Tatiana R. (ESI) — Lessons in Justice, Responsibility, and the Art of Childhood

Good Family Relationships

My childhood was good, happy even, you could say. I look back on those days with pleasure.

I had an older brother, and he and I had a very good relationship. When our parents were at work, he would tell me, "I am your mom, your dad, and your big brother." I listened to him, and he loved me very much. Whenever he had a bit of pocket money, he would buy me presents. He’d buy a little toy shovel, or a small brush—just little things, but he was always spoiling me. I liked it; it was all useful stuff, things I could actually play with.

Our courtyard was very friendly, and there were so many children. Kids don’t play outside like that nowadays. In our yard games, there would be fifteen or twenty of us, all different ages. It was hard to tear yourself away from the game to go home.

<...> In my childhood, I had a genuine sense of happiness. My father's role was incredibly important because he supported me in everything. Even when I once received a failing grade ("D") for behavior because of a fight, he just looked at it and said, "Well, what are we going to do now, build a fence?" Even though he worked in the police and could have handled it differently... nothing happened, and I am grateful to him for that. He turned everything into a joke: "Well, that’s probably enough playing judge out there..."

<...> I felt that my parents loved me; they treated me very well, and that was very important to me. My father’s mother used to tell him, "Fedyushka, out of the whole USSR, you are my favorite." And my father would tell me, "Tanyushka, out of the whole USSR, you are my favorite!" I was happy.

Emotional Empathy and Interpersonal Observation

I had a lot of friends, and I could see that everyone's family life was different. Children are especially affected by family arguments; they take it very hard. I used to worry for my friends. I remember a friend running up to me, absolutely radiant, saying, "My dad came home sober today!" She was practically jumping with joy. I supported her. I also felt sad when someone moved away and we had to say goodbye. I’ve always been someone who cares deeply about many things.

<...> I was always very perceptive about relationships. I saw my mother’s worries: my father's job was in the police, and he was a striking, handsome man. My mother had a strong character; she would never demean herself by making a scene or trying to check up on and control him if something seemed off in his behavior. She would just say, "You're free to go!" I adopted my mother’s way of behaving as a model for my own life.

I always saw what was happening in class—who liked whom. The first time a boy confessed his love to me was in the third grade.

<...> Our English teacher was very sarcastic. She could say things like, "You're smiling like a May rose in a garbage can." We were terrified of her, always anxious that she might say something about us or hurt our feelings. She didn't mean any harm by it; it was just who she was, and no one held a grudge against her.

Personal Responsibility and Independence

For some reason, my parents never worried about me. They knew I would find my own way and handle any difficulties on my own. I did my homework by myself. My mom tried to supervise me until the second grade. She used to sit next to me: "Here, write this..." At the end of the second grade, I told her, "Mom, don't sit next to me. It makes me uncomfortable when you watch over my shoulder. I’ll write it myself. If you want to check it, you can look after I'm done." If something was unclear, my brother would explain it to me. If I got a bad grade in my school diary, I would tell him, "Hey, sign my diary for me." And he would sign it.

<...> House cleaning was my responsibility. My brother was older than me. We had area rugs. To motivate him to join me in this heroic feat, I would push him off the couch with my feet. I’d drop him onto the floor, all of us laughing. "Alright, let's go!" We would go beat the rugs outside, then I would mop the floor, and then we would roll the rugs back out. I am very grateful to my mother—she never said that you must wash the floor on Friday, for instance. I could do it on Saturday or Monday. She always told me, "You're not living with a mother-in-law!" I would always get it done anyway because I was responsible.

Force of Will and Fairness vs. Bureaucracy and Privileges

Back then, there were very long waiting lists for kindergarten, and another child was taken ahead of me, skipping the line. My father brought me to the kindergarten, undressed me in the hallway, put my clothes on top of the locker, and said, "Run along to the kids and play!" I went in and started playing with the children; the teacher only noticed me half an hour later. Everyone immediately guessed who had brought me. They called my dad, and he told them that our turn had come, but they had taken others instead. The next day, the exact same thing happened. They had no choice but to let me stay.

