Communication between grandmothers and grandchildren: generational conflict or inexhaustible life experience.  Yuri Kuvaldin "Pleasure" story

GRANDMA AND GRANDSON

- I want to go for a walk! Volodya said. But Grandma was already taking off her coat.

- No, dear, we walked, and that's enough. Dad and mom will be home from work soon, but I don't have lunch ready.

- Well, at least a little more! I didn't walk up! Grandmother!

- I have no time. I can not. Get dressed, play at home.

But Volodya did not want to undress, he rushed to the door. Grandmother took the spatula from him and tugged at the white pompom of her hat. Volodya clutched his head with both hands, trying to hold on to his hat. Didn't hold back. I wanted the coat not to unbutton, but it seemed to unbutton itself - and now it is already swinging on a hanger, next to my grandmother's.

I don't want to play at home! I want to play!

“Look, dear,” said Grandmother, “if you don’t listen to me, I’ll go away from you to my house, that’s all.”

- Well, go away! I have a mom!

Grandmother did not answer and went to the kitchen.

Behind the wide window is a wide street. Young trees are carefully tied to pegs. They rejoiced at the sun and turned green somehow all of a sudden. Behind them are buses and trolleybuses, beneath them is bright spring grass.

And in the grandmother's garden, under the windows of a small country wooden house, spring also probably came. Daffodils and tulips have hatched in the flowerbeds... Or maybe not yet? In the city, spring always comes a little earlier.

Grandmother came in the autumn to help Volodya's mother - mother began to work this year. Feed Volodya, take a walk with Volodya, put Volodya to bed... Yes, even breakfast, lunch, and dinner... Grandmother was sad. And it’s not sad because I remembered my garden with tulips and daffodils, where I could bask in the sun and do nothing - just relax ... For myself, for myself alone, how many things to do? Grandmother felt sad because Volodya said: “Leave!”

And Volodya was sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room. All around - cars of different brands: a clockwork little Pobeda, a large wooden dump truck, a truck with bricks, on top of the bricks - a red Bear and a white hare with long ears. Ride a Bear and a hare? Building a house? Get a blue "Victory"?

Started with a key. So what? The "Victory" crackled across the room, stuck in the door. Started it up again. Now it's gone in circles. Stopped. Let it stand.

Volodya began to build a bridge of bricks. Didn't finish it. He opened the door and went out into the corridor. I cautiously looked into the kitchen. Grandmother sat at the table and quickly peeled potatoes. Thin curls of peel fell onto the tray. Volodya took a step ... two steps ... Grandmother did not turn around.

Volodya approached her quietly and stood next to her. Potatoes are uneven, large and small. Some are very smooth, but one...

- Grandma, what's this? Like birds in a nest?

- What kind of birds?

But the truth is, it looks a little like chicks with long, white, slightly yellowish necks. They sit in a potato hole, as in a nest.

“These are potato eyes,” Grandma said.

Volodya stuck his head under his grandmother's right elbow:

Why does she have eyes?

It was not very convenient for my grandmother to peel potatoes with Volodya's head under her right elbow, but grandmother did not complain about the inconvenience.

It's spring now, the potatoes are starting to sprout. This is a sprout. If you plant potatoes in the ground, new potatoes will grow.

- Grandma, how are you?

Volodya climbed onto his grandmother's knees to get a better look at the strange sprouts with white necks. Now peeling potatoes has become even more inconvenient. Grandma put down the knife.

- And like this. Look here. You see, a very tiny sprout, but this one is already bigger. If you plant potatoes in the ground, the sprouts will stretch towards the light, towards the sun, turn green, leaves will grow on them.

“Grandma, what’s with them?” Legs?

Do our kids need grandmothers? How much can they give to their grandchildren and granddaughters? Is it possible to build a normal relationship between a newly-made mother and an older mother? There are too many questions and there will be just as many answers to them.

Our time is not rich in miracles and events, but they do happen sometimes. One of the "creators" of an extraordinary miracle was Charlotte Lemonnier, a Frenchwoman by birth, who has lived almost all her life in Russia. Her grandson- Andrei Makin, who was born and lived in Russia until the age of thirty, and then emigrated to France, became an outstanding writer. He received many awards and awards for what would you think? For the biography of his own grandmothers! The book was originally called The Life of Charlotte Lemonnier, but now it is better known to readers as The French Testament.

