Andrey D. (ILE) about interests and reading

I really liked wind instruments; I wanted to buy myself a trumpet and would have played it often. But my father said, “Look, I bought you a guitar, and you don’t play it.” He really did buy me a guitar — it just lay there, and I never learned to play it. I lost interest in it, but I wanted to play the trumpet. Adults need to understand that a child like this can have changing interests.

<...> Since childhood, I was very interested in animals. There was a series of books about animals, where literally every species was described in great detail and in a very engaging way. I borrowed those books from the library. In the summer, I lived in a village, and the library there had these huge, thick volumes. They were meant for children but written in a serious tone and with humor at the same time.

I practically devoured them. I still remember, for example, a big chapter about sharks—what kinds there are: tiger shark, hammerhead shark, whale shark, great white shark, various rays. How to tell a shark from a dolphin. What fish swim alongside these sharks. There was one book I didn’t finish because we were leaving, and I suggested taking it with us and sending it back by mail once I finished it. But my mother said, “No, you can’t do that,” and that shocked me. From my point of view, I’d come up with the perfect plan: take the book, bring it home, I’d finish reading it calmly, and then we’d send it back by mail. My grandmother would receive the package and return the book to the library — nobody would be worse off. But my mother was somehow against it. I couldn’t understand why.

I remember that at that time reading was something truly special for me. I loved reading very much. Especially in the village, where there was nothing else to do. Someone else might have run around the surroundings, with nature and everything, but I loved to read. Once, I even read several novels in a single day. A love for reading is simply amazing.

Later I got hooked on various TV shows, cartoons, and movies—mostly cartoons. And back then, cartoons were shown only once a week, on Sundays—Disney cartoons. The program was called “Walt Disney Presents.” For me, missing an episode was practically sacrilege, to the point that if I couldn’t watch it—say, the TV was broken—I would go to the neighbors’.

<...> As a child, I read a lot about space. In the second or third grade, I participated in a correspondence contest—it had a lot of questions. The contest was specifically about space. I remember going to the library, carefully and patiently writing down answers to all the questions, and then I lost interest. I stopped doing it, and maybe at that moment my parents should have helped me finish it. You know, everyone would challenge me asking: “Did you write for the contest?!” “No, I got tired of it, I decided not to do it, I don’t care.” Everyone would say: “Well, what a shame…” and I’d say: “Well, that’s just how it is…” I started writing the answers for this contest, everyone saw it, everyone admired it, and then—bam—I just stopped. There you go. But if someone, say, had helped me finish the contest, said: “Let’s go to the library, you’ll finish it, I’ll help you, and you’ll send the answers,” a child should be supported in moments like that, taught to finish what they start.