My city and mother

I was born in a small provincial town in the north of Kazakhstan. Our city had a famous namesake, so when I had to travel outside the borders of my small Motherland, for example, to the sea with my parents, and they asked me: “Where are you from, girl?”, __ then, having heard “Petropavlovsk”, they immediately specified: “Kamchatsky? ', which was somewhat embarrassing.
Once, when I was still in school in the second grade, while visiting the museum of local lore, its employee told a legend about Russian cunning fugitive peasants.
Two peasants with the names of Peter and Pavel escaped from the landowner and, moving east, came across the steppes of northern Kazakhstan. Having found bai __ the owner of the land, the friends turned to him with a request:

“Master, please give us land along the borders of an oxhide.
"What are you going to do with her?" asked the surprised bey.
“To live,” the men answered.
- Can you two fit on such a tiny piece of land? the owner laughed.
“Of course we can, we’ll build a house on it,” the peasants answered confidently, “Just give it, and you’ll see for yourself.”
It became interesting to the stupid bai to see how the peasants could build a house on such a small plot of land, and he agreed. And quick-witted friends folded the skin in half, ripped it in the middle, and then shredded it into thin straps, either from the center to the edge, then from the edge to the center, but each time without cutting it to the end.
When they unfolded the skin, it turned out that its borders occupied a vast territory. Bai was terribly surprised, but he had nowhere to go. The land became the property of cunning peasants. Peter and Paul founded the city, which was later named Petropavlovsk.
In fact, my hometown looked drab and boring at the time. Most of it was occupied by dilapidated, dull one-story houses, hiding behind dilapidated fences.
My girlfriends and I loved the Youth Village area the most. It was the only place where, looking around, you will not see a single wretched building.
Of course, Khrushchev's five-story buildings did not shine with the sophistication of the architectural style, but they embodied novelty and modernity in our understanding.
When the first nine-story house appeared in the city, around the beginning of the seventies, children from all over the area ran there to ride the elevator. Even such a dubious pleasure as slowly moving in a tiny booth from floor to floor aroused delight and rapture in children.
In the end, the residents of the long-suffering house hired a concierge, who quickly dispersed the fans of riding the elevator.

Mommy.

I grew up in an ordinary Soviet family, consisting of my father, mother, grandmother, me and my brother. Our entire large company was successfully accommodated in two rooms. And it never occurred to me that in some families it happens differently. That it would not be bad to have your own territory, where you can, at least sometimes, retire and take a break from society. Although, to be honest, I was not particularly tired.
My parents lived in one room, and my brother and I and my grandmother lived in the other.
Mom worked as an engineer at a factory and had a very soft, calm character. She never forced me to do anything around the house, rightly believing that all this routine was waiting for me ahead. Mommy didn't scold me for bad grades in school, if there were any. She did not lecture, did not grumble, and did not punish for anything. Even if I got into a meeting from teachers, then as soon as I said that it was undeserved, that they were oppressing and offending me unfairly, my kind mother, instead of raising her negligent child, began to calm and comfort me herself.
And only twice at the age of three I was honored to be flogged. The first time - for the fact that like a moth gnawed holes in the hem of the dress, and the second time - for falling on the floor in the store, demanding to buy me a toy. This form of educational process had an effect. The dresses remained intact, and the desire to receive something with the help of hysteria completely disappeared.

PART 2 ENG.
My mother made the third attempt at assault when I was twelve years old. Since the upbringing process in our house was quite democratic, I rarely had to ask my parents for anything. They gave me money - a steering wheel a week. Studying was considered my personal problem. If I went for a walk, I had only to warn my parents, therefore, in order not to take risks and not give me the opportunity to detain me (you never know what dad’s mood is today), I, as a rule, quietly went out the door and quickly shouted through a narrow crack : "I went.", and immediately slammed the door behind her. And there already, shout as much as you want - I'm not there. The formality was observed, the parents were informed.
My mother never had any issues with this. But one day, I was going outside, when suddenly my mother asks:

Where are you going?
Walk. - hello to you, something new
Have you done your homework?
No. Why is she suddenly interested?
You won't go anywhere! Go do your homework.

Wow, this has never happened before did not have… . What would my mom forbid something, what is it with her?

Mom, yes, I will come and do it.
No, go now!

