Elena Rooney
When I was a kid
two stories
When I was little, it was easier to realize desires. All you had to do was come up with something necessary and good, and it would come true. Either immediately, or after a short time, while I still remembered what exactly 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 didn’t wish for anything special. Somehow it decided by itself. . I had a hard time imagining what it meant to be rich: it was a deep socialist time, and the question of wealth was not brought up in the company of my parents’ friends, and buying carpets or crystal on credit was not wealth, but just like other people. By the way, huge crystal salad bowls, similar to glass prickly galoshes size 47, which were bought by my mother at that blessed time, many years ago family holidays filled to the brim with herring under a fur coat and Olivier. In my family, holidays were not celebrated in secret, guests from relatives, friends, neighbors and just acquaintances were not transferred, and “galoshes” allowed us not to lose face in the dirt. And the content was beyond all praise. Made with love. :)
I don’t remember why I wanted to become rich at the age of 8. I remember that at that moment I was visiting my mother’s sister in Donetsk, Rostov region, perhaps I was impressed by her new carpet or good library (Donetsk always had a good bookstore, just to the envy of Lugansk, and I, as a visitor at that time 3 libraries, I could appreciate it. Why three? Because before, children were given books for 15 days. And I read everything in a day. The librarians did not believe that I had already devoured everything and came to hand over the book, they checked me, asked me to retell the story.. .. And they still didn’t believe it. I had to invest 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 the dried apricot pie and the cartoon about Just Wait, I told you that I have a hobby. I'm collecting beads. I actually had a box with two of my mother’s old torn beads and a bunch of badges that my mother bought. I was somehow able to convince her that this was my hobby - collecting badges.
So, my statement about the beads sounded sad and very adult. Like how I collect black diamonds... Or Akhal-Teke horses... And I don’t know where to grow next....
Aunt Lyuda at that time did not yet have children, however, she took the right direction and quickly brought from the hall the same box that I had found a couple of hours ago. Yes. I saw it on the bookcase and immediately knew what was there. There could only be beads, stones and buttons. I guess! They presented me with beads and badges and gave me a ruble just in case. Ruble. Your mother... Anyone who did not live in the 70s cannot imagine this magnificent word. Ruble.
Like the hero of “Kalina Krasnaya”, “the money burned my thigh.” Mercilessly. I asked to go “to town” in order to squander it immediately. By the way, these talents are inherent in everyone, I think, at the genetic level: to spend or to save. For me - to spend. Nothing has changed over the past 45 years... Except the country and purchasing power. Moreover, countries - many times already...
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 Kashtan ice cream. Fatty and chocolatey on the inside, with a warm, thick chocolate glaze. I'm rich! The back is straight, the gait is free, the head is thrown up, there is a slight boredom and superiority in the eyes...
You, everyone around you, everyone you met and passed by then, how you probably envied me! The little girl in the red jersey coat with gold buttons and a delicious ice cream in her hand felt this light beautiful envy and enjoyed it.
I eat ice cream at the then insane price - 28 kopecks! Fruit cost 7, tomato and milk -9, a small bar - parallelipiped Leningradsky in chocolate - 11, creamy -13, creme brulee - 15, fruit in chocolate - 18, ice cream -19, popsicle thick and beautiful, on a stick, -22 , and thousands! Chestnut 28! Bingo! I thought that when I became an adult, I would only eat protein cream from Korzinochek and Kashtan cakes. By the time I grew up, Kashtan had run out of technology and products: 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 to make protein custard for Baskets myself. When she not only grew up, but even managed to grow old a little. I thought that at least some wishes should come true. And I learned. And I made a pan of this cream. White, thick, with a slight lemon note. Well, I ate the plate. All! It doesn't last anymore. I realized my dream... But they stupidly can’t repeat Kashtan... Or I haven’t met him yet. Actually, I'm writing about ice cream. :)
So, 100-28=72. 72 kopecks is not a joke! I felt rich enough to be generous and buy a gift for my two-year-old brother. I found an excellent cutlass at Detsky Mir. Aluminum, matte, in a sheath, life-size, judging by the height of the future lucky owner. 33 kopecks! I swear my hand didn't tremble. 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 there? 39? I thought about spiritual food and dragged Aunt Lyuda to the bookstore.
