laid down to sleep near her sofa on the floor, on a sofa cushion. She hung down and asked: "You feel comfortable, right? .. Well, sleep-sleep."

Now every June, when we gather Ksenka to Berezovka for the whole summer, we have such a scene. We try to take small-sized toys. But Ksenka stubbornly brings the Big Bear. "Он слишком большой, уговариваю ее, - в рюкзаке места нет. Yesвай оставим". At first he agrees. Then, at the end of a long preparation, he comes to the kitchen with tears: "Let the bear be with us ... I'll take him in my arms!"

We have to agree.

One day she said to me: "Is it true that he has a kind face?!" From time to time he asks: "Tell us how we bought it." I'm telling. She listens, holding Big Bear in her lap. Stroking him. Apparently, he is re-experiencing the joy of the first meeting. After the story, she becomes very active: she runs to Kuzkina's cage - to change water and food. He goes to the kitchen, asks his mother: "Do you need help?" Мне offers: "Хочешь, нарисую что-нибудь?" Knows: I collect her drawings.

Or calls grandparents, talks to them for a long time. Everyone around seems good to her at such moments - both Kuzya, and parents, and girlfriends with whom she plays "sports school" in the yard.

Coming back from work, I often stop in the yard and observe. Ksenka, carried away by the game, does not fit, there is no time: she and her friends either run in circles or jump. Two girlfriends - Lucy and Mila. Lucy is feeble, mobile, picks up on any challenge. Mila is reasonable, does not like excessively hectic games, she can refuse in their midst. Ksenka begs her. Then, offended. Mila begins to seem clumsy, boring to her. At home, she tells me about her: "She jumps the worst. And the bow on her head is like cabbage leaves ..." But as soon as Mila actively joins their game, her bow becomes like a dazzlingly beautiful butterfly and her run with jumps higher any praise.

This "pendulum" relationship initially amused me.

Then they started to worry. Alien dissimilarity aroused in Ksenka a desire to fit someone's individuality to his model.

Such a desire indicates a predisposition to despotic love. Isn't despotic love a paradox though?

Ведь она обращена не на живого ОСОБЕННОГО human, а фактически на самого себя. After all, one who is inclined to despotic love, apparently, only transfers an idealized idea of ​​himself to another.

Of course, identifying yourself with someone close to you is the basis of all attachment. Without such an identification, it is difficult to learn empathy. Где здесь граница, за которой отождествление становится искажением действительного облика другого human? How to teach a child the ability to feel without the seductive desire to subordinate his feelings?..

I noticed: the older Ksenka is, the more tolerant, softer she becomes in dealing with us adults. Before, at the age of three, it happened when she was very busy, refused to play with her, instantly became hostile, said: "Bad!". Now he will sigh, ask with hope, looking at the table full of drawings: "Are you going to take a break? Then we'll play?"

Or maybe it's us adults who are becoming more tolerant of her, her peculiarities?! And her softness is a reflection of our matured and wiser love for her?!

Once in Komsomolskaya Pravda I read a conversation with a famous coach Tatyana Tarasova. Her confession startled me. “They must be loved,” she said of young skaters. “Only in love can people be united into one whole, while maintaining their individuality.”

Yes, да, именно так! Только в истинной, не деспотической любви и возможно наиболее полное духовное общение, в котором каждый становится соучастником in the creativity of personality близкого тебе human.

Once in Berezovka, Ksenka and I wandered through the forest. She caught grasshoppers, planted them in a glass jar, looked at them through a magnifying glass. This was her new hobby. The long-legged insects fought desperately against the glass. I say to Ksenka: “They probably now think that an angry sorceress has bewitched them: you can see everything around, but you can’t jump. They knock on glass and don’t understand that this is a transparent wall.” Ksenka laughed at this at first. Then she took pity on the prisoners - she released them. Go ahead. She looks around and fantasizes: "But those small trees know that we will not break their branches ... They know that we love them ..."

We went down a steep descent to the river. Behind its sharp bend, the distance opened up to the horizon. "What's behind that forest?" - asked Ksenka. "Probably fields, and villages, and cities." "And even further?" "Mountains and seas... Our whole country." "So big?" "Yes". She paused, thought. She said emphatically:

"I'll grow up and watch it all." "Okay," - I agreed, and we went back. We passed a clearing where Ksenka was catching grasshoppers. They flew out from under their feet with a crash, and Ksenka told them: “Don’t be afraid, we won’t touch you. protect them. Because they were already, as it were, a particle of her loving soul.

...Today I came home from work tired and gloomy. Ksenka began to inquire why. My evasive answers discouraged her: she was used to action that gives almost immediate results. And here, neither her questions nor her attempts to stir me up with stories about girlfriends do not work. She fell silent as she watched her drink tea. And suddenly something flashed in her eyes.

Climbing up, slightly throwing her head back, she quietly began to utter poetic lines: "A lonely sail turns white in the fog of the blue sea. What is he looking for in a distant country? What did he throw in his native land? .."

He immediately remembered: they leafed through a book of poems with her, and she asked why they read them to each other by heart? "... To convey to a person a new mood, a new thought," he replied.

It seems to have stuck in her memory. And so I decided to correct my mood with Lermontov's poems.

“Under him is a stream brighter than azure,” she read louder and louder, looking at me with mischievous eyes, “a golden ray of sun is above him, and he, rebellious, is looking for storms ...”

Well, how could one not respond to her spirit-uplifting enthusiasm with at least a smile!

Reading to the end she laughed, pleased: "Cheerful, yes?! And I knew that you would have fun!"

Probably, there is some special "law of conservation of spiritual energy" operating here. Sometimes, in a moment of fatigue, it seems: you are wasting yourself in communication. He said something to the child, shared something, but there were no visible changes. But here an accidental clash of circumstances seems to strike a spark, its short flash highlights what was imperceptible to the eye. And your spiritual waste suddenly returns to you with a "flood"

youthful feelings, a hot gleam of native eyes, a sonorous voice ...

I look at the lively face of my daughter, and a strange surprise seizes me: six years ago this creature did not exist in the world! And now it exists... It feels, thinks, loves on its own... It grew out of our relationship with him, out of our love for him... And - made me a different person. The way I was supposed to be. And what I would never have become if this restless creature, so dear to me, had not grown next to me.

INSTEAD OF AFTERWORD
There is no fiction in the family events described here. All of them are recorded with the accuracy of a document - the year, the date and even the time of the day - in three voluminous daddy's notebooks. "Extracting" them from there, I only, with the permission of my friend, did not indicate the numbers and, of course, changed the names.
Perhaps what is told in the diary entries will cause the reader to want to advise something to dad, to disagree with him in some way, to give his own explanation for the actions of his child. This can be done in letters. Any reader's opinion will certainly be interesting and useful to dad. After all, he still has many difficult pedagogical situations ahead of him.
His daughter, named here Xenia, having gone through a difficult kindergarten period of "growing into the team" (about this - the third, almost not cited here, notebook), went to school this year. And dad, who grew up with her, who can no longer be called young, started the next, fourth notebook.
What will the entries be about? Apparently, about how the relationship between the Chibrov family and the school will begin to take shape ... What difficulties parents will have to overcome so that a “working contact” arises between them and teachers ... It turns out what prevents the child from quickly and painlessly moving from the family-kindergarten way of life to family and school ... And how mom and dad will have to change the parental way.
Talk about it all yet ahead.

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