So much worrying, screaming, tears…
In spite of my cherubic appearance, I was no angel, and my weakest point was my behavior, or rather, being bad.
I don’t use the word “hooliganism” because it feels too harsh for that young age.
Now, remembering things I can still remember, I wonder and ask myself a question: how did I do it and how was I even capable of it back then, being so young?
It’s even a bit scary to tell.
I messed around a lot, some antics were forgotten for good and ended without much destruction, but there were those who left a mark on my body for a long time, and some – for life.
One day, I was fooling with a pillow on my bed again, as many times before, trying to hit the head of either of my parents,
badly missed and smashed my forehead into the back of the bed.
I cut my eyebrow open. What can I say, there wasn’t enough blood and screaming! The scar will be here forever.
I must say that my brain did not work then at all, or I had no brain at all, because any adequate human capable to do even the least bit of thinking would never have thought of what came to my head.
Now, when I think back to my antics, I’m just baffled. It confirms to me once again that I had no brain at all. And neither then nor now do I understand or can answer a simple question: why did I do it?
Another time I did such a thing that I’m ashamed to admit I found a little piece of wood, and I can’t remember if it already had a nail sticking from it, or I put that nail there… So, what I did:
I’d catch a moment to put the piece of wood with a nail under my mother’s foot for her to step on, naturally with the nail facing upward.
In my misfortune, but more of course my mother’s, this wrongdoing was a success, and my mother stepped on the nail that pierced her foot through.
What was my reaction? The only thing I was afraid of at that moment was that the parents would report me to the police.
I misbehaved a lot, but the rest of my antics were erased from my memory. However, I think they are probably well remembered by my parents.
Once I had a fight with my aunt, when we still were living together. I don’t remember which one of us won, apparently my aunt, because I went for a couple of weeks with a big bump on my forehead and complained to everyone, saying only two words: “Irka bump” (Irina was my aunt’s name).
At that time, I still wasn’t good at speaking and didn’t know any more words thar would be stronger and more colorful.
Well, what else do I remember from kindergarten? At that time, we still lived on Stepan Razin Street, and we had a steep uphill road called Pionersky Spusk near our home. There were no cars driving past in winter, and my dad and I used to go there for sledding.
I remember my first day in kindergarten, how I bawling my eyes out, when my mother brought me in and left.
I remember one time I had a fight with my best friend and I wanted to strangle him.
I remember peeping in the bathroom for the girls, and the kindergarten teacher put me in front of the whole group and said: “Take off your pants.”
I remember not liking to sleep in the daytime. How I remembered it later, kicking myself for not understanding how sweet it was to sleep during the day.
I remember how they wouldn’t let us go to the bathroom during the lunchtime nap, and I’d stick my peepee out in between the beds and pissed on the floor, for which I was punished later, but I slept in a dry bed, unlike some of the other kids.