If I have outlined something, you can rest assured that I will implement it. I found a book for 39 kopecks! Unprecedented luck. It's called wasting a penny. And I took it not for the exact price, but for the beautiful White and blue cover, on which a boy in shorts and a beautiful shirt (it’s called a body shirt, I later found out), standing around the corner, was watching some guy in black spy cloak.
Zenta Ergle. Uno and the Three Musketeers.
I read this book in one night. I re-read it this morning. I read it about once a month until I had it memorized. This is a harbinger of the detective series for children Black Kitten, if anyone is in the know. This is a fascinating adventure of 4 guys. For that time it was simply brilliant.
I must say that after 3 years my entire class read this book. And in the literature exam, everything... EVERYTHING! wrote that their favorite book is Uno and the Three Musketeers. The teachers were shocked. They didn't 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 it is still his favorite :)
. 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 they could have forgotten the old, battered little book. But they remember. I asked...
It's not even about the book. I was really rich. Probably the formula I found was “about 33% for necessities (a book. It was always like air to me), 33 for a gift and 33 for luxury (then it was ice cream).
Then I often found money. And I tried to spend them the same way. Necessary. Present. Pampering.
But now there is no way to become rich. Probably because I can’t understand what is necessary for me. It always turns out that the necessary gas, electricity, water, rent, loans, insurance, telephone, Internet, food, and water outweigh pampering and gifts. They outweigh it very noticeably. But books, films, hairstyles, cosmetics, travel, it seems, are also necessary? Yes! . Is champagne included? It's possible. Depending on the degree of sadness :)
What about the stones? I can't live without stones. Semi-precious. Or from travel. Or magical. Or with history. What about the smells? What about coffee? What about clothes? Yes! And beautiful and expensive? Wow. That's why wealth is somehow inhibited. But the child is coming... Slowly. And I weigh and decide everything. 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 loved to take offense at the large apricot growing in the yard near my mother’s house. One apricot produced large, yellowish-green fruits, somewhat similar to a peach. And the second’s apricots were sweeter, light brown, with a scattering of cherry freckles. Since my face was full of freckles since childhood, the second tree was somehow closer and dearer. I’ll climb onto it, 3 meters from the ground, no higher, sit in the fork more comfortably and let’s be offended.
On apricot, I was usually offended by my parents. There were many reasons. The decisive offensive factor was birth. younger brother and the complete dissolution of the mother in him. I loved my brother, of course. Around the age of one year he became fat and handsome (before this age he was somehow inconspicuous and indistinguishable from other screaming babies). But I also loved my mother. and if she communicated with me, now it was mainly on the topic of her brother. Plus, my responsibilities around the house have increased since I reached the rank of nanny, and this, to be honest, did not make me very happy. The father was at work all the time, and when he came home, he could not stop looking at his son. Now I understand him. 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 the apricot tree and began to feel sorry for myself.
“I’m going to die, that means...” that’s how almost all my childhood moans began. And they will carry me past mom and dad. Bury. And how my mother will cry. And when he says, “Why didn’t I notice my baby, why did I love her so little, why didn’t I read books with her, why didn’t I rarely make cottage cheese casserole”...
It was starting to get dark. They didn’t come to remove me from the tree. Can't you see out the window? But I know what is visible. So mom doesn't come to the window. They put Sanya to bed and are already having dinner. And I'm here. Herself, Restless, Unfound. Finally, one of the parents came to their senses, they came for me, took me down from the tree, calmed me down and assured me of their love.
As I got older, I only cried when I was offended. There were no apricots nearby, and the offenders met more often... There were no longer thoughts of death. At this moment, thoughts of revenge began to arise. Whether I, fate or other people, by accident or intentionally, realized my revenge. The offenders were punished, but they often did not associate the punishment with me.