“As a child, she seemed to us a deity, fair and indulgent,” says the hero of the novel, Alyosha, about Charlotte. Charlotte's stories - about her life, about the books she read, about people and about many other things became for her grandchildren some way for knowing and studying the world around us, a magical world, so beautiful and unusual. Moreover, the kids liked this “world” much more than the real one in which they had to live. Charlotte was, according to the children, a special person, completely different from the others, so mysterious, interesting, unpredictable and at the same time not without kindness, care, understanding, peace of mind. She loved children, and this was evident in her behavior, actions, gestures, mood. She communicated with them on an equal footing, never giving a reason to think and understand that children are children. upbringing grandchildren she did as much as the circumstances demanded. She did not seek to influence children directly, to shape the character and worldview. She did not teach them, but the kids knew French at the highest level. She didn’t really care about them, didn’t cook, didn’t wash, but the children considered her something great, ideal, and elevated her to a certain pedestal.

And here is another grandma's story". Nina Nikolaevna has a beloved granddaughter Polinochka. Polina's parents are busy people, so the child is simply rented out on weekends grandmother. Such a “rent” can also come in the middle of the week, if the granddaughter categorically does not want to go to kindergarten. Paul loves his grandmother She likes to live with her. Where else can you talk non-stop from early morning until late at night, eat whatever you want, do everything without restrictions - draw on wallpaper, tear paper, run around the apartment. Nina Nikolaevna bakes her favorite pancakes with fillings, pies, buns and many other goodies for the arrival of her beloved granddaughter. Polka gladly eats everything cooked by granny (although her food ends with the absorption of flour dishes). Grandmother when the granddaughter does nothing, but only fully engaged in the child. Listening to children's stories, fulfilling all requests is not an easy job, here grandmother and tries, gives all the best to 200%. True, the girl’s mother notices that after the weekend spent at grandmothers, the child returns home some kind of broken, tired. One gets the feeling that Polechka did not rest at grandmothers, but rather worked tirelessly. At the same time, the child has absolutely no mood, and she eats willingly. In general, the whole Monday is spent on restoring vitality and establishing a diet, which during the stay at grandmothers reduces to zero.

Two stories about grandmothers and them grandchildren completely different from each other. Why is this happening? It seems like grandmothers grandmothers. Let's try to figure it out.

A person who has lived his life worthily feels this and radiates a special spiritual light, which is often felt directly physically. Didn't you have to feel it while communicating with an old man, noble, well-mannered, with a well-delivered speech, with whom it is not only pleasant to communicate, but you want to communicate without stopping. Old age has a special dignity - the dignity of a well-done deed, the main deed in one's life. And that's just such an old man, be it grandmother or grandfather, it is important for a child to see around him. The kid still does not quite understand what is special about grandma or grandpa, but he feels that there is something in the old person that is not in the young. And this "something" is very good.

It is bad when a child thinks or is constantly told that it is better to be young than old. It is very important that the child feels that old age is joy! That, having lived a life well and with dignity, a person feels great! This means that each of us has something to live for, and most importantly - for whom to live! A child should see only a good old age, and not the miserable one that we often have to observe, when old women only do what they complain about their poorly lived life, “sores”, meager pensions and much more. Such old people are constantly sour and boring, unwilling to live, scolding others, and even themselves. They often do not respect their old age, envy the young, consider everyone, without exception, base creatures. From such grandmothers it is better to keep the baby away - the child does not need to listen and listen to all this negativity, constant memories of youth and grumbling about his old age. It is important for the child to communicate with positive and optimistic grandmothers radiating the bright light of vital energy. And no matter what age grandmothers crossed the 70-year milestone - believe me, communication with such a granny will not only be useful for a child, but simply necessary!

Often, with age, a person loses his willpower, becomes in some way spineless, it is very difficult for him to insist on his own. And to all this is added the blind adoration of their grandchildren. cove and granddaughter. And all this in the aggregate is very harmful for the child - communication with a spineless adult, who allows and permits everything, who tolerates childish pranks, simply corrupts the child. In dealing with kids, in any case, firmness, the position of the elder, is important and necessary. Indulgence to children's whims, the fulfillment of all desires and the absence of punishments - makes a spoiled creature out of a child. That is why many parents complain that after talking with grandmothers And grandfathers, children become simply uncontrollable and you have to try so that the child enters his usual life track with a certain diet, with obedience and a desire to do something at the request of his parents.

But also too powerful. grandmothers not good for the child. In most families, the father should be the disciplining beginning, or if he is not there, the mother, but not the grandmother! She can take on such an important role only in the absence of parents from the child.

What does the child need? First of all, kindness combined with firmness, the ability to keep the baby within certain limits of what is permitted.

Many people are familiar with the situation when grandmother tries to lead his own educational line, which is often strikingly different from the parental one. This may be good for a grandmother, but not so much for a child. Someone has to educate. If parents are completely satisfied with this state of affairs, then it is possible to shift the upbringing and care of the child completely onto the grandmother's shoulders. Only in this case it is important not to have discrepancies in the “education policy” proposed grandmother.

