What is the significance of the season and surroundings for the first love? How likely is it that her parents will find out about her? We share a «pedagogical poem» in which you can find answers to these questions and learn about educational methods that have come down to us from the XNUMXth century.
A vivid episode of my life, so I remember to the smallest detail. In addition, I often return to him as a source of pedagogical inspiration. The first time I fell in love was in first grade. After the extension, I accompanied Natasha Burova from the parallel class home.
The path lay between the old hippodrome fence and an even older two-story barracks with a large boiler chimney and an eternal pile of coal. In the early spring and in the garbage entourage, our farewells were absolutely platonic.
But soon the scene began to change. First, thanks to the enthusiasm of the tenants at the communist subbotnik. And then everything bloomed! And it turned out that the vivaciously growing garbage that kept climbing onto the path was a luxurious lilac. And closer to the barracks, white-blooming trees suddenly appeared. And smells…
Here I am writing about this after more than fifty years and I understand, or rather, I feel the word «fragrance». Briefly speaking. We started kissing. Oh, those quivering cheeks! And, as it were, an accidental touch of the lips, after which one is terribly ashamed and everything stops, only to be repeated again after a few steps.
Some fifty meters we walked for almost an hour. That is, our passion was limited, which, in my opinion, both liked. And if not? What would we do? We didn’t have any ideas about that at the time. But there was another circumstance that made us exist somewhat fussily. We were always accompanied by two girls, Sveta and Tanya. I don’t remember how this agreement came about, but I remember that they stood on the “atas” from different sides of the passage behind the barracks.
Thus ended the first school spring, and in the autumn everything continued.
And what? Leaves are everywhere, covering up the summer’s alcoholic rubbish. A very special aromatic blend of preli and burnt foliage. Coolness and dampness pushing each other. And of course, early twilight! Could not continue.
Again, I don’t remember the reason, but our companions decided to tell my mother about these wires. They said so, dragging after me to the entrance: “Everything will be said!” I jumped into the elevator, slammed the door and pressed the button. From the elevator I ran to the attic, but the door was closed. I sat down on the steps and waited. There was still hope — after all, the girls did not know on which floor I live. But they turned out to be smart, and from the counterweight that arrived on the first floor, they realized that my apartment was on the top floor.
And here is the denouement, in fact, for the sake of which I wrote all this. Mom didn’t say a word. And the next day she took me … to the chess section of the House of Pioneers of the Leningrad District, where in a few years I played to some good level. BUT! Well, not a pedagogical poem?
Later I read this in the pedagogical instructions of Catherine II — «Never keep children in idleness!»