Even older. I may still cry, but I'm already screaming. I scream at the offender. I am outraged by bureaucracy, I deal with doctors, I express my opinion about the bosses head-on, I accuse workers of theft, and my friends of treason..
Strong is weak. And I always tried to understand traitors 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.” I learned patience. The wise saying worked. I learned to wait and “serve a dish like revenge cold.” I didn't forgive. I was waiting. 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 at all, it was in width. I realized that I don’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 no one to me. Erased. And if no one, then there is no need to wait, there is no one to take revenge on, and there is no one to take offense at. He is not here. And there is no time to think about him. Life is short. Every person comes into my life for some reason. Supports. Saves. If a friend. Or teaches you to be strong. And deal with it yourself. If it's rubbish. And you don’t need to change it, and you don’t need to change yourself if it’s uncomfortable. I'm looking for comfort and tranquility. And I no longer ask anyone: “Why did you do this?” Or “how could you?” Or “my dear, what have I done to you?” Or "let's start over." Or something else pathetic and helpless. He said and said. I did it and did it. Didn't come and didn't come. Stranger. What to ask?
Has the right to. I was wrong. I thought friend. Not-friend. They just went their separate ways. Fates touched. Showed yourself. We separated. 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 on an apricot tree and wait for my mother to come take pictures. Now I'm a mother. It's my turn to shoot and calm down
When I was little, I thought that all adults were smart
When I was little, I thought that all adults were smart, all children were the same, and a guy named Klubkin traveled around the world and showed his travels on TV.
But let's talk about the children.
I once looked at a boy who was hysterical in a store, demanding a chocolate bar, and thought - wow. You just don't know how to raise them. In a house where there are books on the shelves and classical music in the air, the child does not become hysterical. He pushes the volume of Schopenhauer away from him and asks, “Mommy, can I have a chocolate?”
I looked at the girl who was beating her partner in the sandbox with a shovel, and I thought, wow. My child will never hit anyone with a spatula. Never and no one. In a house where there is music on the shelves, follow the text.
And then I gave birth to two children. One after another, without regaining consciousness.
Since then, the girl with the spatula has been coming into my dreams. She hits me on the floor and asks in the voice of Schopenhauer: “Well? Received? Received? You just don’t know how to raise them correctly!”
The fact that I don’t know how to raise them correctly was discovery number one.
The fact that all children are a surprise! – different, became discovery number two.
Let's take the girl Sanya.
The room is a mess. Come on, I say, let’s clean up. Cleaning in the morning, I say, cartoons in the evening.
The girl Sanechka honestly cleans the room and watches well-deserved cartoons.
Now let's take the boy Seryozha. Seryozha first wonders how many cartoons he can watch if he cleans his room. The price is negotiated on the shore, the boy Seryozha rightly believes. Then Seryozha bargains. He tastefully scandalizes about the fact that 2 cartoons are not enough, and he needs 3. Because 3 cartoons, mommy, it’s better than 2 cartoons, mommy, you’re some kind of stupid mommy.
After this, Seryozha builds a castle, draws a dinosaur and talks with a toy hamster. Then he comes and says that Sayezinka 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 Seryozha to clean the room. Hello, oh girl with a spatula.
Or let’s take how you spent your day.
The girl Sanechka loves to tell how she spent her day. How she came to school in the morning. Met Nina. Then they went to breakfast. For breakfast there was tasteless porridge, then there was mathematics, then they went to the buffet, and so on for about 40 minutes.
The boy Seryozha does not spoil us with information.
First, daddy drinks me into the garden, we kiss, then Maxim beats me, then I beat Maxim, then I sleep, then daddy drinks. Behold!
The girl Sanechka loves to put her candies in a beautiful box, and then admire and count them.
The boy Seryozha loves to eat his own candies and then steal other people’s from a beautiful box.
The girl Sanechka went to school at the age of 6. When we were at an interview, Sanya saw a glass figurine of a deer on the secretary’s desk. Glass deer, damn it! This is something you have to figure out.
