workers of theft, and friends of betrayal ..
Strong weak. And traitors always tried to understand and asked: "Why?" Or here's another original question: "For what?"
Years pass. I'm not growing anymore. But I'm getting older. I found "eastern wisdom" on the topic "if you sit by the river for a long time and wait, sooner or later the corpse of your enemy will float past you." Learned patience. The wise adage worked. I learned to wait and "a dish like revenge should be served cold." Didn't forgive. Waited. And a good god or an evil angel avenged me. Or I forgot about the grievances.
Years later. She became even older, and if she grew, then in width. I realized that I didn’t have time to sit by the river and wait. I realized that I have no enemies. I realized that if a person deceived, betrayed, offended, he is simply nobody to me. Erase. And if no one, then there is no need to wait, there is no one to take revenge on, be offended, and then there is no one. He is not here. And there is no time to think about it. Life is short. Every person comes into my life for a reason. Supports. Saves. If friend. Or teaches to be strong. And deal with it yourself. If rubbish. And you don’t need to change it, and change yourself too, if it’s uncomfortable. Looking for comfort and tranquility. And I no longer ask anyone: "Why did you do that?" Or "how could you?". Or "my dear, what have I done to you?" Or "let's start over". Or something else pathetic and helpless. Said and said. Did and did. Did not come and did not come. Stranger. What to ask?
Has the right to. Wrong. Friend thought. Not a friend. They just went their separate ways. We touched fates. Showed themselves. Dispersed. They left a good memory of themselves. Or bad. Or none. Because now it’s much easier for me to erase and forget than to climb an apricot and wait for my mother to come to shoot. Now I am a mother. My turn to shoot and soothe

Preparation for writing is drawing up a plan for a given topic of the essay.

Plan for this essay:

1. Childhood is the best age.
2. Memories when I was little.
3. The most important thing is the happiness of the child.

Essay on the stated topic

Memories from childhood are always honest, sincere, real. They are filled with such love for everything that happened in childhood. These memories will forever remain in the memory of people. I am sure that you will not find a person who does not remember the best moments of his childhood. Of course, exceptions are possible. Personally, I remember my childhood and I will never forget it, although like any person, I also had joyful events, as well as sad ones that made me cry.

I remember when I was little, I was, above all, naive, like any child, but I was also happy. I remember delicious breakfasts, after which they had to let go for a walk. These days are spent with friends in the yard. What we didn't do. And they did what we were not allowed to do, like any children. And, of course, they played a variety of games, the rules of which you remember even now. And also, when I was little, I really liked to build huts. I built them everywhere, both at home from stools and blankets, and on the street from sticks and branches. And then you sit in it and sincerely believe that no one will forget you here. And as a child, I really, well, really loved cartoons. And I remember how everyone at the same time, mothers shouted from the windows that cartoons were starting. And for a moment it became quiet in the yard, everyone ran home like bullets, and maybe faster. Another vivid memory is, of course, holidays, especially New Year and Birthday. Well, what could be better? Everyone comes to visit you, give gifts, wish you health, happiness and all the best. And a very tasty mother's cake with candles.

It seems to me that the list of moments of childhood can be endless. But there is one and the most important thing, that when I was little, they loved me, took care of me and I was a happy child. And what could be more important than being happy.