xxx: I gave three times to the blood group, in the child card is written 2-, gave blood for donation 4-, when the wife pregnant was given was 2+



YYY: I had to give up.

This spring, my daughter went to an infectious hospital with a high fever. In the room for 6 people were gathered patients with the same symptoms. The age of the patients was the most varied, from 70 to 13. Among them was a girl clearly not Slavic appearance. My daughter is sociable, so I immediately met her. Her name was Rose, she is 17 years old and has two children. From the last fact, my child was very surprised. I told her that Rose was most likely a Gypsies, and they were used to get married early. She advised me to keep an eye on my things. But since tolerance to different cultures was instilled in school, I was naturally not listened to. The daughter said that all people are equal, and you should not think bad about a person in advance.

Rosa was a very sociable and responsive person. She told me what a good husband she has, that he works in the collage and earns a lot. The children are now with him, and her parents are not. Only often after her husband’s calls, she went crying to the toilet. Everyone in the room looked up. It turned out that the girl was not literate at all. She could only count. And with difficulty. She did not go to school, at all.

My child asked Rose to teach her to read and write.

Every day, she taught Rose literature for several hours. The girl swallowed everything like a sponge. Grandmothers lying in the chamber only wondered how fast the schooling was going.

Everyone in the room slowly recovered and went out. The Gypsies too. By graduation, she was able to read and write in print letters at the level of first grade. I thanked my daughter very much and wished her a lot of good. She promised to give her children to school when they grow up. Nothing is missing in the room.

A few days later, my daughter was released.

A week ago we met Rose at the bazar, with the children. Two girls, one baby. She stood with a sign on which it was written in uneven letters: "Padaite on papers." The daughter shouted and shrugged her hand, but Rose did not react. Maybe I did not know. The daughter said, “Look, Mom, she wrote it herself. Even with mistakes. I have not forgotten.”

We did not get closer.

If a fool solves a problem, there are already two problems.

I work on a motorcycle evacuator, transport motorcycles in St. Petersburg and Russia. The technique is different, the road is often not close, sometimes the owners of motos tell interesting stories. That time we took a heavy pre-war German motorcycle BMW R35 to the exhibition in Peter and this is what its owner told us.

Such motorcycles were in the armament of the regular units of the Wehrmacht, and I inherited them from my father, who received them from my grandfather, who partised in the forests of Belarus during the war.

When I was a boy, my grandfather told me that the partisans struck a motorcycle from the fascists during an attack on a railway station. The German officer failed to escape, and the partisans got a motorcycle with a wheelchair loaded with staff documents.

Grandfather turned out to be the only person in the squad, able not only to ride, but also to repair German equipment, so the motorcycle was attached to him, like a trophy horse.

The partisans, dressed in German uniform, often conducted raids on the captured territories, but especially distinguished grandfather with the Yakut elephant Nicholas - a squad sniper. Grandfather sat at the wheel of a motorcycle, Nicholas in a wheelchair and they were going to "hunt the deer", so they called the "language" hunt.

Having found on the territory of the occupied village a German or a policeman who had gone away from the herd, the partisans came closer, supposedly to find the road, and Nicholas threw on him an arcana made of deer skin, which the Yakuts masterfully owned since childhood. The grandfather gave on the gases, stifling the victim's scream with a motorcycle, and in a convenient place, the prisoner was overloaded into a wheelchair and taken to the squad.

After the liberation of Belarus, his grandfather with his motorcycle was enrolled in the gun regiment, with which he came to Germany, where at the end of the war, by order of the command, he was awarded the same motorcycle with which he came to Germany. He also returned home, but the wheelchair had to be left because of the difficulties with transportation.

Such a heroic apparatus we carried from Minsk, and if his photos are interesting, then by reference.

http://motohelpspb.ru/novosti/baykerskie-istorii/nemetskiy-mototsikl-bmw-r-35

Where do you store your savings?
In the rubles.
This is a great place, no one is going to find them there.