Personal experience: I spent all my childhood in an orphanage

Personal experience: I spent all my childhood in an orphanage

Personal experience: I spent all my childhood in an orphanage

osh came to our family when he was already 16.5 years old. All his previous life he spent in an orphanage, where he got from a child’s home, and there he was immediately after the maternity hospital. Now Gaucher is 19 years old. He studies at a pedagogical college, and rethinks much of the early experience of his life. The time has come when it is important for him to analyze and remember. We talk a lot about his past. Gradually, Goshi’s memories with my help add up to a book that will be published in November 2018.

The editorial board of Vesti.Meditsina publishes a fragment of the book  “My name is Gosha”, written by  Diana Mashkova –  writer, journalist, founder of the “ABC of the foster family” club of the “Arithmetic of Good” foundation.

The very first moment in my life, I remember this. I go into the group: I am three years old and have been transferred from the Baby House to the pre-school department of the orphanage. They brought and told the teachers: “Get to know this is Grisha!”. As a result, I was Grisha all four years in the pre-school department. Someone messed up something in the records and so until the middle of the first class I was Gregory. Then, already at school, looked in the papers  oh!  This is George, and not Gregory. And they say to me: “Well, stop, you are not any Grisha, you are not Gregory, but George. Hence, Gosh. Remember? “. Yes, without any problems. So I became Gosha again.

In the group where I was then brought, only educators sat, and there were no children, I was the first. And now I remember, they fed me, put me to sleep, and after a quiet hour I wake up, I open my eyes – oh, one more lies. It was Timik, he later became my best friend. Where he came from, I do not know. We did not talk about this, even this issue did not arise.

In general, we did not know anything about ourselves. In principle, I did not understand what relatives are, parents. Where did I come from? What kind of mother is it? Many children in three or four years begin to ask how the children are born. They explain that my mother has a stomach. But I personally do not remember asking someone about this and that they would answer me that way or some other way. He had no idea that children should have mothers. I was brought up by educators.

Only in the fourth grade did I learn that I had parents. That is, about eleven years. A commission arrived at our Orphanage. The teachers pulled out our portfolio from the archives, put them on the edge of the table. And we are: “Oh, what are these folders, what are they writing about us?”. Adults have gone out somewhere, and we are going to read all this. So I learned about my mother and father. My mother, it turns out, was called Vera Evgenyevna. And his father – Vasily Georgievich. At that time I was even happy – I’m Georgy Vasilyevich. As though on the contrary. I also saw a testimony about the death of my father, but frankly, I did not quite understand what it meant. Only at the age of thirteen did we talk about parents, about where we are from. We already lived in the senior building, I studied, it seems, in the seventh grade. And a teacher from another orphanage came to work for us.

“Actually, I should not tell you this.” She turned to a whisper, “because the information is closed.”

-Yes?

-Do not complicate the situation. But I will say something that is safe.

– Lan.

-Your dad, Gosha, died before your birthday.

– Like this?

-So like this. In about three months.

“I do not care,” I froze, the first time I had heard about it from her.

– And your mother is still alive.

In response, I did not say anything. I did not want to ask about anything – since I’m alive, then I do not need her. And it would have come already, for thirteen years.

– When you were born, she was 39 years old.

“Oh,” I pictured indifference, “then it’s already old now.”

-Why? – the teacher was indignant, – only fifty-two years.

“Well, lan, alive, and good.”


And I did not ask about anything else. Before that, my family had a friend Timik. And other friends are guys from our group. Adults were always as if apart, stood aside.

By the way, I’ve never even seen the very paper with which it all began – the mother’s refusal from me. I think it was written “I refuse, because I can not contain”. Or something else. Otherwise, how come she could just take me and throw me away? Either she was still an alcoholic, a drug addict, and so on – that is attributed to all the parents of orphanage children. Teachers always told us so. When they scolded us, it turned out approximately the same.


“Ahh, so we’re bothering you?” – my “beloved” teacher in the junior corps began to burn out on a flat spot, when I chucked “you do not have the right, you’re tired already!”.

– And what is it?

“Tell your mother that left you!” Now wanders around the yard, smokes, drinks, pricks. The addict!

“How do you know?” – I will not say that I somehow vigorously reacted. If I really do not know my mother, where does the educator know anything about it? Invents every nonsense.

– They are all like that! Alcoholics and drug addicts. Go, go to your mama! She will not bother you. But if you’re here, then you’re bored!

And I’m this to myself: “Pff. Bawled? Calmed down? Well done! “.


By the way, I was never angry, and I did not want to say anything offensive. Since childhood, was kind. Even about my mother, I never thought badly, I did not think that she drank or drank. I only thought that she could not support me.

But my other friend, Nekit, yes, he always answered teachers in a fit of anger. Math, of course.

 You, with …, do not know my parents, “ he screamed, “ and you bring some blizzard here!”

Well, the “beloved” teacher let’s just type for the phone to grab. Nekit yelled at her and climbed under the table – away from sin. And she began to call, such as a psychiatric hospital. And really just his son. We only then realized this.

But basically everything was easier – she went to the foremen. We so called in the orphanage senior guys. And sent them to us for educational purposes. For them to talk like that, they held preventive talks. The Starshaks honestly tried their words, but they got tired of such a moral burden too quickly. And went to physical. Stupidly beaten. Or hurled like a pin from one to the other. Fun is. We were small, in the fifth grade. And they are already huge – in the ninth, tenth, eleventh.

By the way, not only with educators, but also with friends, we did not discuss the topic of parents. There was no such “but you would like to …”. No. We lived here and now. The past did not touch at all. The future, however, too. Probably, they dreamed of something, from the category of “what do I want to become?”. But that’s all. As well as what will be there, we simply did not know. They sat, roughly speaking, in their cage. And did not flash.

And if you go in order, from birth, then I do not remember myself at all. As he sat in the crib, he spoke the first words, took the first steps, something else – that’s all there is to it. And no photos, so now I’ll never know.

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