This story is absolutely true, but if I had not heard it from the direct participant, I would hardly believe it.
We have a nice nurse Olivia, she’s a little over 40. In her name, the story goes on.
“It was in the early 1990s. My nurse got sick and I was asked to go to work for a day next week. I agreed, but there was one problem to solve – that day no one had to take Pavlik, my son, from the kindergarten. I had to call my dad, he agreed and on the weekend came to see where the kindergarten, from which to take the child. The fact is that my dad rarely visited us because he did not have a very good relationship with my husband. Dad came, we showed him a kindergarten (nearby - exactly the same, we live in a typical area), said "Dad, don't confuse, our garden is right" and said goodbye until Tuesday.
But on the appointed day, the nurses leave the hospital and send me home at the usual time. I think I’ll go for the Pashka, maybe my dad didn’t pick it up yet. The child is in the group, we dress up, we leave.
We approach the entrance. The grandmother at the entrance shook me:
“Slava (this is my dad) and Pavlik have already come!”
I look at my child and wonder, “Who am I with?”
I quickly climb into the apartment, open the door and find the following scene: on the chair in the room is sitting and roaring a strange little boy, around him my dad and my old blinded grandmother, tick him an album with photographs and say in front of him: "Pavlik, Pavlik, do not cry, baby, here is your mother, tomorrow from work will come." The grandmother begins to lick the baby on the head and suddenly with a tense voice says: "And our hair was shorter! Then he touches his legs and adds “And the other pants.” My dad starts to look around in horror and finally notices me with his son. “The Reviewer” is a scene.
And the matter was this: Dad, of course, confused the garden. He climbed into the presumed group, asked to "publish" Pavlik. The times were Soviet, no one was concerned about security. Unfortunately, Pavlik was in this group. The father grabbed him and began to dress, the boy began to roar. Then Dad gave him a banana (then a deficient delight).
The boy began to eat a banana, calmed down a little, so his dad quickly picked him up and brought him home. My grandson walked all the way. Well, the crying children, according to my father, are all on one face.
Not to convey the horror with which I listened to this story. “Daddy, run to kindergarten, the boy’s parents are probably mad.”
When my father was entering that unfortunate neighboring kindergarten, a lonely daddy was sitting and smoking on the pitch. He took his
Pavlica and to his father's overwhelming explanations said only one phrase:
“You can’t imagine how lucky you are, man, that his mother didn’t take him today!”