It’s amazing how many things have happened. It seems so many stories… But which can I remember? Many of them have lost their value. This is the power of time, a great force that destroys everything in its path. And yet something timeless remains.
1990 is outside the window. I drift back in time when I was 6 years old. And I feel like I'm breathing different air. Yes, everything seems different.
I see toys on the shelves of a tiny Khrushchev apartment. Big soviet globe nestled on the top shelf, grandly and significant. And beside it – Pinocchio, made of plastic, so that its hands and legs turn. Neither my sister nor I liked it. And so when parents weren't home, we’d take him apart and throw out the window.
We lived on the 3rd floor of a five-story panel house. Small kitchen, two living rooms and 4 persons. My parents lived in one room, my sister and I in the other. Parents gave us a big room and took the smaller one. They always gave us the best. Every time we sat down at the table, they’d fill our plates first, and theirs after. And they always bought clothes us first, and then for themselves, if the opportunity remained.
My family had an average income most of the time. It is difficult to say how much it was in dollars, but, for example, we almost always could afford most of the products from the store, various sports and art classes and a short trip once a year.
My parents worked as engineers at the huge military factory until 1990 came, that fateful year for the Soviet Union. Mother did the drawings, and father was involved in development of microelectronics and semiconductor physics. But life changed dramatically in 1990, when perestroika and glasnost came into Soviet Union. Payments were stopped, and the prices began to grow rapidly. The country was in chaos, and my parents left the factory to start their own business. They succeeded in selling typewriters, that still could be sold back then.
Parents always wanted my sister and I to become fully developed individuals. I remember my mother used to say "Fully developed". They didn't want us to become professional athletes, but were engaged in sports sections (my sister since the age of 5 and I since 4 years old). At this age parents took us to the section of figure skating. I did not engage in this sport because of my fear of ice, but my sister liked it, and later she quite succeeded in it. As to me, I was given to gymnastics, after I refused to deal with ice, and the parents told the coach that I had turned 5. It was a lie, but my parents thought it was time to start sports. And I am very thankful for that.
We did not become great champions. As soon as the coach noticed the success of my sister, he turned to our parents with proposal to transfer her to a special sports group with power training regime. The idea was to make her a professional sportsperson, so parents refused. As I said, they didn't want us to become professional athletes.
As for my success in gymnastics, they were minor. Although everything was pretty good, and in a few months of training I won my first small competition, I left sports after 4 years of training.
Our neighbor lady lived on the same floor, and we usually played all sorts of children's games with her. But it was not as often as we wanted. There was a time, when my sister and I simultaneously attended art studio, english classes, music school, swimming pool, skating and gymnastics. I even remember that at one point I joined a group of figure skating, where my sister was. Then somehow I was engaged in gymnastics, figure skating and swimming all at once. Parents invested a lot in us.
I remember that day, when my mom bought us "Mars" bars on the way home from training. They just appeared in Russia and were considered a great delicacy, especially among the kids our age. Then we passed by a toy store, which we almost always went to "just have look". We begged mom or dad, depending on who picked us up from practice, to come into this magical and enchanting world of toys.
I remember my feelings very well. I recall the windows of this store, illuminated outside with colored neon lights. And this light added miracle to this place, already magical for me. We looked eagerly at the shelves and asked parents to show us a particular toy. We just wanted to " have a look". Parents told us: "We don’t have money to buy you this now." And we agreed: "OK, but we'll just look." However, our "look" often turned into tears and drama. But it was a nonsense to buy a toy every time we came from workout!
All these toys lived at home, on shelves handmade by my father. We had our favorites and those we didn’t like. But why we never threw them away? Perhaps, our parents loved them?
I remember that I have often found toys, that were bought for me as a birthday gift. And as soon as I’d find this toy, there was nothing left to do for parents, but to give it to me and buy a new one as a gift. So one year I got three presents instead of one.
One of such gifts was a remote controlled car. It was the best and most expensive toy in my collection. I was very proud and cherished it. But one day my parents’ friends came to visit us with their little son Sam. In some ridiculous way someone gave him my car, and he broke the remote control. I remember how it hurt. After all, it was so important to me.
Later Dad repaired remote control, but since that day I seriously disliked Sam.
Our parents used to cook "pelmeni" dumplings. It was a traditional dish in our family. Well, not that festive, as we would cook it often on weekends. My sister and I ate them with butter or sour cream, and parents loved to add some vinegar. I always thought that vinegar is tastier, but father rarely gave it to me, worrying about my health.
I remember once parents were busy cooking dumplings, and I secretly took one of raw dumpling and ate it under the bed in the parents’ room. The taste of raw meat, mixed with onions and spices, seemed nice. Although the taste of freedom was better, as I did what I intended to do for a long time.
I also loved bonfires. I was so attracted by the fire, that parents used to let me fire in a small saucepan under their close supervision. I set a piece of paper on fire with the matches, and then threw some papers in.
I also had a large collection of stickers with various sports cars. I stuck them on the wall in the kitchen, but I left one with my favorite car on the shelf. I wanted to save it, because it was the coolest. Once we had guests, while I was burning a small fire in the pan. Among the guests were guys our age, children of our parents' friends. I was joyfully burning my fire, when noticed one of the children throwing part of my beloved sticker in it. He tore it into pieces and threw them in my fire as fuel, like it was a common trash. That was a real tragedy for me.
At times, when parents weren't home, we played spiders. We took the thread and bound everything in the room. The result was a huge web, in which was difficult to move around. It was one of our favorite games. Unfortunately, mum didn’t like it that much.
We loved to make little kites in the form of bees and run them on a string from the balcony. I learned how to make these paper bees from “DIY” book, which my father gave me. And when we were home alone, we made these paper kites and run them, standing on the balcony. The wind drove their flight, and we had fun, looking at them flying to the neighboring balconies.
Generally, this balcony involves many memories. We fooled showering pedestrians with water from a syringe. It was so much fun! Unsuspecting passer-by walked past the balcony, and we splashed water on him and hid, trying to hold back the gales of laughter.
This post I dedicate to my parents. Let this record be consigned to history. Perhaps my descendants will be happy to read this.
Dear Mom,
Dear Dad,
Thank you for everything you have given me!
I am truely blessed.
This is part #1, the next part is here.