My father of
we build the Ship with sails,
we Float on it behind miracles,
I am a captain, and he is a hero.
He for me is ready to battle
Against a dragon fiery, big,
And if it is necessary to fight
With a sea monster.
I so appreciate his care
I with the father as if in a bright dream,
Grudges, on Monday for work
It is time for it, and in a garden - me.
- Well what, Alenka, is in us with you spirit of adventurism?! - conspiratorially the father asked me, and I faded with delight because knew - this question will be followed by all means by some tempting offer. For example, to go for a walk together late at night.
it is dark, silent, only snow will loudly fasten under our legs. Lamps burn, and in their bluish light snowflakes are beautifully turned. We go with the father, strong holding hands, we consider the star sky and we look for the Big Dipper. The father tells a story about how Medveditsa cooks in the big ladle porridge for a bear cub.
U I remained many the cozy, cheerful, bright memoirs from the childhood connected with the father. Now they warm me in adulthood and fill with a tranquil pleasure and pride. Pride of the father.I remember
Ya how we ran in the evenings as we got through high lattices, ignoring gate as together dug potatoes, went to the wood for mushrooms and berries, composed fairy tales, thought out games. Game in “raft“ was favourite entertainment. We laid down on a bed, took cover with the head a plaid and represented that we float on a raft in the high sea, and around us sharks turn, and we beat off them and we feed them with butter (it was the only product which it did not grieve me to give them).
A what fascinating games was thought out by the father to feed me - the little fastidious person! Most of all I liked to play “tracing of the spy“. The father was a pilot of the plane, and I the stewardess. We arrived to some far-away country, for example, Japan, and so far the plane was on refueling, we should have tracked down the spy who hid in cafe and not to give himself, we had to have dinner there. The father always thought out a set of interesting details: the plan of further actions described appearance of the spy, exotic dishes which we ate.the Father - the real master to tell
ridiculous stories. Especially I liked stories where close people were the main characters. For example, from an easy father`s hand our mother turned into the she-robber Irka - the Gold handle (mother is from Rostov-on-Don known for the criminal spirit). Over these stories we laughed loudly all family!
When I remember the childhood now, I understand that it was very happy, thanks to my parents, competent division of their roles in education. Mother personified tenderness, care, the arranged life, and the father - fun, thirst for adventures, trips. With mother it was interesting to play maiden games, to consider the abc-book, to sew to dolls clothes. With the father we adored throwing soft toys, to jump, somersault, rage.
the Father cultivated in me inescapable love to the North, height, freedom of flight. Since the earliest childhood the father threw me very much - very highly, twisted - a spit in air, put on the highest case from which I fearlessly jumped to it in hands.the Father told
to me about Far North, the local people, their traditions much, about the strongest frosts which were in his childhood. And now the father sometimes asks me:
- Alenka, you are the real northerner?
- Of course! Same, as well as you! - with pride I answer.