I didn't cry at kindergarten. Once, I had an unpleasant incident. I brought a nice toy to school—a sky-blue roly-poly doll (nevalyashka) with pictures of swallows on it. There was a girl in our group whose mother worked there as a teacher. This girl hid my toy and kept it for herself. I started asking around, "Where is my toy?" The teacher was about to take the toy back from her daughter, but the girl threw a massive tantrum. So the teacher said, "Wait for your parents." When my dad arrived, he, of course, didn't fight to take the toy back. He just said, "We’ll buy you another one." The girl took my toy home. That was the first time I realized that privileges existed: because her mother worked there, she could create such unfair privileges. It was highly uneducational. I knew I had been treated unfairly. Later on, that girl and I became friends, and we even took photos together.

Peer Leadership, Conflict Resolution, Moral Code, and Justice

I was highly respected among both the girls and the boys. Even back in kindergarten, everyone would come to me to settle conflicts. Although I was short, I was completely fearless. If there was an injustice, people would run to me to sort it out. I could walk up, figure things out, and even get into a fight—that definitely happened.

This went on for a long time; the children came to me as if I were a magistrate. They didn't go to the teacher; they came to me. It never even crossed my mind to go and complain about anyone—I tried to handle it myself. I would either appeal to the person's conscience or make them apologize. Plus, I always had a large support group made up of the wronged parties standing around and watching. And it worked. I was acting on behalf of everyone, like an envoy.

<...> My behavior wasn't always perfect. My last fight was in the eighth grade, near the school. In front of all the students, I told the teacher that a certain boy had a knife. The boy told me, "I’ll kill you." I had warned him first not to bring the knife to school and wave it around, but he didn't listen, so I told the teacher. My girlfriends and I were walking home when we saw him standing with another boy on the school corner. The other girls decided to walk around them, but I marched straight ahead on my own. I went anyway. A fight broke out. They bloodied my nose and hit me in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me. I called him a coward because he didn't face me one-on-one; he brought another guy, and the two of them fought a single girl. He felt ashamed afterward. The funniest thing is that at the end of the year, he confessed his love to me and wanted to sit at the same desk with me.

When we were little, we often played with dolls, and once I accidentally ended up with a doll dress belonging to another girl. I wrestled with my conscience for a long time, thinking, "Should I keep it or not?" Then I secretly slid it back so she wouldn't think I had stolen it. I had been so worried about it. She realized it was missing, and I quietly put it back. It was an unpleasant feeling. I had so many doubts: "Well, maybe I should just keep it? Nobody knows anyway." But I saw how upset she was, so I quietly returned it. No one ever knew; I didn't tell a soul, not even my mom.

Negotiation Skills, Personal Responsobility

A couple of times, I ran away from kindergarten. There was a market nearby, and that market had everything. Once, we really wanted some sunflower seeds. Two very young student-teachers had come to do their practical training, and as we were being brought back from our walk, we went up to them and said, "We want some seeds, let us go to the market!" They replied, "Oh, go wherever you want!" They were young and inexperienced. Well, since they gave us permission, off we went.

We went to the market. I had a way of talking to the vendors so that they would give me these seeds for free. We walked along the stalls: "We really want some seeds, please give us some!" "Sure, little girl, open your pocket!" The pocket was tiny, so they would pour some into it, and we didn't really need more than that anyway. Once our pockets were full, we headed straight back to the kindergarten. It wasn’t like we went off wandering somewhere else. My father worked in the police. When they called him and told him his daughter was missing, he replied, "She’ll come back on her own and bring everyone else with her, don't worry."

I never had any friction with the kindergarten teachers. I caught on to everything quickly.

<...> In the eighth grade, I organized a neighborhood youth squad. Kids came to join me from two or three different courtyards. I went to the local housing office myself to get sports equipment. Nobody believed that you could actually get anything out of them. Balls, jump ropes, badminton sets, bowling pins—I went into the office, told them I was organizing a youth squad, and that they were required to provide me with equipment. And they gave me everything. The most interesting part is that I returned all of it at the end of the summer in the exact condition it was given. They were very surprised. I was responsible; after all, I had signed for everything.

