Evening road
Midsummer in the city is pure torture. After work, the streets are in turmoil, everyone is stupefied by the heat, the air is heavy - you can’t rest, your ears are ringing from the roar, and on the sidewalk you are knocked off your feet by a wave of people. You squeeze into the car, drive up to the intersection, and there is complete chaos, the entire intersection is clogged with cars. By the time you come to your senses, a dozen cars will still be crowded around. They stand right next to you, they wall you up, you can’t move forward or back, and the suffocating smell of exhaust gases just pulls you into the cabin. And who knows how long you will stay in this trap.
In the summer after work I have one task - to get out onto the country highway. There it is a completely different matter - there is space and the surface is wide and smooth, as if polished - the car flies like a swallow. And the already dim setting sun rolls onto the windshield. What's the air like?! Clean, refreshing - pleasantly blows on a hot face. If you take it to the side of the road, you will be drawn by leaves and grass; if you turn towards the middle of the highway, you will feel the oncoming elastic flow.
There, on the highway, on a straight section, I organize races every evening. I rush furiously, as if I am at odds with myself - almost like in my youth, when I was in a motorcycle clan. My “Zaporozhets”, which I affectionately call Donkey, is working with all his might, the speedometer needle is jumping around hundreds. And here’s what’s strange: I came home from work tired, completely worn out, and no matter what I look at, everything irritates me, I can’t bear to go to my family. And there, at speed, I suddenly calm down, as if I’m unloading. I’ll drive ten or twenty kilometers, and look, I’ve already relieved the tension and cleared my head. It happens that I wave away and then, returning, burning the last fuel in the tank, I catch myself invigorating thoughts already coming to me, like how good it is that I have a family. “Now I’ll drive you to the house,” I think, “my wife has already heated up the soup, she’s waiting for me, looking at her watch. Youngest son will start talking about school pranks. Then the eldest will come - he is graduating from a technical school, where I once studied, but, like me at one time, he believes that he is “looking for himself in the wrong place.”
This chemistry is nonsense,” the guy winces. - I want to learn something that others can’t.
That's what he says, rather forcefully. In general, I have to struggle with him. It’s a turning point, there’s nothing you can do about it.
My friends call me crazy because I go on aimless races outside the city every evening. This is probably true. It's hard for me to explain, but after these trips I feel like a different person. These friends of mine lead too orderly lives; they cannot understand me. And they are hard to climb. And for me, for example, it doesn’t cost anything to take a ride to the river on Saturday, swim, smoke a cigarette on the shore and return. Just like that - just take it and blow it, abandoning all your affairs. Summer is passing quickly. You wait for it, you wait, you count the days, you make plans, but a vacation comes up, and you don’t know what to spend it on. Either my wife and I started renovating the apartment, or my aunt dragged me to the dacha to fix the roof... This is how the fluidity of life gets stuck. From all this, and from work, of course (and after my promotion, I work as a section manager at an automobile plant, and this is such a hassle), at times I don’t see white light. So I leave work, not myself, limp, saggy. And then I drive on the evening highway, squeeze everything I can out of the Donkey and return to the city completely renewed, with a fresh head.
I bought the donkey at a reasonable price at a thrift store that was built on the site of a former flea market. I’ll say right away - the small car is worthwhile, all-weather. Some say that this is not a car, but a “bucket of nuts,” others say that in appearance it looks like a soap dish, but in my opinion, it looks good. And, despite its size, the car is roomy and easy to drive, and most importantly - economical. All this makes it quite convenient. I don’t know about others, but Donkey doesn’t give me any trouble. And after a heavy dump truck, it’s generally a toy for me.
Of course, I wouldn’t refuse the Zhiguli, but where can I get that kind of money? And I would like to have even more sports car with a powerful engine, about three hundred horses, but this is already from the realm of fantasy.
Just a donkey for me living soul, honestly. His character is flexible, he never gets capricious, he starts with half a turn and obeys with half a movement. And he has a lot of stamina, that’s why I named him Donkey. The only drawback of my iron friend is that he runs a little noisily, like, in fact, all cars without a water jacket, but this is not his fault, but his parents, various brainless engineers.
