Memories

 

: A tense atmosphere gripped the house. The cause was my sister, Ginka. It all started innocently enough.

For as long as I can remember, my mother had always been a passionate reader, and she passed this passion on to her three daughters.

After reading "Sunflowers," Ginka decided she could apply some of the events to everyday life.

She and a few friends wrote an hourglass for her teacher. The hourglass was so strikingly similar to the original that everyone who read it was convinced it was real, especially since it was hung on the school door.

When everything was revealed, my sister's day of reckoning began. My parents were the first to be summoned to school. They knew the contents of the book, which had caused all the commotion, but they couldn't understand how such an idea could have entered their daughter's mind. My mother, who disliked any contact with teachers, was the most distressed. My father, on the other hand, had difficulty maintaining a straight face. However, the culprit, who was terribly upset, was unaware of all this.

My parents returned home after a few hours, during which Ginka had paced the length and breadth of our small apartment dozens of times. While pouring coffee into glasses, I overheard a conversation my father had begun with his offspring:

"You made us drink quite a bit of beer, but luckily you have an understanding teacher. She also read 'Sunflowers,' so she's willing to forgive you. However, your grade will be lowered based on your behavior. Mom and I hope this incident will teach you a lesson and nothing like this will happen again.

Oh, how wrong Dad was!

It's unclear where Ginka got these ideas, ideas no one would have suspected, because she was basically a very quiet girl. When she started high school, at some point she lost interest in school. It turned out she was studying all her subjects

in one notebook. But that wasn't enough for her; she stopped going to school altogether. The fault lay with the television, which was showing a Swedish film about Pippi Longstocking every morning. My sister was so captivated by it that she completely forgot about her student duties. The case came to light purely by accident.

The dairy kiosk where my mother worked was next door to our house, so she often dropped by during the day. One day, she arrived and saw clouds of cigarette smoke. This puzzled her. She went through all the rooms and casually looked into the closet.

Inside was a terrified Ginka crouching. The sight my mother saw was so comical that instead of being angry at her daughter, she simply started laughing.

There was a very small age difference between my sister and me, only a year. I'm the younger one. Maybe that's why we got along quite well. We used to go sledding together in the winter, where we held competitions. Every normal competition involves demonstrating speed or superior skill, but we came up with something completely different. The winner was the one who went down the hill slowest. What we did to achieve this is mind-boggling.

Another idea we had was how to eat. I remember one day we had chicken for dinner. We were home alone at the time.

Just a few days ago, we watched the movie "Countess Cozel" with great interest. We noticed the lack of cutlery during the feasts. We loved it, and we wanted to eat like that too. Now the opportunity arose, and there was nothing to dissuade us. To be honest, it was good that no one saw us at the time.

The biggest nuisance for my sister and me was the poultry, which our mother eagerly raised.

She fed them with grass and left the task of providing it to us. It was a rather tedious task, so we decided we needed to diversify it.

We gathered all the kids we knew on the street and suggested we build a grass shelter. To our delight, the idea was very popular. We caused quite a stir in the park where we went to buy greenery, but we brought enough grass for both us and the chickens. Not only our chickens but also our aunt's were roaming around our yard. To tell them apart, some had their tails docked up, others down. Worse, when their tails grew, it became a circus. It was impossible to tell which was whose. Knowing the problems with this, my mother came up with the idea of ​​painting their wings different colors.

The idea was good until it rained, and then everything started all over again. One day, these feathered creatures fell ill.

They died one by one, to the dismay of their caretaker.

My mother made the difficult decision to eliminate the healthy hens so that she could still make something of them.

For a long time, poultry appeared on our table in various forms. You can imagine that we quickly tired of it.

To this day, I don't look favorably on anything with wings.

My sister Hanka, who is four years older than me, and I have always been at odds with each other for as long as I can remember. We were like rags to a bull.

That's changed now, but it took over twenty years for that change to happen. I think we've both matured and learned to avoid certain sensitive topics.

I remember once, during an argument, I placed a plate of salad

and sour cream on her head. She was completely taken aback. Another time, I broke a toy guitar on her head. Hanka, on the other hand, didn't comment on my singing, which, incidentally, I loved to do like howling.

I think the reason for all this was that I was the youngest and sickly from the start. My parents huffed and puffed on me, and because of that, my horns grew, which my sister couldn't stand and vented her displeasure several times.

Hanka's best friend was Maryla. They were an impossible pair.

They went to elementary school together and spent a lot of time together. But it wasn't enough. They couldn't get enough of each other.

Grandma had exorbitant phone bills. Even after finishing elementary school, this didn't change.

Thirty years have passed since Dad died, and nine years since Mom died. I still hear her words: "Krysia, the most important thing is that you love each other." And so it is.

We help each other, confide in each other as much as possible,

and our mother's message still lives on in us. Because we still love each other

and will always love each other. May our children carry that same love in their hearts. The family we created gave us the foundation for our families.

We have passed on and continue to pass on the values ​​we received from our parents

to our children.

I hope they will help them through the hardships and joys of life. Fond memories of their family home are like balm on every adult day, giving them strength and hope, and above all, teaching them the love we all so desperately need.