If the “grandmother's psychology” does not suit the parents, then in this case it is necessary to reduce the communication of the child with the older generation to a minimum. After all, our children are one of the main components of our life, which is unique in its own way and not like others. After all, life is given all once and everyone must live their own life, and not someone else's. And it is important to raise a child the way the mother wants it, and not grandmother or neighbor. You cannot allow someone, even the closest person, to break what you are building. Even if this close person is your mother. "Mother's mother" must first of all understand that she is not the most important educator in a child's life. All the same, the child is incomparably more influenced by his mother and no one else. And only a mother is able to determine the main direction of development and education of her crumbs.

In general, it is believed that it is best for all close adults to be united in raising a child, even despite the fact that this unity may contradict someone else's beliefs and views. Such unity is very important for achieving a certain goal by the child himself. You can discuss, solve many issues related to the child, by joint efforts, but only the parents of the crumbs should make the final decision.

In the same time grandmother can give a child a lot, which is often not able to give mom and dad. The reason is that the young mother works hard, gets tired, perhaps takes care of her little brother or sister, and she is simply not able to pay as much attention to the child as he requires. This is where help should come grandmother, which, due to its age and the onset of retirement, can devote itself entirely to grandson or granddaughter.

Sometimes only grandmother can notice something in a child that his parents are not able to notice. Many young talents were discovered not by parents, but by grandparents! That's why grandmother can engage in the so-called "finishing and polishing" of the smallest facets of the character of his grandchildren to which the hands of the parents have not yet reached. You can tell and talk a lot with a child, it is important to do it in an adult way, with all seriousness. It does not matter to the child whether a fairy tale is being told, or grandmother just decided to talk to a little listener. It is important that the whole conversation is based on "adulthood", and not on childish phrases. And it is also important that the adult himself should be interested with the child.

Memories of old people are also useful for children. After all, all children are great dreamers. And if the older generation remembers a past life and talks animatedly about it, then children imagine and dream that they will someday become adults and will do many of the things that they did. Grandmothers and grandfathers. It turns out that some look back, while others look forward, but doesn’t this unite grandmothers And grandchildren?

Also important is the attitude of the parents of the child to grandmothers and grandfathers. If they see old people only as free servants who will wash, stroke, cook food, then the child will see his own old people only from this position. And in this case, what kind of respect for old age can we talk about? First of all, a grandmother should read books with a child and just be friends with him, and not wash and cook. And of course it's very bad when between grandmother and grandchildren there is no unity and spiritual closeness, and all visits and meetings are reduced only on holidays or weekends. A child needs a full-blooded human relationship with all loved ones, and not just with mom and dad.

Grandmother, Grand-mere, Grandmother... Memories of grandchildren and granddaughters about grandmothers, famous and not so, with vintage photographs of the 19th-20th centuries Lavrentyeva Elena Vladimirovna

Stories of grandmother E. P. Yankov

Grandma's stories

E. P. Yankova

I was born in the village of Bobrov, which was bought by the late grandmother, father's mother, Evpraksia Vasilievna, daughter of the historian Vasily Nikitich Tatishchev. In her first marriage, she was with her grandfather, Mikhail Andreevich Rimsky-Korsakov, and she had only two children from him: father Pyotr Mikhailovich and aunt Princess Marya Mikhailovna Volkonskaya. Soon widowed, my grandmother married Shepelev (I think Ivan Ivanovich); They had no children and soon parted ways.<…>.

Grandmother Yepraxia Vasilievna was, they say, of a very sharp temper, and as a noble and great lady she was held in high esteem and did not stand on ceremony with petty neighbors, so that many neighbors did not even dare to enter her on the front porch, and everyone went to the girl's porch.<…>

Here is what else our mother, Marya Ivanovna, who was a hay girl with my grandmother, told me about grandmother Evpraksia Vasilievna: “The general was very strict and obstinate; it happened that they would deign to be angry with one of us, they would immediately deign to remove the slipper from the foot and give it a quick spank. As they punish you, you will bow to your feet and say: “Forgive me, empress, it’s my fault, don’t be angry.” And she: “Well, go, fool, don’t do it ahead.” And if someone does not obey, she will still beat ... She was a real lady: she held herself high, no one dare even utter a word in her presence; only he looks menacingly, so he will pour you with pitch ... Truly a lady ... God rest her ... Not like the current gentlemen.

Grandmother was in her time very well educated and learned; she spoke good German, I heard this from Batiushka Pyotr Mikhailovich.<…>

In 1733, my grandmother bought the village of Bobrovo, seventeen miles from Kaluga, and lived there constantly for most of the year, and in Moscow she had her own house near Ostozhenka, in the parish of Elijah Ordinary, and we still lived in this house when I got married in 1793, and got married there.<…>

Grandmother was very pious and devout, and generally disposed towards the clergy and monasticism. She commanded her son never to leave the house without reading the 26th psalm, that is: "The Lord is my enlightenment and my Savior, whom I fear." Father has always observed this. And indeed, he always had strong enemies, and although they tried to harm him, nevertheless, the Lord had mercy and saved him from destruction.