I don't have a garage, so I park my car near the house. Donkey was stolen twice. The first time was especially offensive - it was stolen by teenagers, friends of my eldest son, whom I taught car work. These bastards, you see, decided to go for a ride with their girlfriends, but they stopped after a couple of kilometers - the day before I used up almost all the gasoline. With this prank they immediately ruined the whole song. Then they came with repentance, they wanted to pity me, but they had already undermined trust, and everything was no longer the same. It’s a well-known fact that whoever has cheated once will cheat again.
The second time some guys set their sights on Donkey. They rolled the car into an alley, started it and drove away, but they were stopped by a traffic police officer - they were driving too fast. That's how things are. Unfortunately, there are still lovers of easy money, getting everything for nothing.
It is believed that a person, by purchasing his own transport, seems to move into a qualitatively new category, into the category of people of a higher order. But in my opinion, this is nonsense. The machine does not liberate, on the contrary, it enslaves. Buying a car puts you into slavery. The illusion of independence collapses immediately: you begin to depend on service stations, spare parts, gas stations, and traffic police. I am sure: the car does as much good as it does harm; you become more mobile, but also... more constrained - it’s not for nothing that most old drivers have weak legs and lower back pain. And the nerves! They are not wire, and constant tension does not make them stronger. But that's all for most people. People like me are the exception. It's in my blood. You could say I was born on wheels and all my life I have been connected with cars in one way or another. And I don’t need Donkey for some purpose. It’s just that I’ve already gotten used to the speed, just as all living things get used to their environment. Besides, it’s a piece of cake for me to make repairs, and this is an important point for the owner of the car.
Every morning, as soon as I start warming up the Donkey’s engine, neighbors pour out of the entrance and ask for a lift to the trolleybus. I don't refuse anyone. I fill the cabin full of passengers and taxi out of the yard. “Come on, Donkey,” I say, “push up; Come on, friend, don’t let us down, we’re already doing something.”
I drive out onto our street, pass the section of the road to the barrier and go out onto the avenue. My passengers are thrown up gently, they exchange playful laughs, and when they get out at the stop, they pour out gratitude. And what are they really? Just think - I threw it about a kilometer!
Trifles, I say, are always at your service.
It is this addition that they cling to. They come in in the evenings, one needs to be helped out - taken to the store, then another needs to be carried some heavy loads. And why not help people if it’s in your power?! We should all help each other, I think so.
Well, at work, naturally, the first question for me is:
Are you in a car? Are you driving? Dear, don’t refuse, take me there after work. It's desperately necessary.
And I start it. And then I rush to my country highway. I can't do without him. Otherwise I’ll come home broken and angry. And so I race there for an hour, and, as I already said, I arrive at the finish line, towards home, that is, straight away rejuvenated.
I love evening streets. They are not hot and not cold, but warm - just what you need! Driving on cold night streets is not good enough. It's a bit too deserted. The noisy streets at night are depressing and you feel lonely. Especially in windy weather - it seems like you are riding in a chimney. Another thing is the evening streets after a nice sunny day. It’s like you’re floating on them in a warm river; they are like a slight sadness after a holiday. The traffic is already calm, there are real sights along the road: domestic scenes in the illuminated windows, people walking on the sidewalks...
On weekends I have no end to people who want to use the Donkey. I mean, the hard worker Donkey doesn’t mind, but my wife often expresses dissatisfaction about this. Actually, Tsvetanka is a homebody, but on Saturdays she definitely needs to go somewhere.
Stop being a cab driver, he tells me. - And so every day you come back unknown when. It's time to think about family. I need to take the laundry to the laundry and the shoes to the workshop, and groceries for your mother, and take me to my friend’s, I haven’t seen her for a long time.
I nod in agreement and, for the sake of peace in the family, I become her personal driver for the whole day.
Sometimes our whole family goes to Tsvetana’s aunt in the village (she now lives there forever). In nature, I give my sons driving lessons. Unfortunately, they do not show much interest in technology and drive a car just like that, out of nothing to do. Apparently, they were already an eyesore with all kinds of spare parts that filled our apartment, and they were tired of my constant conversations about car work. But most likely, my passion was simply not transmitted to them. The eldest son is absorbed in the search for “himself,” grasping first at geography, sometimes at history. His hobbies change almost daily. And for the youngest, his wife prepared a specialty as a pianist and from the first grade she took the boy to music school. He says “capable, like me.” In it that is. And my talent in the car industry is nonsense.
