In the back part

In the spring of 1975.
The City of Lions.
We, who saw life, in October, finished our first class, the case was approaching May 9th and the teacher said:

Children, raise your hands for whom grandparents fought.

His hands raised almost everything.

Okay, please drop it down. And now raise your hands, whose warring grandparents do not live in the village, but in Lviv and will be able to come to school on Victory Day to tell us about the war?

The hand turned out to be smaller, the choice of the teacher fell on Borky's grandfather, and they decided to call him.

Then came that day.
Borya did not pump, brought to school not one, but two of his grandparents and even his grandmother at the end of the day. Before the beginning, confused by the attention of the grey old men surrounded the grandson and began to carefully fix him the collar and chubby, and Bora proudly looked at the sides and the triumph. But here the guests took off the coats and we all saw that one of the grandparents (one with a stick) had so many awards that the color of his jacket could only be determined from the back. He was a Hero of the Soviet Union. The second Borkin grandfather disappointed us a little bit, as did the grandmother, they didn’t have a single, even the smallest medal.

The hero was placed on a chair at the class board, and the second grandfather and grandmother were placed on the back of the board. At the children’s party they looked somewhat ridiculous, but they were quite overwhelmed.
At the very beginning, all three the teacher handed a bucket of nails, we applauded and began to listen attentively to the main character.
Grandfather turned out to be a pilot and fought from the 41st and almost to the victory, until he was written off injury. Many years have passed, but I still remember some fragments of his story. It was delicious and with humor. One of his phrases is worth, I now sometimes recall it to the place and not to the place: "I go over the sea, the weather is dumb, but my mood is great, because I am sure that the fuel to the shore should be enough. Even if it’s not enough, it’s a little bit...”
At the same time, he spoke to us on an equal footing, like with old friends. No “from above down.” And each of us began to feel that he himself became a Hero of the Soviet Union a little bit and was confident that if we were stuck in the fighter cabin now, then we, somehow, will not disappear.

The class stared and listened, listened and almost did not breathe, imagining that somewhere far below us the Caucasian mountains swim in snow hats.
But the second grandfather and grandmother ruined everything.
Only the heroic grandfather began to tell about how he was beaten up in the deep German rear, so that, the second grandfather, suddenly began to sneeze and whisper loudly. The teacher poured water out of the graffiti and softened his shoulder.
After the pause, the hero continued, but when he reached the injury or the hospital, the grandmother from the back of the room began to ridiculously cries and cries.
We all looked around and tried to chick unnoticed. Very weak and impressive were the non-medal grandmother and grandfather. But not everyone is a hero. Some, not that they have nothing to tell, they even fear to hear about war.

Only recently, years later, I learned from Borka that those, his "weak and impressive" grandmother and grandfather from the back, were Borina's grandmother and grandfather. They just came to school to support and listen to their son-frontman, and most importantly, to then carry him home, or he could start headaches at any time and lose sight.