Competitive Spirit, Kinetic Energy, Exploration, and Arts

I was very good at checkers; my brother taught me. I didn't care much for chess, but checkers brought a quicker result, and I played well. In kindergarten, we played checkers and ugolki (corners). I used to win, and I loved it. I always like to win.

I loved active, high-energy games. A child like me just had to run and keep moving. <...> I also remember swinging on the doors in kindergarten. I would take a running start, jump onto the door, and ride it.

<...> At home, my brother and I used to get up to mischief together. His games were typical boy games: we would wrap a comb in paper and set it on fire so the thing would fly. Once, it almost flew right down the back of my collar, and it smelled terrible. Mom walked in: "What on earth is going on here?" and chased us with a rag. She was terrified we would burn the house down. But there was never any aggression from our parents.

<...> In the eighth grade, a friend and I climbed onto the roof. I lived in a two-story building with two entrances, and it had a sloping roof. I found out that the boys had made a little hangout spot behind the chimney where they played cards. It was wonderful up there: the tree branches reached right onto the roof, making it very cozy. When my friend came over, I told her, "Listen, let's climb onto the roof!" We climbed up; I went first and gave my friend a hand. We sat up there and brought books with us. The place was truly magnificent: the sky, the trees—it left an unforgettable impression. We climbed up there three times, until someone from the neighboring house spotted us—a lady over there almost had a heart attack. She screamed that she was going to call the police and the fire department, and she complained to our parents. My mom said, "Are you trying to kill me? Walking on roofs!" We never climbed up again. But when I climbed up there, I didn't think I was doing anything wrong.

<...> I went to pioneer camp every single summer, and it didn't even matter to me that I was going alone. I always found friends there. My brother only went to camp once, and even then, our dad picked him up early. But I loved it. I was always very active there. I drew the camp newspapers, participated in every single contest, and never got bored. Once I fell ill, and my father wanted to take me home, but I refused to go. It was summer—where else would I go? My grandmother lived within the city limits in a two-story house, and there was no variety there. Camp was much more interesting. There was a lake, and when it was warm, we went swimming. There was more freedom at camp, and I really need that feeling of freedom.

I never had the kind of upbringing where my mother would lead me somewhere by the hand. I chose my own after-school activities. I would go and sign up for everything myself. I even rode the city bus on my own. I would just come home and say, "Mom, I signed up for a club."

<...> I did a dance class because I loved movement. <...> I had a good ear for music, and the music teacher always praised me. I loved to dance, and I draw well, too.

<...> Later, I joined a drama club. I stayed in the drama club for a long time. Now, when it came to discipline—like memorizing lines on time—I wasn’t always the best. But I got through it by improvising; I always relied on my ability to wiggle out of a situation. Once, when I hadn’t learned my lines, the instructor took my role away. But when they started trying out other kids, everyone was incredibly stiff. When they threw me back into the scene, I did everything naturally and emotionally. The director loved it and told me, "Make sure you memorize it by tomorrow and come back." That’s when I realized I actually had to study.

I wasn’t lazy. If something had to be done, it had to be done. I did all my homework. I especially loved literature. I loved memorizing poems, and I still remember them to this day. Our literature teacher was wonderful.

<...> I also went to art school and studied there for a whole year. I loved it so much!

Attention to One's Own and Others' Appearance

I always notice how people are dressed. Teachers used to dress very modestly back then. I still remember exactly what they wore: skirts, jackets, blouses. I even remember when our biology teacher changed her lipstick. She used to love wearing very bright lipstick, and suddenly she switched to a lilac shade. I remember that vividly.

<...> I loved to dress up and make beautiful bows for my hair. I also loved sewing clothes for my dolls. I would design little outfits myself. I even sewed a rag doll completely on my own. Once, a hole accidentally formed in the plastic head of one of my dolls. I took a nylon ribbon, tied it into a bow, and stuffed the knot into the hole, so it looked like a bow on her head. Soon after, all the other girls used a red-hot nail to poke holes in their dolls' heads just so they could insert a bow, too.

