A lot of bookies. and nostalgic. Thanks to the first coach.

In the distant Soviet childhood, there were no computers and playstiles. There were small joys. For example, playing hockey in the yard all day long. Because cold -46 and on the radio announced that you can not go to school. But it is already a classic. But the case that happened to me personally was a bit untypical.

We had a station of young technicians in the city. And among other aviation modelers and cartoonists there was a sailing section in this SUT. This sailing section was led by a very peculiar and interesting man. Not a teacher, but a fan of his work. The artist, by the way, is not bad. In a word, the coach. Not even the coach.

Once upon a time, all the hot summer, we and the boys under his guidance spent the days flying the old yacht he bought in the neighboring town for...Tadam-s! Two bottles of vodka. And another four bottles he had spent on delivering this old coriet to our town on the shore. When we were finally able to finish the repair by August 31, we all joined together:
“What about the journey? We dreamed of going on a trip with her. Tomorrow is September 1st!!

But the coach reassured us – ahead of the weekend. We can go on a journey. To the nearest neighborhood and back.
Only fate has made its adjustments. On the first night of the expedition, while our yacht was standing in a closed cozy pool, there was a good storm. Swimming in the open water on an old yacht would be suicide. We spent a few days admiring the great waves outside of the watershed and eating a giant tasty blueberry, to which no one’s greedy legs had reached that year except ours. And, after the storm ceased, we did not return to our town, but continued the march on the planned route. Upon arrival in the neighboring town, Trainer, leaving us to guard the yacht, ran on the bus into his hometown. There walked around all the parents and honestly grabbed from them on the full program. He also had to go through our schools and write explanations. And also listen to your address from professional and "professional" teachers everything they think about him.

In general, he had the moral right after that to “build” us at his discretion. No one dared to kick. Only the swollen faces of some classmates who were astonished stood after the unspeakable phrase: "Why did I not go to school? Yes, so... We stopped on the yacht with the Coach – I had to sit for a few days in the bay until it was silent”... At 9-10 years it was expensive.

Sometimes the coach is very tough. At his six-story mates, we eventually even stopped responding. And I cut it regularly, anyway. Therefore, in the case of special knockouts, the Coach put us in order and "prescribed" to each of us a smash in the chest. My boys and I said “in the soul.” Interestingly, none of us even came to complain. Parents, or somewhere else. They deserved – they received. Everything is logical.

Once upon a time, during another such writing "in the soul", one of our boys, who stood in the middle of the shelf, asked:
by Immerek Immerekovich. Couldn’t it be in my heart, but in my stomach?
M-M... Why is that so?
I have the press!! to
The coach and I all laughed. The coach was cold. The “report” has stopped. I stood at the end of the row - and I was swallowed that time...

A few years. The boys in the section were getting a year older than me. And after their eighth grade friends went to the neighboring city to go on a seawalk. I had another eighth grade ahead, after which I wrapped Peter in the physical school. There were summer holidays. There was silence in the yacht club. The local combination bought several cabin yachts. Tourism and racing. Employees of the combination were chosen to march or pursue only on weekends. They took me too, of course. In particular, because I was the most experienced yachtman in the club after Coach at the time. There is often no time to call “you” on a yacht. And the adult men - engineers, chiefs of departments, technicians and so on, solid people, already with children, immediately told me - "apply to you, don't stumble." And I, a thirteen-year-old boy at the time, the first time broke the pattern from the fact that on the yacht I commanded and told them "you", and on land could not overcome myself and said "you". But the men quickly mastered everything and began to manage the yachts themselves well.

On the same day that summer, I was sick. And once, on Monday, when there was a whole week until the next expedition, he came to the shore by habit. Check if everything is OK. Sit on the sidewalk or in the "cabin company" - the living room on the second floor of the two-storey barrier-alling, which we and the boys built a year earlier under the guidance of the Coach. Where the keys lie, of course, I knew, on the rights of one of the "old men" of the yacht club. The time to kill has come. But I did not resist. Go on a yacht to fix something. I noticed that there was something out of the deck inside the cabin. It’s awkward, they can steal. I went to Elling to take the keys from the cabin. Back to the yacht. I cleaned everything. And here it ruined me. He did not lock, but on the contrary, pulled out and put the sails, gave the shorts, jumped onto the yacht, picked the anchor and scratched to ride. Driving 2 hours. Then I figured out that soon after the end of the working day and from the factory on the shore, the men will go - they will burn for this self-activity...

After some time, I was already regularly coming to the shore on weekdays at exactly eight o'clock - when the factory was already working day. He set sailboats and walked around the nearest islands – 15 kilometers from the yacht club. The weather was such that after the morning wind was always good - there and back it took five to six hours. Suddenly I got into the island. Three or four hours passed. Then began a good wind. I was delighted - I would quickly "go" to the arrival as in a tram. He put the sail on the butterfly and flew. In front of the whispers, at all. But I run a little forward...

The wind slowly turned into a storm. I had to get up in the livery and remove the pit. Continued under one stack. By the way, the legs had to rely on the wall of the cockpit to hold the steering wheel - the yacht was trying to throw into the so-called "broching". The lifting pen of the steering wheel on the helicopter turned from vertical to horizontal state. under the pressure of water at speed. The speed was in sight. Especially when you sit on the wave and drive at the speed of the wave.

Now I understand – if I had learned that my child at thirteen years of age is doing this, I would probably have struck it by his own hand. He began to understand and agree with the thesis that "men are accidentally surviving boys."

From a distance, I noticed a lonely figure on the sidewalk. In the air there was a smell of lilies. As Ilf and Petrov would say, "He understood that now he would be beaten and possibly with his legs." But there was nowhere to go - first of all, we had to worry about the yacht. He calculated the trajectory, considering that in this place the soil was lubricated, and the wind was cozy, stood up with the nose to the wind, gave the anchor from the nose, digested enough anchor rope and waited for the anchor to "rise up". I was convinced that the yacht was not carrying. Remove the stack. He strained the anchor rope so that the food of the yacht was within a meter and a half from the shore.
The coach shouted through the wind: “Take an end!” He didn’t even add his usual “floors” that time. But I myself, after catching the moment when the feed jumped on the wave, jumped out on the shore, put on the shorts. Then he jumped back onto the yacht. Carefully folded the sails and all the "ends". I put everything in the cabin and locked it. The owner looked around the yacht and it was okay. And I jumped back to the shore, realizing that there was a "little white fox" coming to me.

To my surprise, the Coach was not tough, but stood and smiled. At some point he even laughed. Now I would even say that he stopped. I, all confused, stood and waited. Finally, he became serious and asked:
Do you know why you are still alive?
Nea...
Because my pride took me. How well, it turns out, I taught you, the bulls...

After a while, the coach brought two four-classers from a village that was not far from our town. One of them was on a yacht with me. The second “delivered” to me. And we chased in the mode of match races in the waters of our town on those cabin yachts, simultaneously training new boys. I went to the islands too. And in one of those races, to the islands and back, I won from Coach his collection of dozens of Boat and Yacht magazines, which he bet I won’t be able to beat him in any of those races. A whole treasure for a young yachtman in those pre-Internet times! And not just for the young, at all, at that time. People then literally hunted for these magazines. They repainted drawings from them and, correcting mistakes themselves, built their own yachts on them.

Now I suspect that he seems to have lost specifically once to encourage me. Of course the coach. I was 13 then. I took it for a pure coin. Seeing him “broken down”...