In short, it’s clear to me that the guys will not follow in my footsteps. My wife says they are allergic to hardware, that at one time all normal fathers bought toys for their sons, and I brought gears and nuts. She's probably right, but what's wrong with that? I taught them about technology, made real men out of them, and all she knew was sweet lisp, although in those days she showed humility in front of me. Suspicious humility. I had no idea then, but now I understand in hindsight that in her heart she was laughing at my attempts. Oh, this cunning female sex!
In general, she won her sons over to her side, but I reason that once something is ingrained in a person, it is difficult to eradicate it. That’s why I think that I simply didn’t pass anything on to my sons. It’s a shame, of course, that there is no one to pass on my experience to, that priceless knowledge will die with me, that your sons don’t give a damn about what you gave your whole life to. And I think every work can be considered sacred if you put your soul into it - well, if you simply cannot live without it. Yes, what can I say! Just get upset. That's why sometimes you don't even want to go home. The donkey, the good fellow, feels it, begins to struggle, slips, sneezes, and then, without my will, leaves the race and goes out to Bulakskaya embankment and easily, as if he had been given a couple of horses or a tailwind is urging him on, runs towards the station. Elena Alekseevna lives there.
It's hard to explain our relationship. Many people don’t believe it, but we don’t have any romance, honestly. We just feel good with each other. Elena Alekseevna is a chemist at the technical school where my son studies. According to her son, she is the best teacher; knows the subject down to the intricacies, takes the kids on excursions, studies at home with those who want to go to college, but most importantly, doesn’t pull the kids down or flirt with them and gives them the opportunity to speak out.
“...She knows how to listen and understand,” says the son. - And he knows everything about chemistry. Even the parrot at her house knows the periodic table.
The first time I saw her was at a parent meeting. She is the complete opposite of my wife. Thin, with dark eyes, a dreamy smile on her lips. Her whole appearance seems to preserve memories of better days. She walked around the class and talked about eternal problem: fathers - children. Her gait is leisurely, a little tired. She spoke in a calm, even voice, and there was deep truthfulness in everything she said.
The second time we met was at a student night and she offered some praise for my son.
They, my sons, are nothing, I said, but they could be better.
“Be lenient with the young men,” she said and smiled wonderfully.
The weather was crazy that day. Some kind of dank dampness. It was raining in the morning. After the evening, both the boys and the parents ran away somewhere, and at the exit we found ourselves alone. I was curious about where she lived and offered to give her a ride home.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she answered politely.
What are you talking about? “I’m letting everyone down,” I said. - Sit down, whatever!
She hesitantly walked towards the car. The way to the station is not close, and while we were driving, we managed to get to know each other quite well.
Elena Alekseevna is thirty-five years old. She is divorced and childless. But, despite her unsettled personal life, she retained her easygoing character. I didn’t even have time to get into the car when I burst out with admiration:
What a well-maintained car you have. And how comfortable it is, there’s even a radio. How nice it is to drive in a car in the rain. Everyone gets wet, but here it’s dry, warm, music is playing. A small cozy world with its own electricity and radio. I never thought that I would enjoy driving in a car in the rain so much...
From this addition, Elena Alekseevna timidly shrank, like an animal in a moment of danger. But in vain. I didn’t make any plans - I just wanted communication, understanding.
The man was in pain, and that’s roughly how I started the conversation.
She felt that it was difficult for me to say what I wanted, and came to the rescue:
You just want to have a heart-to-heart talk, right?
I nodded with relief.
Imagine, sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself.
Don't make things up! - She gently stopped me. -You have good sons. Surely she has a wonderful wife and has friends. And then, you said that you have been involved with cars for many years and love your job, and in my opinion, optimism is an indispensable quality for a car enthusiast. Am I wrong?
How could one disagree with her? We had already arrived at her house, and I said bluntly:
Let's be friends.
“Come on,” she answered hesitantly and looked down.
Maybe we can celebrate the beginning of friendship? Invite me for a cup of tea. Still, I was a little chilled, - I spoke without any tricks.
But it's too late. How will your wife react to this?
What's special here? I returned later. Let's drink some tea, talk, and I'll go. And why put off an interesting conversation, unless, of course, you are too tired... At my age, you can’t put off anything - there may not be a future.
Ugh! You are still an incorrigible pessimist. I don’t understand how you deal with cars! Stop it please! Let's go have some tea and I'll show you the avenues for tourists. I think they will interest you.
