In the 7th class we had a drawing. And at first I liked it because I loved painting cars and buildings in three-dimensional space. And, given that my dad has an engineer and a good drawer, I thought there would be no problems with the subject.

It all started with the controls, when the guys, including me, had bad marks. My indignation had no limits. I have a “two” assessment. Please show the work of the girl Yana, who has a "five". I know and understand that there is no difference. W-o-o-o-b is the He showed two works to other classmates, among them were round excellences. They also saw no difference. Then I went to the school and asked for an explanation. First I stretched out my checklist to her, where she pointed out my wrong lines, sections, etc. Then I stretched out the sheet of Yana. When asked what the difference was, he got a very logical answer: in everything! And immediately, following me to my party, the lesson began.

At the age of thirteen, I didn’t go further and demand justice, but just stumbled and stopped giving proper time to the subject. And here, when for a quarter I get out "Trojan", a cool manager, dissatisfied with my result, is outraged: "Why are you so? I would be enrolled as Jan for additional drawing classes. There are only five of them!”

70 rubles per hour, as I remember. That was the price of the fifth. Probably, for a teacher from the periphery, there is nothing, and an increase to the poor salary. For my family, the money was small. And I would tell my parents that I need doping. At the end of the quarter, he would also get a positive mark. Only the injustice of my efforts completely deprived me of interest in further study of the subject. That’s how I loved what I was originally meant for. Thank you, teacher of drawing! I don’t remember your name 😀