My parents usually blamed me in all my street fights. They said, “If you hadn’t helped, you’t have been hit.”

One case I will never forget. In our courtyard lived an 18-year-old schizophrenic, healthy even for his age, not to mention compared to us, 12-year-old boys. His peers naturally joked, especially because of his craving for not quite adequate things (coming up, squeezing people under their feet, laughing to give someone younger and say "joke"), but we sometimes played football with him, etc.

I was relatively new in the courtyard and especially with no one I had friends yet, some were stumbling, some "propiska" and, apparently, he decided that he also has the right to dig up to me, regardless of the age difference.

The guy just approached, struck me with a fist on the head, turned away and went. But at the next moment he had already rushed to his entrance. In a moment I understood why.

I still remember a father who, when he saw it in the window of the first floor, jumped out of the window, ran after him, and when he blocked the entrance door with something, the 50-year-old man jumped out, grabbing himself for a piece of armor coming from the wall and piercing the glass over the door, like the main character of the film "13 district" and jumped through it into the entrance. A couple of seconds later, the shizoid broke out from there, and the shizoid flew out of the entrance door (still locked with something). From comparing his skull to the asphalt he was saved by my fledgling mother, who stood up in front of him and began to swear to the Father Christ God not to kill him. Since then, the guy was going home as soon as I went out to walk in the yard.

For their child and for women, some fell, and for men even more. Do not be angry, Dad.