Zhivodar DUSHKOV
I spent my whole childhood in my home village. My Dad didn’t take me to town until it was time for me to start eighth grade. Our school is good enough but I was entranced when I stood in front of the building of the high school where I was about to start: a grand staircase, a high carved door, windows with columns on the sides, and those windows so big that the city houses were coquettishly admiring their reflections in them.
Autumn came, classes started. At first, I was cowering in my new uniform, looking around with wide eyes. I missed my family, I missed you all and Dad, my brothers, my friends who stayed behind. Then I realized that my classmates were experiencing emotions like mine, and I calmed down. Our teachers in the village were good and the knowledge I gained allowed me to have certain self-confidence. Especially in mathematics – I, the plain peasant boy, beat the pants off the city boys. The high school maths teacher also felt that he could count on me and ...