She spoke to me in the tone of a benevolent teacher, and I was glad to feel like an over-aged student.
That's how it all started. Once a week I come to Elena Alekseevna, having previously bought something for tea. With her, I am spiritually enriched, and, I would like to think, with my presence I do not annoy her, but, on the contrary, brighten up her loneliness. In any case, she listens with interest to my stories about the car business, unlike my wife, who has long closed her ears to them, or even loses her temper, and is capable of insults when irritated. But I can’t stand it and, naturally, I go away to get some fresh air. And I never want to leave Elena Alekseevna. Sometimes we stay up until midnight, and then I go to the car in high spirits, as if I had received a powerful charge of energy. There is no trace of fatigue and despair.
Elena Alekseevna has a clean and bright apartment. The curtains and starched bedspread are blindingly white - it just hurts the eyes. Polished furniture reflects everything like a mirror. It seems that a light cloud has descended into her room. And the hostess herself always smells pleasant, neat, in ironed clothes. Elena Alekseevna has beautiful dishes, many books and records. I truly relax with her. And Elena Alekseevna brews fragrant tea with mint. Over tea he will listen and encourage you.
My relationship with Elena Alekseevna is pure, that’s why we don’t take precautions, we meet openly. But we still don’t advertise our meetings, evil tongues it's full. Many already look at us askance. How can they understand this?!
Thanks to Elena Alekseevna, I came to an amazing conclusion: it turns out that a woman can be a true friend, even more selfless than a man. It happened that Elena Alekseevna abandoned all her affairs for my sake. Once I mentioned a road atlas, and the next day she handed it to me. Where did you get it? She said “secret”. Another time, on her own initiative, she bought me a scraper to clean off ice.
And ask a friend to help with anything until he does his business and doesn’t remember. Or it starts to get boring:
You see, old man, things are up to our necks now. If only this week. And in general, why the hell did you take on this, it’s better to do that.” And fifth to tenth.
Asking your friends for something means wasting time on empty talk. I have no doubts about this.
Well, of course, I also have a place to lay hands on a lonely woman. Either the flower box on the balcony has fallen apart, or the door has sagged, or the switch is acting up, or the faucet is dripping - there is always something for small things. One day the stand helped her arrange it.
Elena Alekseevna and I went to the cinema a couple of times, and when it rained we just drove around the city. So it turns out: for weeks at home I only carry out duties, and rarely, in fits and starts, I live a full-blooded life. Elena Alekseevna and I are drinking tea and talking. Through the window I can see the platform, trains coming and going; people meet and part, just like Elena Alekseevna and I...
Everything would be fine, yes lately They began to poke me at work: it’s not becoming, they say, this is something for an employee of an auto plant. And some still climb with teasing. I keep silent, but they keep pressing me. The rumors keep creeping in. And they reached the wife, and now she is threatening divorce and keeps asking:
How's your mistress?
And recently I was sitting at Elena Alekseevna’s, and suddenly the doorbell rang. Elena Alekseevna goes into the hallway, and I hear the voice of my eldest son:
Tell my father that I passed the exam at the sports school.
What makes you think... that he... belongs to me? - Elena Alekseevna said confusedly.
The car is at the entrance.
Elena Alekseevna entered the room with burning cheeks.
Everything has already been revealed, and I don’t know what will happen if this continues. I'm afraid of losing the respect of my students.
Nonsense! - I said like a complete fool, not thinking at all about the reputation of a lonely woman.
No, this is serious,” Elena Alekseevna nervously walked around the table. - I beg you, please don’t come in again.
I tried to improve the matter, got excited, argued that we had nothing to do with various gossip, but it was all useless. As a final solution to the issue, she promised to talk on the phone.
That evening I drove home and Donkey roared like an angry beast. I drove without making out the streets, cutting right through them at full speed. The kilometers were clicking on the speedometer. A car looms a little ahead, I turn left and go to overtake. Some Zhigul will deliberately step on the gas and accelerate at the same level as me. Another would not have competed with a strong engine, but I, skillfully alternating speed, lagged behind, accumulated a reserve of energy and rushed ahead with a powerful spurt. Mastery is mastery, there's no getting around it. It's a shame that few people appreciate this. Only Elena Alekseevna. And here it is for you!