Sanechka wept with burning tears for two hours because life was no longer pleasant to her without such a deer. Right there, at school, and cried. Students walked by, teachers looked sternly, and under the secretary's table a girl with a spatula giggled maliciously.
Sanya picks out the raisins from the pie and eats only the dough.
Seryozha picks out raisins from the pie and eats only raisins.
Seryozha sleeps for two hours during the day.
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, make up your own mind.
Sanya never put coins, beads or construction kit parts into her mouth. Never never never.
Seryozha still makes us happy. I recently swallowed a coin and started choking. If it weren't 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 Seryozha know how to go to a museum. All they are interested in in the museum is to eat. They usually don’t eat in museums, so they are not interested in museums. Hello, books on the shelves and music bubbling in the tank.
I also always dreamed of baking with my children. You know, this idyllic picture, beautiful mother in an apron, and nearby two well-combed children are cutting out Christmas cookies with cookie cutters.
I had three attempts.
For the first time, it turned out that my molds were dangerous. If you press them on the dough from the wrong side, you can seriously cut yourself. That time Sanya covered the whole kitchen with blood, my hands were shaking, and I threw out the molds.
The second attempt occurred after Seryozha was born and grew up a little. With new, safe plastic molds. It turned out that Seryozha really loves dough. As soon as I turned away, Seryozha was gobbling up the dough. Actually, there wasn't enough dough for cookies.
For the third time, the stars were on our side. No one cut themselves or pooped raw dough for two days in a row.
I just spent half a day cleaning the kitchen, the hallway, myself and the children. And then I decided – screw it, these are cookies.
But yesterday for some reason I made the dough again! It's in the refrigerator, threatening. I'm also a bit of a fighter. I'm proud!
But with a deer there is a problem.
Do you know where you can buy a small glass deer?
I suspect that the girl with the spatula knows.
But he doesn't speak.
Svetlana Bagiyan
2755
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Some people remember their childhood, but others don’t. Some people keep their childhood photographs, considering them their treasure, while others say that these are the stupidest years of their lives. Some describe their childhood in vivid colors, while others, on the contrary, claim that they had a difficult childhood. I think it's good that it existed at all...
Childhood is a period of discoveries, small and large. Ask your grandmother one day to talk about her childhood. (She will start with a phrase that contains special magic, this phrase is like a narrow path to the most important period of life, with this phrase the door of the past will creak slightly, the cobwebs on it will come off, and you will understand a lot about your grandmother. Try it sometime !) So: “When I was little...” By the way, during these stories, adults have the summer sun dancing in their eyes, a faint pinkish blush appears on their face, a gentle smile, and a look so similar to this photo from their children’s album, focused on one specific object, which an adult does not see at all - this is a look behind that very door, into the very soul, into those very memories.
Personally, I don’t remember my childhood very well. If you imagine your whole life as a film, then my film is torn, i.e. there are a lot of gaps in it. I don’t remember a lot, I forgot. When I was little, I was very thoughtful. Probably, this made me at least a little different from other children. I remember that in kindergarten, when we were walking, all the children were chatting with each other, and I was almost always alone. The teachers told my mother that it was like I was in my own world. My mother asked me what I was dreaming about, that during the walk I didn’t go down the slide with other children, didn’t play “catch up”... I said that I just didn’t want to. I would like to note that my mother thought that I was dreaming. But dreaming and thinking are different things... What else do I remember that was so interesting? I remember how I showed off my new dress to everyone. I didn’t remember the dress itself very well, it seemed to be white, with black spots - like a jaguar’s. But my mother said that she gave it to me. I was so happy about this! If she had told me that she bought this dress, then my attitude would probably have been different. It's amazing how children can tell the difference between words.
I remember how we drew cards for the holiday on February 23rd. Then I thought something like this: “What kind of holiday is February 23? Dad says it's Defender of the Fatherland Day. What is this? There is such a holiday - March 8, Women's Day. Is it the same on February 23?” And one boy, Sasha, came up and asked who to give him a postcard to, to which the teacher answered with a smile:
- Give it to dad.
