Edition News.Medicine publishes a fragment of the book “my name is Gosha”, written by Diana Mashkovoi – writer, journalist, founder of the club “the ABC of foster family the” Fund “Arithmetic good”.
The very first time in my life, I remember this. I go to the group: I’m three and I was transferred from the baby House in the preschool Department Children’s home. Brought say to the teachers: “Meet Grisha!”. In the end, in the preschool room I have all four years was Grisha. Someone messed something up in the records and so on to the middle of the first class I was Gregory. Then, already in school, looked in the papers – Oh! – this is George, not Gregory. And I say: “so, wait, you’re no Gregory, you don’t Gregory, and George. So, Gosh. Remember?”. Yes, without any problems. So I tried out gosh.
In the group, where I then led, were only teachers, but does not have any children, I was the first. And now remember, I was fed, put to bed, and after a quiet hour I Wake up, open your eyes op, another lies. It was Timic, he then became my best friend. Where it came from, I don’t know. We never spoke about it, even the question such did not arise.
Do we himself knew nothing. I personally did not understand what relatives, parents. Where I was born? What kind of mother at all? Many children in the three to four years begin to ask how babies are born. Explain to them that mommy’s belly. But I personally do not recall asking about this someone and that I said or something else. Had no idea that the children should be mom. I was raised by educators.
Only in the fourth grade, I found out that I had parents. That is about eleven years. In our orphanage came to the Commission. Educator pulled from the archives of our portfolio, laid it on the edge of the table. And we’re like, “Oh, what is this folder, what about us?”. Adults walked away, and we come to read all this. So I learned about their mother and father. My mother is called Vera Yevgenyevna. And his father – Vasily Georgievich. I was even delighted – I am Georgy. Like the opposite.
I saw the death certificate of his father, but honestly don’t really understand what it means. Only thirteen years we have started talking about the parents, about where we come from. We have lived in senior housing, I studied, I believe, in seventh grade. And to work with us came the teacher from another orphanage. And here it is some of the things opened my eyes.
Actually, I don’t have to tell you this, she’s whispering, because the information is private.
–It is impossible to complicate the situation. But I will say that safely.
-Your dad, gosh, you died before your birthday.
– How is it?
–Well, that’s it. In about three months.
–Nicho me, I froze for the first time she heard about it.
–And your mother is still alive.
In response, I said nothing. Didn’t want to ask again alive, so she doesn’t need me. And it would come already for thirteen years.
– When you were born, she was 39 years old.
–AAA – I show the indifference, then, now already old.
Why? – the teacher was indignant, – only fifty-two years.
Well, Ian, alive and well.
I didn’t ask. Before that my family was friend Timic. Other friends – the guys from our group. Adults were always like to be alone, stood to one side.
By the way, I’ve never even seen the paper that started it all – the mother’s rejection of me. I think there was written “refuse, because you can’t contain”. Or something like that. Otherwise, how come that she managed to just kick me out? Either she still was an alcoholic, a drug addict and so on – that is credited with all parents of children in care. The teachers always said so. When scolded us, was about the same.
– Ahhh, so we bored you? my “favorite” teacher in a younger body started to burn on level ground, I only had to probablity “have no right, tired already!”.
– What is this?
– So tell your Mamma that you got dumped! Now wandering from house to house, Smoking, drinking, shooting up. Addict!
– How do you know? – I will not say that I reacted violently. If he does not know his mother how the teacher might have something about it know? Invent on the move all the small stuff.
– They all are! Alcoholics and drug addicts. Go, go to your Mamma! You don’t get bored. But if you’re here, that means you told her I’m bored!
And I was like to myself: “Pfft. Poorat? Calm down? Well done!”.
By the way, I was never mad, and the answer is nothing offensive is not wanted. Since childhood was pious. Even about his mother ever a bad thought to mind was not that she drank or injected. Thought only that she could not keep me.
But my other friend, nekit, he, in a fit of anger always meet the teachers. Mate, of course.
–You… don’t know my parents, – he shouted, – and a then a Blizzard!
Well, “favorite” teacher, let’s just type over the phone to grasp. Nekit yelled at her and climbed under the table – away from sin. And she began to call, like in a psychiatric hospital. And in fact, just his son. We only then realized it.
But mostly it was easier – she went to the seniors. We called the orphanage the older guys. And sent them to us for educational purposes. So they type talk, held preventive conversations. Seniors honestly tried words, but was getting tired of this moral load too quickly. And moved on to the physical. Stupid beat. Or throwing a shy one to another. Such fun. We small was in fifth grade. And they are already huge in the ninth, tenth, eleventh.
By the way, not only with educators but also with friends we have not discussed the topic of parents. There was no such “and you would like to…”. No. We lived here and now. The past did not touch. The future, however, too. Probably, something dreamed from the category of “and who I want to be?”. But that’s all. How and what will be there, we just didn’t know. Sat roughly in his cage. And shone.
And if you go in order, from birth, that little I don’t remember. As for the crib sat the first words spoken, first steps was doing something else – this is no memory left. And no photos, so now would never find out.