Anger fills me when I think about how everything turned out. And I can’t understand why people care about us. They always interfere with what you do, what you live. And then they condemn. And you have to endure. Some people have it worse, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me. I'm fed up with all the attention on my life. I just want to slam my fist on the table and shout: “Enough! My personal life is no one’s business!”
And now several times in the evenings, after a race along the highway, Donkey, out of habit, turns towards the station, but I stop him a kilometer from Elena Alekseevna’s house. I go into a telephone booth, dial a number and hear a calm, even voice. And we talk for a long time. Stealthily, like a boy and a girl. And then I turn the Donkey around and slowly roll home through the evening streets. I automatically brake and change gears without knowing where the roads begin and end. The donkey finds them himself.
It’s hard for me to do without Elena Alekseevna. During our short-term communication, I became attached to her like a real friend. I’m sure she too gets lonely in the evenings without me...
I especially miss her in the rain, when I return home on the Donkey. As soon as it pours from above, out of nowhere I have flashes of memory. I turn back time and remember our first trip with her, then all the subsequent ones. I remember the details and mentally follow Elena Alekseevna to the technical school, to the store... I imagine what she is doing now when I am driving along the evening road. Everything behind the glass is swollen with water, passers-by are rushing to take shelter from the bad weather, and I’m slowly pumping myself. It’s dry, warm, music is playing. The monotonous beat of rain lulls me to sleep, and I almost doze off. I rely on Donkey. He will not let you down - he will take me where I need to go, because he and I are one whole.
Fazil Abdulovich Iskander (March 6, 1929, Sukhumi, Abkhazia, USSR) is an outstanding Soviet and Russian prose writer and poet of Abkhaz origin. Laureate of State Prizes of the USSR and Russia, vice-president of the Russian PEN Center, academician
The life of every writer is embodied in his books. Fazil Iskander in this regard, as in many others, is a special case. The impossibility of fitting information about a unique personality into the traditional “questionnaire” form (“born... studied... published”) is best conveyed by the words of Iskander himself: “This is true, but not exactly.”
Russian writer Fazil Iskander moved from Sukhumi to Moscow 40 years ago; Abkhazian Fazil Iskander writes his books in Russian. Art world his prose is not only connected, but almost all fits in Abkhazia.
Iskander Abkhazia, an amazing land where “little Babylon” Mukhus and the mountain village of Chegem are located between the sky and the sea, is located next to Dostoevsky’s Petersburg, Bulgakov’s Moscow and W. Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha. The type of artistic vision in which " small homeland"from an infinitely expensive but provincial corner becomes the focus of the truth about the world and the criterion for its assessment - one of artistic discoveries literature of the 20th century, when the author’s “omniscience” became a convention. “It’s good for you,” one of my Moscow colleagues once told me, “you’re writing about small people. But it’s much more difficult for us. Try to describe a nation of many millions.” “You are from the Smolensk region,” I answered, “so write as if all the beginnings and ends converge in the Smolensk region” (“Sea of Charm”). Having transformed Abkhazia into the center of the universe, the writer made the house the sancta sanctorum of this world, and its inhabitants - relatives, neighbors, acquaintances, their descendants and ancestors - the heroes of his works.
Fazil Iskander never aspired to power, but he does not refuse to participate in worthy causes. He was a member of the Central Audit Commission of the Union of Writers of the USSR (1986–1991), co-chairman of the secretariat of the board of the Union of Writers of the USSR (1991), people's deputy of the USSR from the Abkhaz Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic (1989–1992), a member of the commissions on State Prizes of Russia (until 1996), on human rights person (until 1996) and on pardons under the President of the Russian Federation (until 2001), the Council for Culture and Art under the President of the Russian Federation (1996–2001). Now Iskander is vice-president of the Russian PEN Club (1989), a member of the commission for Russian State Prizes in the field of literature and art, chairman of the commission for literary heritage I. Babel (since 1987), academician of the Russian Academy of Natural Sciences (since 1995), Academy Russian art(since 1995), Independent Academy of Aesthetics and Liberal Arts (since 1995), member of the editorial boards of magazines and almanacs “Continent”, “Academic Notebooks”, “Circle of Reading”, public councils of the newspaper “Culture” (since 1996), magazines “Znamya” , “Youth”, “Friendship of Peoples”, “Showcase” (since 1997), “Reading Russia” (since 1997), the editorial board of the publishing house “Moskovsky Rabochiy”, the international editorial board of the Library of Elite Readers “Pantheon” (publishing house “Terra” , since 1995), the board of trustees of the Znamya Foundation, the board of the Dostoevsky Foundation.
