-Can you show me something? From scratch? My father looked at the clock, counted something and put me on his lap. -Okay, the extortionist was a minor. Let"s try it. - He showed me the basics: functions, variables, constants, procedures. Everything new in me woke up forgotten memories, and I quickly penetrated what he was saying, which surprised my father. Even for him, it was unusual. It lasted for several months. I sat down with my father, he explained to me what he was doing, what he was trying to do with the changes in the program. All this seemed familiar to me.
When he first explained the basics of cybernetics to me, I already knew these things, I remembered some of them more precisely. It was a pastime for both of us. So I wouldn"t get bored. It was for him to relax. Eventually, my father bought me his computer and started giving me a little task so I wouldn"t bother him with his work. The first surprise passed, and he decided that since I grasp everything so easily and quickly, I could continue to study on my own. At first, the hardest part was learning to type on the keyboard.
My fingers weren"t ready for this kind of work. On the one hand, the tasks themselves were simple, in my opinion. I remembered more precisely that they were simple, but in fact, some of them made me think, so I had to read books using various algorithms. My father could only marvel at such abilities, but he would write it all down as a good memory and jokingly say that I was an IT guy in my past life. I think he was close to the truth. Sometimes my father remembered that I was like a child, and sitting in front of a computer wouldn"t end well, which is why he was driving me outside or to the gym. I was already studying at a friend"s house at the time. For some reason, I was being chased harder than anyone else.
What my peers were praised for, I had to do with more dedication. I had to do all the strength exercises at one and a half, if not twice as much. It annoyed me, and one day I even wanted to give up training, which I told my father. Then I was given an ultimatum, or I train and program, or do not do either, he takes the computer, and I am considered a small unreasonable child. It was a low blow, but his blackmail worked. I chose the first one. Soon my torment in training was partially justified. It was at school, and I was pissed off by my classmate. They tried to take money from me for lunch. When I said no, the case was insulted. It ended the moment he insulted my mother. I had a wave of anger in me that made my mind waver for a moment. He did. He insulted me.
Mine. Mother! Unconsciously, I kicked him to the ground with my foot. Next, about all the techniques that had been pushed into me, without warning or shouting, I jumped at the abuser. I saw nothing but him. They didn"t try to separate us. No. All the guys watched, cheered up, chanted, advised what to do. I didn"t hear them, I just punched the guy, forgetting about all the lessons, all the skills that I had been taught in the sports section and gave to Steve. I just punched the guy in the face, sitting on his chest and not letting him close my arms. Luckily, he wasn"t badly injured.
My father, as a result, was summoned to the headmaster. There was no fight. My recent "adversary" quickly confessed to everything, crying in front of the principal, saying he wouldn"t do it again. But after that incident, they stopped treating me at all, declaring me a kind of boycott. Nobody asked for homework or tried to start a conversation. I was now a leper, furious, as they called me later. When will this school end? Sensei, seeing my beaten knuckles, understood everything without words or his father told him something. It doesn"t matter. It is important that after that incident, the load on training increased even more.
My sensei, a lowly fried man, said that if I wasn"t good at learning lessons, letting myself lose control and giving in to emotions, then I had too much unspent energy, and prescribed me additional exercises to increase my endurance, as well as began to teach breathing techniques and meditations, which he was tirelessly following. At first, I was skeptical. Well, how can these strange gymnastics help? How wrong I was. I looked at the Sensei on purpose and could tell he was an ordinary man.
Not a magician or a squib. Yes, he had a little more energy than other people, and it even seemed like a small defect or mutation. Over time, I realized that all of this was achieved through hard work and the same meditations that I was so skeptical about.