Grandmother always received monk-collectors: sometimes she would call to her, feed, drink, give money, order to take a room where to spend the night, and let everyone go satisfied with her reception. One day they say to her: a monk came with a collection. She ordered to call: “From where, father?” “From there,” the monastery calls. "Sit down, old man."

She ordered to make something to treat him. They sit and talk. The monk says to her: "Mother, I know your son, Pyotr Mikhailovich, too." – “How so? Where did you see him? - "There," - and begins to talk to the grandmother in detail about the priest; and for sure, by the words it is clear that he knows him. Grandmother was even more disposed towards the monk. Only suddenly, during a conversation, a man runs and reports to his grandmother: Pyotr Mikhailovich has arrived. The monk exploded: he wants to leave the room, his grandmother persuades him to stay, and meanwhile the priest enters. After greeting his mother, he glanced at the monk. He is neither alive nor dead.

"How are you here?" - the father shouted to him. He at his feet: "Do not destroy, it is to blame." Grandmother looks, she cannot understand what is happening. Father and says to her: “Do you know, mother, whom you deigned to receive? This is a runaway soldier from my company; been looking for it for a long time." “Do not destroy,” he repeats.

The father wanted to send him along the stage, but the grandmother persuaded her son not to shame her at home and not lay hands on the guest, whoever he is. He promised to appear in the regiment on his own; I do not remember now whether he kept his promise. Grandmother, although she did not stop accepting monk-gatherers, has since become much more careful, fearing that under the guise of a real monk she would not accept some fugitive, and the father, remembering this incident, was always afraid of collectors.<…>

Grandmother Evpraksia Vasilievna was still alive when the father got married, and she was very kind to mother and took in my sister (the second daughter of the father), who, like me, was called Elizabeth. I have preserved a letter written by my grandmother to my mother on the occasion of my birth: she writes that she congratulates and sends her and her husband fifty rubles to their homeland and on their name day. Grandmother Evpraksia Vasilievna was weak, although she was not at all old in years: she was hardly even sixty years old.

In 1792, my grandmother, Princess Anna Ivanovna Shcherbatova, died. She mostly lived in the countryside, in the village of Syaskovo, also in the Kaluga province. It was her own estate, a dowry. Auntie, Countess Alexandra Nikolaevna Tolstaya, lived with her grandmother. Her husband, Count Stepan Fedorovich, when he married, was no longer young and was a foreman. He had all his fortune and only had: a gilded double carriage and a pair of piebald-roan horses, and aunt, like mother, received 1000 souls as a dowry.

The grandmother-princess was very small in stature, she always went about in a black dress, like a widow, and on her head she wore not a cap, but simply a silk scarf. Only once did I happen to see my grandmother in the whole parade: she stopped by us in Moscow from somewhere from a wedding dinner or from a wedding: she was wearing a dress with gold mesh and an elegant cap with white ribbons. We were still children, ran out to meet her and, seeing her in an unusual outfit, began to jump in front of her and shout: “Grandma in a cap! Grandma in a cap!

She was angry with us for this:

“Oh, you stupid girls! What a curiosity that I am in a cap? Grandma in a cap! And you thought that I didn’t even know how to put on a cap ... So I’ll tear your ears for this ... Batiushka came, and she complained to him about us:

- Your fools ran out to me and shouted: “Grandma in a cap!” To know that you are not bothering their ears enough that they do not honor their elders.

Batiushka began to reassure her: “Mother, don’t be angry with them, children are stupid, they still don’t understand anything.”

After my grandmother left, we got the race for it from the priest; I was then barely five years old. We went to grandmother Shcherbatova in the village and after my mother's death we stayed with her for a long time, and before that we ate in Syaskovo for several days. It almost always happened in the fall, because they adjusted it to get to my grandmother's name day, September 9. My younger sister Anna was named after her, and I was given the name Elizabeth in honor of Vzimkova, who almost baptized the priest. Grandmother got up early and ate at noon; well, therefore, we had to get up even earlier in order to be ready when grandmother came out. Then, until dinner, we used to sit at attention in the living room in front of her, we were silent, waiting for grandmother to ask us something; when she asks, you stand up and answer while standing and wait for her to say again: “Well, sit down.” This means that she will no longer talk to you. It used to happen, both in the presence of the father and in the presence of the mother, you never dare to sit down until someone says: “Why are you standing, Elizabeth, sit down.” Then just sit down.