Childhood is the brightest and most joyful time in the life of every person. At least, it should be like this, because in childhood a person’s character is laid, his attitude towards himself and the world around him.
That is why the main characters in many works of Russian writers are children, their psychology, and relationships with people around them. Thus, L.N. Tolstoy, in his autobiographical story “Childhood,” describes the life of Nikolenka Irtenyev, who grows up in the pages of the work, loves and hates, and receives the first lessons of life.
The little hero is surrounded by the love and care of his loved ones - his mother, tutor, nanny. Under their influence, Nikolenka grows up as a kind boy, he is characterized by “a feeling of compassion that used to make me cry bitterly at the sight of a little jackdaw thrown out of the nest or a puppy being carried to be thrown over the fence...”
The hero's life consists of lessons in class, games with friends, communication with his mother, whom Nikolenka idolizes. However, the boy grows and his life changes. He leaves for Moscow, makes new friends, gets separated and, later, loses his mother.
In the story, Nikolenka makes mistakes, tries to correct them, and draws conclusions. So, he unfairly thinks about the kindest tutor Karl Ivanovich, is offended by his nanny Natalya Savishna, comes up with bad dream“as if maman had died and was being buried.” Together with his friends, the hero mocks the weak Ilenka Grap, although he doesn’t really like it: “At that moment I was not entirely convinced that all this was very funny and cheerful.” But it is important that from each “unworthy” episode Nikolenka learns his lesson, understands why he acted wrong.
Childhood as the purest and most innocent period in life is also depicted by Bunin in the story “Numbers”. Little Zhenechka is the embodiment of spontaneity, naivety, playfulness and mischief: “And with childish gullibility, with an open heart, he rushed to life: quickly, quickly!” He loves his family very much and has immense respect for his uncle, who came from Moscow.
The writer emphasizes that the child is very dependent on adults and is easy to offend or humiliate. But this is the worst crime - little man He is not malicious, but he can remember the pain caused for the rest of his life.
The hero of Gorky's story also remembers his childhood grievances, difficult childhood. After the death of his father, Alyosha Peshkov had to endure a lot in his grandfather’s house - endure beatings and injustice, watch the enmity of his uncles, starve and beg. Only the grandmother warmed the boy - gave him her love, warmth, protection.
Akulina Ivanovka taught Alyosha to love people, to be kind and fair. It was the grandmother who revealed God to the boy - not harsh and evil, like the Kashirins, but kind, forgiving, loving. It was the grandmother who “opened” life to the boy, explaining to him everything that was happening around him - in the house and outside it. And this continued until her death. And when the grandmother died, the hero’s childhood also ended - he went “to the people.”
Thus, childhood in the works of Tolstoy, Bunin, Gorky is depicted as the most important time in the life of every person. It is in childhood, according to these writers, that the character and worldview of an individual are formed. In addition, childhood, in spite of everything, is the happiest - “golden” - time of life, filled with light, the joy of daily discoveries, and purity of the soul.
« Golden time childhood" in the works of L.N. Tolstoy and I.A. Bunin
Childhood, childhood! What a happy time of life. The time when you get away from all responsibilities, the time when no worries fall on your children's shoulders. You do whatever you want, but all this has its limits, as in the stories of Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy, no matter what kind of child you are, you know that you will forever remain in the hearts of your loving parents and close relatives. Tolstoy speaks about childhood in the most beautiful and subtle words of the Russian language: “Happy, happy, irrevocable time of childhood! How not to love, not to cherish memories of her? These memories refresh, elevate my soul and serve as a source of the best pleasures for me. Even before bed, partings seem eternal. Every child who loves their parents is excited by feelings of love and hope when these long hours of the night finally end. How you want to get up early and look at your beloved, the best mother in the world, like the sun that has just risen, who is ready to shower you with caresses and which you miss so much during sleep. But sooner or later childhood ends, and, as Tolstoy said: “Will that freshness, carelessness, need for love and the power of faith that you possess in childhood ever return? What time could it be better than that when the two best virtues - innocent gaiety and the boundless need for love - were the only motives in life? Where are those fervent prayers? Where is the best gift - those pure tears of tenderness? A comforting angel flew in, wiped away these tears with a smile and brought back sweet dreams... has life really left such heavy marks on my heart that these tears and delights have left me forever? Are there really only memories left?
