People born in the 70s remember well how they sacredly believed in the ideals and righteousness of the party. How we were looking forward to the program in "Guests at the Fairy Tale" and looked out for their drawings, among the dozens shown at the end of the program. The music from the weather forecast after the "time" program inspired confidence and stability. Yes, they lived mostly poorly, but amicably.
The doors did not close, there were no pedophiles, maniacs and drug addicts. And there were grandmothers on the benches and grandfathers "slaughtering the goat" on a table covered with tin.
As a child, I thanked my homeland for taking care of me, and regretted that adventures like my ancestors would no longer be.
But I was wrong.
Once it all started. At first we did not understand what was happening. But the state took the money that my parents collected for my apartment. Then the parents left the factories and went to carry the trash to Poland. And then my great homeland disappeared, and the new one did not take care of me. And I had to go to the "brigade", but not to the construction site but …
In general, that's another story.
Let's remember what is left behind the wall, which our children will never have. Those artifacts that made that era the world of our childhood.
And this world consisted of a rotary telephone on which my mother spoke for hours with her friend. From a can, with which my grandfather went to get milk.
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Remained in that country a radio station and a station "lighthouse" who accompanied me to school.
Behind that wall there was a janitor who gave us the most delicious water from a hose. Ice cream in a cardboard glass that turns into sweet water in your mouth. Milk bottle boxes that served as sleighs. Rusty sofa nets instead of hockey goals.
Carbide and shingles that taught us explosives. And also garages, roofs, basements, attics and dovecotes. How I loved climbing a real dovecote.
Rizinochki, classics and baker. We played in the yard late into the night.
The first love remained there. She sat next to me and looked into my eyes. Not on my plain worn clothes, but on me. And I didn't think about anything bad. I introduced her as my wife and my baby's mother. And it seemed that it was so easy to get up and go through life together.
But the country left, and with it that girl. And no one else looked at me like a girl from that wonderful warm country.
BUKHRANSKY SERGEY