After dinner, grandmother rested, and she would say to us: “Well, kids, you, tea, are bored with the old woman, everyone sit at attention; Come, my lights, into the garden, have some fun there, look for brants, and I'll lie down to rest right now.

Do you know what it means: brantsy? These are the ripest nuts that are left unattended on the bushes at the time when the nuts are taken. Then they ripen and fall from the bushes to the ground; these are the most delicious nuts, because they ripen.

At that time, the garden in Syaskovo was very large, there were few flower beds, and then there were no flowers as good as they are now: terry roses, wild rose, irises, daffodils, lordly arrogance, peonies, jonquils. The orchards were more and more fruit-filled: apples, pears, cherries, plums, prunes, and walnut alleys almost everywhere. Now there are no such varieties of apples as I ate in my youth; the father had in Bobrovo: a muzzle, a small long apple, narrow at the top, just like the muzzle of some animal, and a bell - round, flat, and when it is completely ripe, the grains rattle like in a rattle. Now they don’t even know these varieties: when brother Mikhail Petrovich got Bobrovo, how I wanted to get grafts from these apple trees; searched - did not find, they say, they froze.

In Syaskovo there were also many apple trees and all kinds of berries, and long avenues of walnuts: is it all intact now? More than seventy-five years have passed since then! .. Shcherbatova's grandmother was very devout, but at the same time very superstitious and had many signs that she believed. In those days it was not so strange, but now it’s funny to remember what she was afraid of, my dear! So, for example, if she sees a thread on the floor, she will always bypass it, because "God knows who laid this thread, and with what intent?" If a circle on the sand somewhere in the garden from a watering can or from a bucket never steps over it: "It's not good, there will be lichen." On the first day of each month, she went to eavesdrop at the door of the maid's room, and by what word she heard, she concluded whether the month would be prosperous or not. However, the girls knew her weakness, and when they heard that the princess was shuffling her legs, they would wink at each other and immediately start talking in such a way that she could be interpreted for her well-being, and the grandmother would immediately enter the maid's room to grab her at her word.

- What did you say? she will say.

The girls pretend that they did not even hear her come in, and they will tell her all sorts of nonsense and then add:

- This, Empress Princess, to know, to well-being.

And if she hears something awkward, she will spit and go back.

Sometimes he will come and say to his aunt: “Alexashenka, that’s what I heard,” and he will begin to tell her, and then they will reinterpret together whether this word means well-being or not good.

She believed in witchcraft, the eye, werewolves, mermaids, goblins; I thought that it was possible to spoil a person, and had many different signs, which I can’t even remember now.

In winter, when the windows were closed, she examined the patterns and also judged by the figures: for good or not for good.

Auntie, Countess Tolstaya, who lived with her all the time until her death, learned a lot from her and had great oddities.

It is very understandable: they lived in the village, there were no classes, so they sit and invent all sorts of things for themselves.

This text is an introductory piece.

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Quote:

(Anonymous)
Oseeva's story "Grandma"
We had a thin book of stories for children at home, and the name of one of them was called the book - "Grandma". I was probably 10 years old when I read this story. He made such an impression on me then that all my life, no, no, but I remember, and tears always well up. Then the book disappeared...

When my children were born, I really wanted to read this story to them, but I could not remember the name of the author. Today I again remembered the story, found it on the Internet, read it ... Again I was seized by that aching feeling that I first felt then, in childhood. Now my grandmother has been gone for a long time, mom and dad are gone, and, involuntarily, with tears in my eyes, I think that I will never be able to tell them how much I love them, and how much I miss them ...

My children have already grown up, but I will definitely ask them to read the story "Grandma". It makes you think, brings up feelings, touches the soul...

Quote:

anonymous)
Now I read "Grandma" to my seven-year-old son. And he cried! And I was happy: crying means alive, so there is a place in his world of Turtles, Batmans and Spiders for real human emotions, for such a valuable pity in our world!

Quote:

hin67
in the morning, taking the child to school, for some reason I suddenly remembered how they read the story "Grandma" to us at school.
while reading, someone even chuckled, and the teacher said that when they were read, some cried. but no one in our class shed a tear. the teacher finished reading. suddenly a sob was heard from the back of the desk, everyone turned around - it was the ugliest girl in our class that was crying ...
I came to work on the internet and found a story, and here I am sitting as an adult man in front of the monitor and tears are welling up.
Weird......

"Grandma"

Valentina Oseeva Story

The grandmother was fat, broad, with a soft, melodious voice. In an old knitted sweater, with a skirt tucked into her belt, she paced the rooms, suddenly appearing before her eyes like a big shadow.
- She filled the whole apartment with herself! .. - Borka's father grumbled.
And his mother timidly objected to him:
- An old man ... Where can she go?
- Lived in the world ... - sighed the father. - That's where she belongs in the nursing home!
Everyone in the house, not excluding Borka, looked at the grandmother as if she were a completely superfluous person.