I was so confused: “What happened to my kind, sweet mommy? How is always possible, but not today?”

“I’ll go anyway,” I said stubbornly, heading for the door.
You won’t go, - Mom answered and closed the door with a key.

I turned around and went to my room. Then, after waiting a couple of minutes, I went to the window, hoping to slip through it, since we lived on the first floor. And I didn’t really want to go out so much, but for me the opportunity to go out suddenly became a matter of principle: “How is it, you always let me in, but today you don’t? I'm still going for a walk!" And when I had already climbed onto the windowsill, Mommy suddenly opened the door, saw me there, ran up and pulled me to the floor. I grabbed my grandmother's key and rushed to the door. Mom is behind me. We ran for about ten minutes from window to door, and from door to window, until my mother got tired and she decided to flog me for insubordination.
The decision was erroneous: I was taller than my mother, bigger, and at home we were alone. Mommy grabbed the belt and chased after me in great anger. I ran into the rooms and we began to rush around the table. Finally, I got tired of it. I slowed down, and when Mommy approached, I just ripped the belt off. Now I ran around the table with a belt in my hands, and when we stopped opposite each other, I, shaking the trophy, caustically asked:

Well, what did you flog?
Give back the belt.
I won't give up! Tiger.

Yes, that day I drove my mother into a frenzy, which did not happen to her either before or after this incident.
Finally, I ran into the pantry, where I sat on the floor, with my feet on the table and my back against the door, and began to sob, lamenting my bitter fate. How is it that the mother was changed. She doesn't love me now, she doesn't feel sorry for me, and she doesn't understand me.
In protest, I did not want to leave the pantry. Mommy had already cooled down and tried to persuade me to leave, and Yura returned from school and wanted to get into his workshop, and dad came home from work and asked to stop the sit-in.
But I was stubbornly silent. When someone from the household made an attempt to open the door, he quickly realized that it rested on my back and further efforts could harm me.
Finally, everyone left me alone. Night was approaching, and I was not going to leave my shelter. Mommy was almost crying at the door, persuading me to leave, but I, offended to the core, decided to stay there forever. I skipped both lunch and dinner, and sat in the pantry angry and hungry.
They left me alone around midnight. On reflection, I threw old fur coats and jackets on the floor and went to bed.
In the morning, I nevertheless got out, but did not talk to my mother. She sucked up to me in every possible way, and I already felt sorry for her. By evening, I changed my anger to mercy, and the incident had exhausted itself. I didn’t quarrel with my mother anymore, but after quarreling with Yurka, I often ran to the pantry and locked myself there.
Mom, she didn’t lecture me, didn’t teach me how to live correctly, rejoiced at my successes, was upset at my failures, but she never put pressure on me.
The worst thing I could hear from my mother was just:

Irochka, well, you know that you have to study well.
Why, I asked naively.
This knowledge will be useful to you in life.
How, in my life, knowing that Rome is the capital of Italy can be useful.
You need this for your overall development, my mother calmly continued to convince me - all of a sudden with someone in a conversation you will declare that Rome is the capital of England. What will people think of you?
And for my future work, this is not necessary.
It depends on who you will work. If you are an engineer, then you will need knowledge of mathematics, physics, and maybe chemistry.
Well, why do I need history, geography, biology?
If you have bad grades, you won't go to college.
And I will be a worker, I declared quite sincerely, knowing that the working class, in our socialist state, is always valued and honored. I really did not understand why I need a higher education if the workers receive a salary much more than an ordinary engineer.
Irochka, - mother lamented, - you have no idea how hard the lot of a worker is. Well, imagine, in frost and cold, you will be laying bricks at a construction site for eight hours a day ...
And I will go to the factory ...

This ended our fruitless discussion. I did not understand and then could not understand what it was like to stand at the machine for the whole shift. And many years later, when I, having left the institute, found myself at the workplace, when for eight hours I repeated endlessly six monotonous operations, each of which lasted no more than ten seconds, (I took notebooks from the conveyor of the printing machine, knocked together, squeezed it, tightened it with a belt, put it on the rack), then I remembered our conversation with my mother. It was only after that that I realized what my mother was trying to convince me of.
She, of course, knew that people are not inclined to learn from the mistakes of others, and, therefore, did not particularly insist, believing that sooner or later life would put everything in its place. And so it happened.