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Back to the Past
Our family had average income. Everyone had a job. Although there was a lot of unemployment back then, my grandmother and mother had full-time jobs. Dad worked more as an engineer, but he often changed organizations. Mom worked in different jobs, too. Change of work happened because of frequent moves. She worked in the QCD (Quality Control Department), as a cashier in a bank, and as a storekeeper in a factory. She has mastered so many professions throughout her life.
My mom and dad spoiled me, of course, but only at a young age. Until I was about three or four years old. My dad carried me on his shoulders. He let me do whatever I wanted. I was a beloved child.
My mother came from a large family. If count all together - 10 people. But, unfortunately, only two-thirds are friendly and act like a real family. The rest are like strangers.
I often lamented that I had no sisters and brothers; it seemed to me that it would be easier if someone other than parents is around. Someone with whom I could discuss my worries. After all, my mother could say something harsh to me, and I was still a long time alone to think about her words. But today I understand: she had a very complicated and difficult fate. She had a sad experience of ruin in a large family and she didn't want me to have to go through something like that.
My father died a long time ago, he had four heart attacks. He hardly worked anymore. He was strong enough for a month or two, then he had to leave his job.
Dad was an intelligent and very talented man; his only problem was that he didn't use that talent. Maybe his overestimation of himself played havoc with him.
I always knew I took after my father. Hard-working, cheerful, open-minded. Our looks, facial features are very similar. Mom has a smiling face, but I don't, I was born that way.

Dad loved me, I know he did. He could be strict in his words and words, but I always felt his love and protection. The only affectionate word Dad called me was "Koska-Boska. That was the sweetest word for me.
When my parents divorced, I was 4 years old. They never explained anything to me. I knew something was going on, but I didn't know how it would turn out.Sometimes images come to mind, such as disjointed shots of :I notice my parents do not get on well, they are offended and do not speak to each other for a long time. Soon it came to a logical conclusion: we were separated in the end. That's how I ended up in the East Kazakhstan region.
I didn't feel abandoned, as many families do when their parents are divorced. No, I just knew that things had changed and would never be the same again. My environment, my place of residence, even kindergarten had changed. Perhaps as a child and not fully understanding why my father came and went, why now I didn't have my room, my crib and my favourite toys, I still trusted the adults completely: if it was all happening, it had to be that way.
My mother had to earn money and I was left alone with myself. We lived in a small town where everybody knew each other..It could be said that it was not even a city, but an urban village, where it was quiet and safe . So I walked to kindergarten. My mother showed me the way just once, and I remembered everything.