Grandma slept on a chest. All night she tossed heavily from side to side, and in the morning she got up before everyone else and rattled dishes in the kitchen. Then she woke up her son-in-law and daughter:
- The samovar is ripe. Get up! Have a hot drink on the road...
Approached Borka:
- Get up, my father, it's time for school!
- For what? Borka asked in a sleepy voice.
- Why go to school? The dark man is deaf and dumb - that's why!
Borka hid his head under the covers:
- Go, grandma...
- I'll go, but I'm not in a hurry, but you're in a hurry.
- Mother! shouted Borka. - Why is she buzzing over her ear like a bumblebee?
- Borya, get up! Father pounded on the wall. - And you, mother, move away from him, do not bother him in the morning.
But the grandmother did not leave. She pulled stockings and a jersey over Borka. Her heavy body swayed in front of his bed, softly slapping her shoes around the rooms, rattling her basin and saying something.
In the passage my father shuffled with a broom.
- And where are you, mother, galoshes Delhi? Every time you poke into all the corners because of them!
Grandmother hurried to help him.

Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them on.
Father slammed the door. Borka ran hurriedly after him. On the stairs, the grandmother slipped an apple or a candy into his bag, and a clean handkerchief into his pocket.
- Yah you! Borka waved him off. - Before I could not give! I'm late here...
Then my mother left for work. She left granny groceries and persuaded her not to spend too much:
- Save money, Mom. Petya is already angry: he has four mouths on his neck.
- Whose family - that and the mouth, - the grandmother sighed.
- I'm not talking about you! - relented daughter. - In general, the expenses are high ... Be careful, mom, with fats. Bore is fatter, Pete is fatter...

Then other instructions rained down on the grandmother. Grandmother accepted them silently, without objection.
When the daughter left, she began to host. She cleaned, washed, cooked, then took out knitting needles from the chest and knitted. The needles moved in her grandmother's fingers, now quickly, now slowly - in the course of her thoughts. Sometimes they stopped completely, fell to their knees, and the grandmother shook her head:
- So, my dears ... It's not easy, it's not easy to live in the world!
Borka would come from school, throw his coat and hat into his grandmother's hands, throw a bag of books on a chair and shout:
- Grandma, eat!

The grandmother hid her knitting, hurriedly set the table, and, crossing her arms over her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, somehow involuntarily, Borka felt his grandmother as his close friend. He willingly told her about the lessons, comrades.
Grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying:
- Everything is good, Boryushka: both bad and good are good. From a bad person, a person becomes stronger; from a good soul, he blooms.

Sometimes Borka complained about his parents:
- My father promised me a briefcase. All fifth-graders with briefcases go!
The grandmother promised to talk to her mother and reprimanded Borka for the briefcase.
Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him:
- Delicious jelly today! Are you eating, grandma?
- Eat, eat, - the grandmother nodded her head. - Do not worry about me, Boryushka, thank you, I am well-fed and healthy.
Then suddenly, looking at Borka with faded eyes, she chewed some words with her toothless mouth for a long time. Her cheeks were covered with ripples, and her voice dropped to a whisper:
- When you grow up, Boryushka, don't leave your mother, take care of your mother. Little old. In the old days they used to say: the most difficult thing in life is to pray to God, pay debts and feed your parents. So, Boryushka, my dear!
- I won't leave my mother. This is in the old days, maybe there were such people, but I'm not like that!
- That's good, Boryushka! Will you water, feed and serve with affection? And your grandmother will rejoice at this from the next world.

OK. Just don't come dead, - said Borka.
After dinner, if Borka stayed at home, the grandmother would hand him a newspaper and, sitting down next to him, would ask:
- Read something from the newspaper, Boryushka: who lives and who toils in the world.
- "Read"! grumbled Borka. - She's not small!
- Well, if I can't.
Borka put his hands in his pockets and became like his father.
- Lazy! How much did I teach you? Give me a notebook!
Grandmother took out a notebook, pencil, glasses from the chest.
- Why do you need glasses? You still don't know the letters.
- Everything is somehow clearer in them, Boryushka.