“But I don’t have a dad,” Sasha said embarrassedly, “and I don’t have a grandfather...
When my mother picked me up from kindergarten, I told her about Sasha and asked:
- How is it that there is no dad? What about grandfathers? Where did they go? Who should I give Sasha a postcard to? Mom smiled at me sadly and answered:
- Polinochka, it happens that dad is not there, maybe there was an accident and... And grandpa too, maybe...
I understood her. I took everything so close to my heart that when dad and mom were actively discussing something, in high tones, I thought they were quarreling. I went into their room and said:
- Mom, dad, don't quarrel! I don’t want to have no one like Sasha to give a postcard to!
“We’re not quarreling, we just argued a little,” my mother answered with a smile.
“I won’t leave you girls anywhere.” How can I live without you? I'll be lost! - Dad laughed. But I was still worried.
One day my mother was hospitalized. Not exactly in the hospital, she had surgery on her nose. It was very urgent, as my father explained to me, or my mother would not be able to breathe. I was very worried about her, very much. The days were not so sunny, not so joyful. At that time I was living with my grandmother, and when my dad picked me up from kindergarten, I was very surprised. Dad was so happy, so joyful. Unable to bear it, he asked me:
- Polinka, do you miss your mom?
- Certainly! I even learned a poem while I was at my grandmother’s so I could tell her. Will she be back from the hospital soon? I miss you so much! She promised me that...
And the rest of the way I chatted incessantly.
And here we are standing at the apartment. Dad opens the door, and mom is standing in the hallway. Can you imagine how happy I was?
There is something that I remember best. This is not the brightest event, rather sad. IN kindergarten I often fell and stumbled - I didn’t notice anything behind my thoughts. And then one day, when I was walking somewhere, lost in thought, a boy, who took a toy wooden traffic light, without really looking at where he was going, “came” right into my eye with this very traffic light. Not quite in the eye, but in the eyebrow, as it turned out later. At the first aid station they said that everything would heal. Mom picked me up from kindergarten and when we got home, she decided to check what was under the bandage... And then we went to the surgeon.
When we all visit hospitals, we remember this specific smell, but not everyone can name it. And I couldn’t then. But I remembered it very well. And I never went near a wooden traffic light again...
All these short stories which I told you are, in general, quite ordinary. Everyone can tell something from their childhood.
When I was little, I always paid attention to words and took a lot of things very close to my heart. Of course, I, like all children, rejoiced at everything in the world: winter, and snow, and gifts, and streams in the spring, and rain, and a new cartoon... Everything, everything! I liked to attract attention, I liked to play snowballs with my dad, I liked to draw, to dance - everything always seemed new, even if you had done it a thousand times. Every time it’s like anew! Children will always be better at something than adults. Children will be more joyful, happier, smarter, etc. Because adults have “seen a lot of things,” and children always discover everything from a new, more interesting side. Ask an adult: “What is love?”, he will answer you all sorts of nonsense about feelings between two people and so on, and the child will answer: “This is when mom and dad always say to each other “ Good morning!“, when mom kisses you on the forehead before leaving you in kindergarten, when dad gave mom flowers just like that...” So whose answer is more important? Who is closer to the truth? That's it!
When I was little, I was the happiest girl on Earth. Why? But that's why! Because...
Kirpicheva Polina, 8th grade
WHEN I WAS LITTLE
When I was little, I was very forgetful. I’m still forgetful now, but before it was just terrible!.. 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 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 the backpack, but forgot the way to school and only remembered it 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, I got it mixed up – it’s autumn now, winter or summer – and instead of skis I brought fins to physical education. And in the sixth grade, I forgot that I had to behave decently at school, and stomped into class on my hands. Like an acrobat! But in the seventh grade... Oh, wow... I forgot again. Well, I'll tell you later when I remember.
VERY SAD STORY
When I was little, Fedka fell in love with me. He gave me a very beautiful antique porcelain, slightly bald doll in a lace dress.
