My childhood taught me to be independent and fearless. In USSR kids had more freedom, especially during summer vacation, when parents should be at work and there is no Grammies who could watch them.

I remember the key to our apartment on the blue strip hanging on my neck and full freedom from 8am to 7pm, till my mom comes back from work. I remember fruit trees around our building, which my friends and I were climbing every day to get some sweet apricots, apples, pears, cherries or walnuts.

I remember the heavy smell of the basement in our building. Kids were not aloud to go there, but we went to it without asking and carried the fire to light our way. We were looking for treasures, but only homeless cats and mice lived there.

I remember my dream to have a cat or dog as a pet, but my mom never let me keep any of those little homeless puppies or kittens that I found and brought home to feed.

I remember my friends and me siting near the fire, baking potatoes and telling scary stories to each other at the stadium place next to my house.

I remember how I started to ride the bike, when I was 6. That bike belonged to my neighbor, Irene, who was much older me. It was a sport bicycle with toe clips, high crossbar and low handlebars. I was falling from it every other minute, but at the end of the day I was riding that bike faster than any boy in my neighborhood.

I remember the wintertime and ice ring near our building, my benefice on the ice skates. Irene took me to learn skating. She just left me on the overcrowded ice ring and disappeared. There were a lot of hockey players mixed with skating children. I remember their puck stuck between the blade and the sole of my figure skate. Kids were flying with crazy speed close to me, and I was falling down and standing up trying to skate.

I remember my 4 wheels roller-skates and noise they made and how proud I was skating on them.

I remember the coat I threw away over the high fence, right into the dumpster, when I was in the kindergarten. It was not cold outside and I just decided to get rid off it, being tired of the teacher telling me to wear it. And my Mom sitting in that dumpster covered with snow, digging out my coat.

I remember myself running without shoes, and the ruby nail in my foot, and red-red blood flowing from the wound, and many children surrounded me at that moment, and my mom, with white face and shaking hands, and our nurse neighbor, who took care of my foot. I thought I was a hero, I did not felt pain at that moment.

I remember my knees, covered with blood and scratches.

I remember the oil painting I made for my mom early one morning. I put it near her, sleeping on the couch. I waited for her to say something nice to me when she woke up. But she turned around and my masterpiece stuck to her shoulder and, when she noticed it, the fresh paint was on her clothes and on the couch.

I remember I drew a big picture of Mickey-mouse, for my Mammy's birthday party, on the door in our new apartment. I considered it a great present.

I remember my long tangled hair with gum in it and mom trying to comb and take the gum out.

I remember my aunt, Alla, to whom I said that I would jump out from the window if she would not cook me the same pancakes as my mom did.

I remember the shaking tooth in mouth, and I asked my mom to go to the dentist instead of going to school. When dentist pushed my tooth, it got stuck in my throat. But we went to school anyway.

I remember my school and my summer camps, my co-eds and my teachers, fights for fairness, music and tennis classes after school, sport's competitions.

I remember everything.

I remember my desire to be adult. Unfortunately, it came true so quick. And today I want to be kid again but it is impossible to get back in my carefree and happy childhood, and all I have left are my photo-album and memories.