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, the huge crystal salad bowls, similar to size 47 glass prickly galoshes, which were bought by my mother at that blessed time, for many years at family holidays were 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 the birth of a younger brother and the complete dissolution of my 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
Preparing for writing is drawing up a plan for a given essay topic.
Plan for this essay:
- Childhood is the best age.
- Memories when I was little.
- The most important thing is the child's happiness.
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 remain in people's minds forever. I am sure that you cannot find a person who does not remember the best moments of his childhood. Of course, exceptions are possible. Personally, I remember my childhood and will never forget, 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, first of all, naive, like any child, but I was also happy. I remember delicious breakfasts, after which we were supposed to go out for a walk. These days are spent with friends in the yard. What we didn't do. And we did what we were not allowed to do, like any children. And, of course, we played a variety of games, the rules of which you still remember. And when I was little, I really loved building huts. I built them everywhere, at home from stools and blankets, and outside 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, really loved cartoons. And I remember how at the same time everyone’s mothers shouted from the windows that the cartoons were starting. And for a moment the courtyard became quiet, everyone ran home like bullets, and maybe faster. Another vivid memory is, of course, the holidays, especially New Year and Birthday. Well, what could be better? Everyone comes to visit you, gives you gifts, wishes you health, happiness and all the best. And my mother’s delicious cake with candles.
It seems to me that the list of childhood moments can be endless. But there is one thing and the most important thing is 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.