But I fell in love with the science teacher. I exchanged 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 a poultry market, bought a hefty weight and gave it to my physical education teacher. And we all got scarlet fever. But it wasn’t from a doll, or a guinea pig, or a weight that we got infected. We got infected from the Hero of the Soviet Union, pilot-cosmonaut Zatykaichenko, who came to our school and shook hands with all the teachers, and personally patted each student on the head. Well, I’m lying about everything, because astronauts don’t get scarlet fever...
HOW I BECAME A GIRL
When I was little, I was a boy. Well, first as a boy, and then she became a girl. This is how it was. As a boy, I was a hooligan and always offended girls. And then one day, when I was pulling the pigtails of two girls at once, a wizard walked 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, the girl’s life was not sweet! They kept pulling my pigtails, teasing me, tripping me up, and dousing me with nasty puddle water from sprinklers. And when I cried or complained, they called me a sneak and a crybaby. One day I shouted to the offending boys:
- Hey! Wait a minute! They'll turn you into girls, then you'll find out!
The boys were very surprised. And I told them what happened to me. They, of course, got scared and didn’t hurt the girls anymore. They just treated us to sweets and invited us to the circus. I liked this life, and I no longer began to turn back into a boy.
How my name was chosen
When I was little, I really didn't like my name. Well, where is this good for - Ksyusha? That's only what cats are called. Of course, I wanted to be called something nice. In our class, one girl’s name was Elvira Cherezzabornoguzaderischenskaya. The teacher’s pen even broke while she was writing this girl down in the 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 talking about, daughter,” my mother said. – Your name is simply 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 be very suitable for you, and grandfather decided that you should just be called Rocket. But Aunt Vera believed that there was nothing more beautiful in the world than the name Golendukh. Golenduha! After all, that was the name of your fourth great-great-grandmother! She was such a beauty that the king married her. And she made him jam from young fly agarics, so tasty that he ate it to death. And everyone was very happy, because this king was very harmful and evil. He canceled birthdays and fought all the time with just anyone. Horror, not a king! But after him another king came - cheerful and kind. What a great fellow your fourth great-great-grandmother is! She was even given a badge: “Excellent in fighting evil kings”! And so Aunt Vera suggested calling you Golendukha. “What other Golendukha?!” - Aunt Masha shouted and even threw a plate of raspberry jelly at Aunt Vera. The plate hit Aunt Vera’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 sewed up the holey head, so that not a trace remained. This kind doctor's name was Ksyusha Igorevna Paramonova. It was in her honor that we named you Ksyusha.
Since then I even like my name a little. After all, all sorts of Golendukhs there are even worse!
FAKE TEETH AND CUCKOO CLOCK
When I was little, many other people were also little. For example, my friend Alyosha. He and I sat at the same desk. Then one day the teacher says to him:
- Well, Alexey, read by heart the poem that I assigned for homework.
And he says:
- I didn’t learn it. My last baby tooth fell out 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 the teeth out of his mouth at once!
We were so scared! Irka Belikova even cried. And our teacher’s teeth were simply not real. Then the director entered the classroom. And I was scared too. But he didn't cry. He brought another teacher to us - cheerful and with real teeth that cannot be removed from her mouth. And that teacher was given a cuckoo clock and sent off to a well-deserved rest—retirement, that is. It would have been like this a long time ago!
NASTY OLD WOMEN
When I was little, I was very nasty. I’m still disgusting now, but before I was just terrible. This is what 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 sticking my tongue out at everyone. Two old women in berets walked past and asked me:
- Girl, what’s your name?
- Hooray! – the old women jumped for joy. – Finally, we found a girl named Nikak. Here's a letter for you. - And they jumped away. The letter said: “A girl named Nikak! Please scratch your right ear with your left foot!”
"Here's another! – I thought. - I really need it!"
