I read here on one teacher’s website the following pedagogical axiom: “It creates the illusion that character is inherited from parents to children. In reality, the similarity of the character of children and parents is explained not by heredity, but by the constant influence of parents on children, by the constant personal example. And I remembered a curious example of one familiar family living in the house of my parents. I rarely saw them, but my mother sometimes shared some news about the neighbors, and we were often surprised how unlike her relatives the younger girl grows - literally from childhood demonstrates such a "character" that was not inherent to the slightest degree, neither calm, intelligent parents, nor a quiet, obedient older boy. And one day there was an opportunity to find out what explains this phenomenon. The case was this: my sick and dreaming of a quiet rest mother was tortured by courtyard boys, knocking a ball on the wall of the bedroom. All the excuses to go to play elsewhere - zero reaction, and there is a ringing cry: "Well, go away from here!" Mom looks out the window and sees the neighbor’s little girl – five (!) years of the kind, compressing a rather large stone in the pen. An attempt to ignore the "split" is worth one of the guys of "the loss of the face" in the form of a hasty evasion from flying right into the nose of the mentioned weapon. Seeing how the child quickly grabs the second stone (a large slit hole at the entrance of the Zalatali type) and unambiguously swings, the spana is reluctantly retreated. Standing at the entrance to the entrance, the mother of a young warrior meets her eyes with mine and embarrassedly divides her hands. The mother went out to the venue, met on the stairs of her "defenders", and, having not had time to say words of gratitude and astonishment of the child's courage, hears what was said with a deep breath: "I don't know what to do with her - nothing is afraid. The cat bit her, she continues to tyrannize her, the fingers accidentally knocked on the door - now she climbs there specifically, but to fight in the garden and for herself, and for "this guy" - don't feed bread. To my mother’s question, “Who are you like?“I am angry,” she said, “to my grandmother. The mother-in-law is exactly the same fighting. You won't believe: in the polar night every "morning" accompanied her husband to work to the railway station, so that the wolves did not attack him on the road, and then returned home alone as in nothing. Moreover, the grandmother who lived in the Murmansk region had never had a chance to "permanently influence" the character of the child. It seems that fearlessness is the inheritance of “pure water.”