David Babayan's Stories
|
The school life is like the village life. When something happens at school on the next day the whole school is discussing that problem. Just like the village life, the girls from the parallel classrooms were speaking about the boys.
Once when I was talking with one of our girls, the girls in the next classroom were discussing our future life. After some minutes I entered the classroom and I heard, “Hey Dav I told you several times that Knarik is my girlfriend.” I didn't manage to answer when Harut said, “Hey Dav what kind of girl is she like?”
I said, “Who do you mean?” He answered “Knarik”
I told him that I have nothing with Knarik. He answered, “Then why were you talking to Knarik separate with other girls?”
I understood that my classmates had already married me with Knarik, though I only wanted to ask about the task for the lesson.
Some days later my teacher told me not to bother Knarik.
I got very angry and cried that I hate her. My teacher was surprised, and I thought that this will be the end of this story, though it was only the beginning.
My classmates were asking me strange questions and were interested when they will be invited to our party. Anyway this is still going on today. A fat book can be written about that kind of stories at my school.
Wrote at 14 years old age
^ to Top
|
“About Myself” (About Me)
It was noon. I was on my way back home. I was very proud having received a great portion of praise from my teacher of English. I was even confused a bit. Another thing my mind was busy with was the fact I had been sitting near two beautiful girls during the English class. I had said good bye in a high voice and left the room.
In a word I was walking down the street in a good humor. I was smiling, laughing but people round me were all sad. My joy was greater though and it seemed there were no people around. Suddenly I spotted hope- an old smiley man with a broken Coca-Cola bottle taken from out of garbage and a piece of stale bread. Please don't think he was an insane. He was just happy, happy by the fact he had something to eat at least. I was very glad to see him. In a minute I saw him laughing. Maybe he thought I had lost my mind or something but that was not important at the moment. I made him laugh; maybe he will make others smile too.
Wrote at 15 years old age
^ to Top
|
It was seven or eight o'clock in the morning. I was three years old then, and that is why I don't remember everything clearly. My mother's stories of those days are left in my mind.
Let's move on to the main story.
It happened in the morning, as I already mentioned. I got up, walked out of the bedroom half-dressed and went to my mother. She was in the bathroom. I picked up daddy's socks, which lay scattered on the floor, and said, “Hey woman, why are dad's socks lying on the floor?”
Mom looked at me in surprise and took the socks from me. Please, don't think I have been a spoiled child. I have just called my mom “hey woman,” that's all. My mom believes I behave like an aged person, concerned with everybody's problems.
From my early childhood I liked talking to grown ups. Children playing outside didn't appeal to me. I thought of them as spoiled and badly brought up. I cannot tell you exactly when I felt mature or older. I am the youngest child in the family and will always feel that way.
When I am with my friends, I try to show them I am older but perhaps I don't look like a grown –up, though once I really felt like one. I had fallen in love. Everything was too serious for me. Maybe it was then I grew up, but… hardly…
In a word, growing-up is connected with one's ability to get surprised at what one does. I get amazed at what I do every day.
Wrote at 15 years old age
^ to Top
|
It was night, it was dark, only the branch shadows reflected on the ceiling. It was raining. The tapping of the rain made all the sounds but granny's sighing fade away. It was midnight , but I couldn't sleep because it was neither my room, nor my bed I was in. I was at granny's, where everything was unknown and mystical for me. I was thinking about grandpa who was a war participant, had many medals but a proper house was not what he managed to have. War had made him incapable of doing any physical work.
I went out in the morning. It was foggy outside, but granny was there, in the garden, busy doing things. I approached her and said:
“Go to rest, Granny. Father will buy all the necessary products from the market after all.”
“No, my dear. We have built this house together with your grandpa. Grandpa is not by my side any more. Then, how can I leave all this and come to Yerevan ? Grandpa couldn't bend, nor do any job after he was back from the war. I used to say: “That's all right, Stephan, things may be this way too.” I remember your father as a small boy and me mending the roof with some cloth. We did this to keep your grandpa from bothering. He used to say he was of no help to anybody, in such cases. We needed him even if he was this way. Now, how can I leave all this? How can I let people call our house an abandoned one?”
Granny wiped away the tears.
I approached her, took the spade away from her and started digging.
“Go home, granny. I'll do everything”.
It was foggy outside, the raindrops like granny's tears fell over my hands from the leafless old trees.
Wrote at 14 years old age
^ to Top
|
“Dave, would you like to go out to play with the other children?” mother asked, not believing I would take her up on it.
“Have I ever gone out, Mom?” I asked. “But… well, I think I will go out for a second.”
I opened the door. It was as though they were shooting a film. Everyone was busy doing something -- some were playing hopscotch, some were teasing kittens, and some their children. Some young people were even trying to show they were stronger than the little kids.
“Fatty! Hey, Fatty go and fetch a cigarette from the shop over there,” said a boy looking at Fatty.
“I thought you had outgrown doing things like that,” reproached Fatty's mother. “Go and fetch a cigarette — what does that mean?”
Suddenly something else caught my attention. At end of the street there stood a car. Some naughty children were playing behind it and two of our neighbors' kids were among them. I was surprised when I understood what they were doing. The children were trying to organize kitten fights.
Suddenly there came the angry voice of Ann's mother, “Ann, what are doing?”
“Yeah, Mom, Narek is here with me.”
“Did I ask where Narek is? I want to know what you are doing.”
“I see, Mom, that's right.”
Perhaps you understand already that Ann is a strange girl and her mother is even stranger. From God knows where Nacy the dog was heard barking and there appeared the eldest resident of our street, Mr. Lendroush. “Nacy, Nacy,” shouted the old man, who had been fighting death for many years.
Margo's cries got mixed with dog barking. “Sister Sonig, Sister Sonig!” Margo is our street BBC. “Do you want watermelon?”
“How much does it cost?”
“One hundred drams a kilo.”
“We are neighbors. Can't you sell it cheaper?”
“Dogs are your neighbors,” mumbled Margo with an artificial smile, and added “Sister Sonig, I am sorry but I can't do that.”
To cut the story short, I returned the way I had gone out.
Wrote at 15 years old age
^ to Top
|
Children's Pages
| Old Sites
| Donations
Newspaper |
David Babayan's Page