In the evening, my mother, Aunt Lisa, and I went to Children's World. Mom and Aunt Lisa held my hands tightly so that I wouldn’t get lost. And suddenly my right ear itched terribly! I began to pull my hands out. But mom and Aunt Lisa only squeezed my hands tighter. Then I tried to scratch my ear with my right foot. But I couldn’t reach it... And I had to contrive and scratch my right ear with my left foot. And as soon as I did this, I immediately grew a big curly mustache. And so do all the other children. IN " Children's world“A terrible squeal arose - these were mothers and fathers who were afraid of their mustachioed children! And they quickly ran to the doctors and police. But doctors were not able to cure the mustachioed children immediately, but only after a few days. But the police immediately caught two nasty old women wearing berets. These old women have been walking around Moscow for a long time and doing all sorts of outrageous things. Only they were already quite old, and their disgust was not enough for outrages. Therefore, they looked for nasty boys and girls and made mischief with their help. "Wow! – I thought. “It turns out that nasty girls become nasty old ladies?..”
I didn’t want to become such an old lady, and I stopped being nasty.
ENCHANTED SNOW
When I was little, I loved eating snow. As soon as there is even a little snow, I immediately go outside and eat, eat, eat... Until they catch me and scold me.
And no one could wean me off this terribly dangerous habit for my health. And then one day, when winter came, I immediately ate the snow. And he was not simple, but enchanted. And I turned into a cake. My mother comes home from work, and instead of me in the kitchen there is cake.
- Wow! Cake! - Mom was happy. She was only surprised that I wasn’t at home, and then she thought that I had gone to Ninka Akimova’s next door. And I couldn’t tell her anything at all - after all, cakes can’t talk! Mom put me in the refrigerator. I turned not into a simple cake, but into an ice cream cake. Mom waited for me a little, and then finally decided to eat a piece of cake. She took me out of the refrigerator and picked me up sharp knife... And then splashes burst out of 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 there were red bows sculpted on the cream cake - exactly the same as the ones in my pigtails. It was then that my mother suspected something was wrong. And she quickly called a rescue squad of three wizards and two ice cream makers. All 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 sometimes I want to.
What if he's bewitched again?
When I was little, I loved riding my bike through the forest. He tinkled so coolly, jumping over snags, I rushed along the brown forest road, hedgehogs and frogs scattered to the sides, and the sky was reflected in the deep transparent puddles.
And then one evening I was driving through the forest and met a hooligan.
“Hey, redhead,” said the bully in an ill-mannered voice. - Well, get off the bike.
The hooligan's eyes were sad and sad. I immediately realized that he had a difficult childhood.
- Well, why are you staring? - asked the bully. - Get down quickly, I need to go to the sea.
- Cunning! - I said. - I really want to go to the sea too. You'll take me on the trunk.
And off we went.
- How will we get to the sea? – I asked.
“Easy,” said the hooligan. “You just have to drive along the river bank all the time, and someday it will eventually flow into the sea.”
We drove along the bank of a small dark forest river.
“Then it will expand,” the bully promised. - The steamships will start sailing, and we will get to the sea on a passing ship.
– At sea we will only eat watermelons for breakfast! - I said.
- And for lunch - roach, chewing gum and pickles!
– And for dinner – jump up loudly and play the guitar!
We went out into the field. Wind started to blow. I pressed my ear to the hooligan’s back and heard his hooligan heart beating. It was getting dark. The river did not widen and did not widen, and no passing ships were visible. I remembered my mother, Aunt Lisa and the cat Arbuzik. How they wait for me, look out the window, and then cry, call the police, ambulance and firefighters too, just in case.
- Hey! – I tapped the hooligan’s back. - Stop it, I need to go home.
- What about the sea?
“Then somehow,” I promised. - Next time.
The bully's eyes became even sadder.
“Oh, you,” he said, “you coward.”
- And you are a hooligan!
“But when I grow up, I won’t marry you,” said the hooligan, got off his bike and left.
The most interesting thing is that it turned out that way! The king married me, and the evil sorcerer, and the astronaut, and the fool. And the bully didn’t marry!!! I haven't even seen him since then. He's probably grown up and has a real beard.
But that's a completely different story.