The lesson began. The grandmother diligently wrote out the letters: "sh" and "t" were not given to her in any way.
- Again put an extra stick! Borka got angry.
- Oh! Grandma was scared. - I don't count.
- Well, you live under Soviet rule, otherwise in tsarist times you know how you would have been fought for this? My regards!
- Right, right, Boryushka. God is the judge, the soldier is the witness. There was no one to complain to.
From the yard came the screeching of children.
- Give me a coat, grandma, hurry, I have no time!
Grandma was alone again. Adjusting her spectacles on her nose, she carefully unfolded the newspaper, went up to the window and peered long, painfully at the black lines. The letters, like bugs, now crawled before my eyes, then, bumping into each other, huddled together. Suddenly, a familiar difficult letter jumped out from somewhere. Grandmother hurriedly pinched it with a thick finger and hurried to the table.
- Three sticks ... three sticks ... - she rejoiced.

* * *
They annoyed the grandmother with the grandson's fun. Then white, like doves, paper-cut planes flew around the room. Describing a circle under the ceiling, they got stuck in the butter dish, fell on Grandma's head. Then Borka appeared with a new game - in "chasing". Having tied a nickel in a rag, he jumped wildly around the room, tossing it up with his foot. At the same time, seized by the excitement of the game, he stumbled upon all the surrounding objects. And the grandmother ran after him and repeated in confusion:
- Fathers, fathers ... But what kind of game is this? Why, you'll beat everything in the house!
- Grandma, don't interfere! Borka gasped.
- Yes, why with your feet, my dear? It's safer with your hands.
- Get off, grandma! What do you understand? You need legs.

* * *
A friend came to Borka. Comrade said:
- Hello, grandma!
Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow:
- Let's go, let's go! You can't say hello to her. She is our old lady.
Grandmother straightened her jacket, straightened her scarf and quietly moved her lips:
- Offend - what to hit, caress - you need to look for words.
And in the next room, a friend said to Borka:
- And they always say hello to our grandmother. Both their own and others. She is our main.
- How is it - the main one? Borka asked.
- Well, the old one ... raised everyone. She cannot be offended. And what are you doing with yours? Look, father will warm up for this.
- Do not warm up! Borka frowned. He doesn't greet her himself.

The comrade shook his head.
- Wonderful! Now everyone respects the old. You know how the Soviet government stands up for them! Here, in our yard, the old man had a bad life, so now they pay him. Court sentenced. And ashamed, as in front of everyone, horror!
“Yes, we don’t offend our grandmother,” Borka blushed. - She is with us ... well-fed and healthy.
Saying goodbye to his comrade, Borka detained him at the door.
"Grandma," he called impatiently, "come here!"
- I'm coming! Grandma hobbled from the kitchen.
“Here,” Borka said to his comrade, “say goodbye to my grandmother.”
After this conversation, Borka often asked his grandmother for no reason:
- Do we offend you?
And he said to his parents:
- Our grandmother is the best, but lives the worst of all - no one cares about her.

Mother was surprised, and father was angry:
Who taught you to judge your parents? Look at me - it's still small!
And, getting excited, he pounced on the grandmother:
- Are you teaching a child, mother? If you are dissatisfied with us, you could tell yourself.
Grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head:
- I do not teach - life teaches. And you, fools, should rejoice. Your son is growing up for you! I have outlived mine in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you will not return.

* * *
Before the holiday, the grandmother was busy until midnight in the kitchen. Ironed, cleaned, baked. In the morning, she congratulated the family, served clean ironed linen, gave socks, scarves, handkerchiefs.
Father, trying on socks, groaned with pleasure:
- You pleased me, mother! Very well, thank you, mother!
Borka was surprised:
- When did you impose it, grandmother? After all, your eyes are old - you will still go blind!
The grandmother smiled with a wrinkled face.
She had a large wart near her nose. This wart amused Borka.
- Which rooster pecked you? he laughed.
- Yes, she grew up, what can you do!
Borka was generally interested in Babkin's face.
There were various wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, dug out over the years.
- Why are you so painted? Very old? he asked.
Grandma thought.
- By wrinkles, my dear, human life, like a book, you can read.
- How is it? Route, right?
- Which route? Just grief and need have signed here. She buried children, cried - wrinkles lay on her face. I endured the need, wrinkled again. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. Big rain and he digs holes in the ground.

He listened to Borka and looked in the mirror with fear: did he not enough cry in his life - is it possible that his whole face will be tightened with such threads?
- Go, grandma! he grumbled. You always say stupid things...

* * *
When there were guests in the house, the grandmother dressed up in a clean cotton jacket, white with red stripes, and sat decorously at the table. At the same time, she watched Borka with both eyes, and he, making grimaces at her, dragged sweets from the table.
Grandma's face was covered with spots, but she could not tell in front of guests.

They served their daughter and son-in-law on the table and pretended that the mother occupies a place of honor in the house so that people would not say bad things. But after the guests left, the grandmother got it for everything: both for the place of honor and for Borka's sweets.
“I’m not a boy for you, mother, to serve at the table,” Borka’s father was angry.
- And if you are already sitting, mother, with folded arms, then at least they would have looked after the boy: after all, he stole all the sweets! - added the mother.
- But what am I going to do with him, my dears, when he becomes free in front of guests? What he drank, what he ate - the king will not squeeze out with his knee, - the grandmother cried.
Irritation against his parents stirred in Borka, and he thought to himself: "You'll be old, I'll show you then!"

