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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.

I remember doves shitting on my head and having to wash it, crying bitterly.

Like I said, we lived in 116 km settlement. We had an almost abandoned military airfield nearby. My father not only taught me how to drive a car, but also instilled a love of sports.

He was a Candidate Master of Sports in skiing and occasionally took me out for cross country skiing. One of the trips I remember very well.

Of course, there was always a sense of competition. Once again, we went out to the ski track and raced towards the forest. From time to time my father asked if I was tired. I didn’t want to look weak and continued to act tough. And we skied further and further away from home.

I ended up being a hero, and I returned home in tow.

We tied up our ski sticks together, and my dad towed me like a snowmobile.

The choice of school was very simple, or rather there wasn’t any choice. Naturally, I went to the school where my mother worked, so to speak, to be in sight and under her supervision.

I wouldn’t wish anyone such a presence. You give an inch here or there, the slightest blunder, and everything becomes known to my mother in no time.

I only saw my mother when I was being punished. It was like a consistent pattern: every time if I am kicked out by teacher during class, my mom walks by and catches me.

She was very strict, and everyone was afraid of her, but respected her even more, of course.

My school diary was riddled with misbehavior marks. The scariest thing for me was, of course, my father’s being called to school, but it went fine. Even so, dad knew my situation thoroughly, even though mom often felt sorry for me and protected me, but occasionally I would get beaten with belt or wire.

The wire was more painful, it stung so hard that you could piss in your pants.

So I used to hide all the wires in our home prior to punishment. Dad didn’t beat me very often, and at some happy moment he told me that I am an adult already and that it is not nice to punish me with the belt anymore.

Since then, I’ve been using my self-awareness to control myself and not let my parents down.

It was the authority of my parents that was the main focus of my education.

That’s what started my hardening at school.

I must say that my school wasn’t an ordinary one, it had advanced French classes.

And for some reason, students from other schools considered it to be for milksops and mamma’s boys.

This is why we were regularly visited by uninvited guests from neighboring schools to rob us of our lunch money or simply beat us.

Fights took place almost every day and every break between classes and, as a rule, ended with our side losing.

I can proudly say that it was our class to make it to the turning point in this war. Of course, it didn’t work out by itself and it wasn’t easy.