Today: April 18 2019
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Fun? I do not know…

Children's hand:

A month passed out of the fog, took the knife out of his pocket.
I will cut, I will beat
Does not matter…


Remembrance from youth.

I remember my father gave my mother a dandy coat in the far distant 70-s.

I will not say what kind of fur, but they say the same was the case with Queen Elizabeth (if they do not lie, of course).

Mom did not wear it and always told her father, why did you buy it for me? Somehow it was uncomfortable for her to wear it if you consider that she was alone in the city. I, I remember, always told my mother, but let's make a winter sosh out of her jacket. But no, there hung a fur coat and hung.


But one day I came home, and my parents were not at home. And fur coats too. It's strange. I called my mother at work and found out that they had some kind of solemn meeting there and she apparently decided to wear this fur coat at last. And I decided to joke.

Mom left work hours at nine in the evening and walked home on foot. In one place, there were no streetlights along the way, and I decided to wait for her there, hiding behind a high snowdrift.

In the distance, in the light of the lanterns of the latter, I saw my mother walking in this dorogushchey coat.

When she came up to me, I slowly got out of the drift, silently approached her from behind, grabbed her shoulder so that she did not turn around, and said in a rude voice:

"Mother, take off your fur coat."

My mother began to settle under my arm. I picked it up and began to explain that it was me and that I decided to just joke. How can I walk in such a fur coat alone on dark alleys and it's better for me to sew a jacket out of it.

Further all was prosaically simple. My mother drove me to the house, swinging her bag and trying to get into everything that she gets to her eyes from my long calf. I heard of course everything she thinks of me at this moment, trying to apologize and explaining that this is just a joke. But, as they say, there was a bit of my mother's strong hand, armed with a woman's bag, in which, it seems to me sometimes, women wear bricks. Then, at home, when she calmed down and even laughed with me, she probably forgave me ...

I did not sew a jacket from this fur coat. But miraculously, my mother gave it to my first bride.

I loved my mother. And I always remember this incident. How condescending sometimes our parents are to us and how inappropriately at times in childhood and youth we allow ourselves to joke over our loved ones.

Forgive me, Mom, your son is a dunce. I love you so much!

Forgive me, Lord, for the stupidity and heartlessness of youth.


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