First class... My dad wanted me to have a calligraphic handwriting and to write with a pencil. As I remember now, she is thick, uncomfortable. I had to do the homework, the exercise consisted of only one sentence (the essence I do not remember). I write with this pen. And in the street the sun, behind the window a ball is heard, friends who are in classics, who are in rubber... And I write and rush and make mistakes. Dad takes the line, gently crosses the whole sheet, turns it over and over again... I don’t know how many sheets we crossed, but in the end I’ve already squinted like a puppy. When the notebooks were distributed back with a red pen, it was written: 5!!! Smart boy, you are a very patient girl. PS: Parents, call me tonight!! to
What she said there to Daddy I don’t know, but we never repeated it again ?