My parents are quite young, and somehow from childhood I used to call them not daddy and mom, but Lucy and Valery (apparently, the fashion is such in the parents of our generation, I know that my case is not unique). And when I was 17-18 years old, and Valery, 36-37, respectively, we went to a concert together. My mother called, but she didn’t want to.

In the hall before the concert met my dad’s friend of student years. I remembered how he pulled my little on my shoulders, and he, first, did not recognize me, secondly, despite the apparent portrait similarity, about relativity, apparently, somehow did not think. He blinked all the way, as if suffering from a nervous tick, and joked that he was not a traitor and Luske (mother) will not tell anything.

I wasn’t a troll, but I wasn’t naive for years. Looking at the uncle with big and honest eyes, with pioneering sincerity began to convince that it can be said, Lucia allowed...

About how I then broke on Uncle Cole's idea of old friends, Daddy laughed to me only ten years later.