Once, my parents bought me patent leather boots, while my friend wore rubber ones. I actually felt a bit uncomfortable about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to give them up—they fit my feet so well and just looked amazing. It was essential to me that clothes fit perfectly. From the seventh grade, we learned how to sew and make patterns. I was very good at it. I used to wear the clothes I made, and nobody believed that I had sewn them myself. They looked great and were perfectly tailored to my figure. My mom handed her sewing machine over to me right away, and my dad found an electric pedal for it. If I walked to school in shoes with even a small kitten heel, kids would run ahead shouting that I had arrived in high heels. I used to go with my mom to choose my school uniform. We would pick one with a narrow waist and a pleated skirt, so when you fastened the apron, the whole thing looked like an hourglass. Everything was perfectly proportioned, and I loved that.

I cut my own bangs and managed to get ahold of shampoo, which was hard to find back then. I would send my brother—he was a handsome boy with thick, voluminous hair. He would go to the store, and even if there was no shampoo on the shelves, he’d chat with the saleswoman, and she would hand him some, saying, "Here, go wash those locks of yours!"

Educational Philosophy (Emotional Safety over Metrics)

No one ever yelled at me or humiliated me, and there was never any reason to. Only once did something happen: my mom asked me to hand her a jar of tomato paste. I grabbed it in a rush, it slipped out of my hands, and it shattered. My mom scolded me and yelled in the heat of the moment. I felt deeply hurt, and I thought to myself that I would never yell at my own child for breaking something. It broke, so it broke. Is anything really worth a child's tears? Nothing is.

In the upper grades, at the school camp, I worked as a camp counselor. After school, there was no doubt about where to go, so I went to a pedagogical (teacher training) university. I understand children very well. I can find an approach for everyone. I get along beautifully with kids. I can easily find a common language with boys. All the children love me. We used to put on plays in our theater, and even the kids who were struggling academically participated.

From my many years of teaching experience, I can say this: you must evaluate the child's action, not the child themselves. It is bad when people say, "You're just like your dad—a pushover, a bully..." You should never compare. Instead, focus on the specific action: "You acted this way this particular time..." But the child themselves is good. A child must know that they are good.

Everyone has the right to make a mistake: both adults and children. It's just that adults make different kinds of mistakes. If a child behaves badly, they are still a good person deep down, and they need to know they are loved. Then everything will work out.

Sometimes parents have overly high ambitions. They want to be proud of their child, they demand good grades, and they believe the child must be the best student of all. The child doesn't owe them anything. They just need a childhood. I used to tell my daughter, "Don't worry about the grade. A week will pass, and you'll forget what you even got it for." But the way people treated you and the emotional tension itself—that stays with you. When parents scold a child, the reason for the scolding is eventually forgotten, but the negative feeling remains. When parents start reprimanding a child, they often don't stop to consider that the child might simply not understand something. What does "you didn't study" mean? You still have to actually comprehend the subject. It could be that they didn't grasp it, they weren't feeling well, or something got in the way—anything is possible. You need to find the root cause. And it's important to encourage them, to show them that they can do better. When parents start grinding a child down, the child only hears the pressure; they can't work, they can't open up. They feel unworthy, they feel miserable, and they think they will never achieve what their parents achieved. Such children begin to pull away from their parents and join other communities, which aren't always good. They might do this up until the age of twelve or thirteen, but after thirteen, there could be an explosion of aggression.

Sometimes the parents themselves are aggressive. It can happen that a parent loses control just once, but the child is left with the lifelong memory that their entire childhood was terrifying, which causes psychological damage.

My mom used to buy me books. I absolutely loved to read. They subscribed me to Vesyolye Kartinki (Funny Pictures), Murzilka, and various children's newspapers. I kept everything neatly stored. I loved solving crosswords and mazes. I read science fiction and historical novels.

A child like that needs to be kept busy, to feel important, respected, and recognized. You need to let them know they are doing something valuable and useful. When they wash the floor, say: "Good job! Look how clean it is now. See how much you helped me, well done!"

Source: How to Raise a Child Without Complexes by O. Mikhevnina