After all, memories of childhood are like self-sacrifice; for the sake of these memories, a person is ready to do anything.
How pleasant it is for adults to remember how they reassured us, how they looked into children’s eyes with sparkles, eager to accomplish something. So Ivan Alekseevich Bunin wrote in his stories about how a loving uncle had affection for his nephew. After all, when you punish your piece of blood, your child, a small scar remains on your heart, and this is only for one punishment. But you can make up for all this by showing affection and care to the child. Bunin also showed self-sacrifice when Nefed died because of the red bast shoes that were
It’s not for nothing that Bunin is called a subtle psychologist. After all, how sad it becomes in your soul when you feel that Bunin, working on such stories, channeled every compassion for the child through himself, through his heart.
You should be glad that you are still a child. After all, you can’t return those moments of happiness. But how pleasant are the memories of him!
No one will argue that the most wonderful time in every person’s life is childhood. It is in childhood that we see everything differently, it sincerely seems to us that everything around is clean, bright, and life is filled only with joyful events and bright colors. Of course, not everyone’s childhood is cloudless and so rosy, but the task of each parent is to try to make their child’s childhood exactly like that, despite all life’s troubles, problems and difficulties. Remember one thing, children are not to blame for the problems of adults and there is no point in burdening them with them. Moreover, it is worth remembering that it is in childhood that a person’s character is formed, which will actually help him shape his future life.
For example, the time of childhood and adolescence in many works of famous Russian authors Leo Tolstoy, Ivan Bunin, Maxim Gorky is recognized and described as a very important and responsible period in a person’s life.
After all, never otherwise, and it is precisely during this period of life, in the opinion of these respected Russian writers, that a person’s worldview, his character, and not just character, but moral character, decency and honesty, responsibility and determination are formed.
But no matter what, childhood is, first of all, a golden time of daily joys and happy events, which simply should not be overshadowed by adult problems and troubles. Childhood is a golden time, a period when the soul of every person is still completely pure and tender.
Each of these authors has created more than one famous, interesting and even exciting work on the topic of childhood. Each of them tells about childhood in completely different ways, but each of them is surprising and exciting. The heroes of all these works are naturally children who face both joys and even adult problems, but at the same time remain just as pure, childishly naive and unspoiled.
Once you start reading any of the works of each of these authors, you will plunge into a world where childhood truly reigns. It is perhaps worth noting that you should definitely read the story “Childhood” by Leo Tolstoy, which is autobiographical, by Ivan Bunin children's story“Numbers”, well, Maxim Gorky’s story “Childhood” You will undoubtedly like and enjoy each of these works.
Essay on the theme of the Golden time of childhood, grade 7
Childhood is the most beautiful thing in a person’s life. At this time, he grows and develops, learns the world and new words, learns to walk and talk. In addition to all this, the child also shapes his character, behavior, and disposition. In childhood, a child can find good and loyal friends who will stay with him for life.
Probably every adult dreams of returning to their childhood at least for a second. Free yourself from responsibilities and daily work. Just run around in the yard with your peers and not think about anything. Experience the first emotions and feelings. Any adult would like to look at the world again with children's happy and curious eyes. After all, childhood is carefree.
Many famous people retained a piece of childhood within us. Your unique mind. Thanks to this, they became real geniuses and fulfilled their childhood dreams.
Great writers and poets have written many stories about childhood. In their stories they showed the soul of a child. All the light that is in it. But there were also stories in which the child experienced grief. And this event taught him to help people more, treat his family with care and do good deeds.
Despite all the joy of a child, he can be vulnerable and vulnerable. Usually this can be the death of a parent or beloved grandmother, or the betrayal of a best friend. All these bad events leave a scar on the little heart of a child. But this helps him in the future. To prevent other people from experiencing the same pain, the child will become even kinder and help people. This is how his character is formed.
I believe that childhood is truly a golden time in everyone's life. The brightest and most eventful time of discovery. In childhood, a child’s special worldview, character and individuality are formed. At this time, a special personality is formed, different from everyone else.
Several interesting essays
- Does Russia need the Bazarovs - essay for grade 10
Probably every person can immediately say from which work main character Bazarov and who is the author of this work. It turns out that Bazarov is from the work “Fathers and Sons”