* * *
Grandmother had a treasured box with two locks; none of the household was interested in this box. Both the daughter and the son-in-law knew very well that the grandmother had no money. The grandmother hid in it some gizmos "for death." Borka was overcome with curiosity.
- What do you have there, grandma?
- I'll die - everything will be yours! she got angry. - Leave me alone, I'm not going to your things!
Once Borka found the grandmother sleeping in an armchair. He opened the chest, took the box and locked himself in his room. Grandmother woke up, saw an open chest, groaned and leaned against the door.
Borka teased, rattling his locks:
- I'll open it anyway!
Grandmother began to cry, went to her corner, lay down on the chest.
Then Borka got frightened, opened the door, threw the box to her and ran away.
- All the same, I'll take it from you, I just need this one, - he teased later.

* * *
Recently, the grandmother suddenly hunched over, her back became round, she walked more quietly and kept sitting down.
“It grows into the ground,” my father joked.
“Don’t laugh at the old man,” the mother was offended.
And she said to her grandmother in the kitchen:
- What are you, mom, like a turtle, moving around the room? Send you for something and you won't get back.

* * *
Grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in an armchair with knitting in her hands: an unfinished sock lay on her knees, a ball of thread on the floor. Apparently, she was waiting for Borka. There was a ready-made device on the table. But Borka did not dine. He looked at the dead grandmother for a long time and suddenly rushed headlong out of the room. I ran through the streets and was afraid to return home. And when he carefully opened the door, father and mother were already at home.
The grandmother, dressed up as for guests, in a white sweater with red stripes, was lying on the table. The mother wept, and the father comforted her in an undertone:
- What to do? Lived, and enough. We did not offend her, we endured both inconvenience and expense.

* * *
Neighbors crowded into the room. Borka stood at the grandmother's feet and looked at her with curiosity. The grandmother's face was ordinary, only the wart turned white, and there were fewer wrinkles.
At night, Borka was scared: he was afraid that the grandmother would get off the table and come to his bed. "If only they had taken her away sooner!" he thought.
The next day, the grandmother was buried. When they went to the cemetery, Borka was worried that the coffin would be dropped, and when he looked into a deep hole, he hurriedly hid behind his father.
Walked home slowly. The neighbors followed. Borka ran ahead, opened his door, and tiptoed past Grandma's chair. A heavy chest, upholstered in iron, bulged out into the middle of the room; a warm patchwork quilt and pillow were folded in a corner.

Borka stood at the window, picked last year's putty with his finger, and opened the door to the kitchen. Under the washbasin my father, rolling up his sleeves, was washing galoshes; water seeped into the lining and splashed onto the walls. Mother rattled the dishes. Borka went out onto the stairs, sat down on the railing and slid down.
Returning from the yard, he found his mother sitting in front of an open chest. All sorts of junk was piled on the floor. It smelled of stale things.
The mother took out a crumpled red slipper and carefully straightened it with her fingers.
- Mine, - she said and bent low over the chest. - My...
At the very bottom, a box rattled. Borka squatted down. The father patted him on the shoulder.
- Well, heir, get rich now!
Borka looked askance at him.
"You can't open it without the keys," he said, and turned away.
The keys could not be found for a long time: they were hidden in the pocket of my grandmother's jacket. When his father shook his jacket and the keys fell to the floor with a clang, Borka's heart sank for some reason.

The box was opened. Father took out a tight bundle: it contained warm mittens for Borka, socks for his son-in-law, and a sleeveless jacket for his daughter. They were followed by an embroidered shirt made of old faded silk - also for Borka. In the very corner lay a bag of candy tied with a red ribbon. Something was written on the bag in big block letters. The father turned it over in his hands, narrowed his eyes, and read aloud:
- "To my grandson Boryushka."
Borka suddenly turned pale, snatched the package from him and ran out into the street. There, crouching at someone else's gate, he peered for a long time at grandmother's scribbles: "To my grandson Boryushka."
There were four sticks in the letter "sh".
"Not learned!" thought Borka. And suddenly, as if alive, a grandmother stood in front of him - quiet, guilty, who had not learned her lesson.
Borka looked around in confusion at his house and, clutching the bag in his hand, wandered along the street along the long fence of someone else ...
He came home late in the evening; his eyes were swollen with tears, fresh clay stuck to his knees.
He put Babkin's bag under his pillow and, covering himself with a blanket, thought: "Grandma won't come in the morning!"