How grandfather turned into grandfather. How a grandfather turned into a grandfather Grandfather wants a granddaughter

We often talk about the importance of the presence of the older generation in a child's life. But we forget that for grandparents, grandchildren are no less important. They are the ones who give older people a boost of energy and bring new life into their home.

It is clear that having raised their children, adults sigh with relief that the sleepless nights when children get sick are finally over, they no longer have to worry about grades at school and think 24 hours a day about how to raise and raise them. All this is left far behind. But more often than not, by the time our grandchildren arrive, our parents have time to both relax and miss their children.

Children are like a new life, like its new round. Yes, of course, a child takes a lot of energy, and it is often difficult for mature people to babysit babies, but these same babies serve as an additional source of vitality. They are like batteries, rushing around the house and charging everything they touch with their energy.

Grandfather and his sofa

My dad, not being very active even at a young age, towards retirement completely lay down on the sofa watching TV, completely securing his position on it. He only got out of his rookery to eat or feed the dog; in exceptional cases, he got up from the couch to do something around the house.

With the birth of his first grandson, nothing much changed in the life of dad (now grandfather). Except now he had to get up from the couch a little more often than usual, since his duties included rocking the baby to sleep during a walk. And since the grandson fell asleep on the street within ten to fifteen minutes, the grandfather did not have much trouble. Of course, he never refused all possible help (bring, serve, hold), but he was not eager to participate in the upbringing and did not show any interest in the life of his grandson. Which, I must admit, was quite upsetting and upsetting; at times it seemed to me that he completely forgot that he had a grandson. Mom reassured him, justifying his father’s behavior with his harsh character and inability to get along with little ones, and assured that everything would change when his son grew up a little.

The son grew up, but the situation did not change; on the contrary, the grandfather’s indifference led to the fact that the child did not even come into his room and was embarrassed to ask him basic things, not to mention a simple conversation. All my attempts to establish contact between grandfather and grandson did not lead to serious results.

At one time I even tried to write notes to my grandfather with my son’s requests, he just needed to convey them. But there was no result, the son reached his grandfather’s room, then turned around and walked towards me, asking me to pass a note. Moreover, despite all the external severity, the grandfather never punished the child in his life or even shouted at him, but, apparently, indifference influenced his son even more than possible severity. In the end, I reconciled myself and left both of them alone, deciding that my son would not have a very ordinary grandfather.

The sofa is losing ground to the granddaughter

A year later, the ice finally broke, but not thanks to my attempts to establish a connection between them, and not because of the sudden attraction of grandfather and grandson to each other. And thanks to the birth of my daughter. With the advent of his granddaughter, the grandfather’s life and his attitude towards babies changed dramatically. For the first six months, from the moment I handed the baby into his arms, leaving the maternity hospital, grandfather and granddaughter separated only at night. The daughter lay for hours in the company of her grandfather on his sofa, at first she simply slept peacefully with breaks for food, then she walked and played, fingering his fingers. Sometimes, in order to communicate with my daughter, I had to sit with them alone, because my daughter did not want to leave her grandfather.

As she grew older, the baby did not crawl, but tried to walk right away, so we led her by the hand for three months, since she sat in our arms little and reluctantly. Imagine my surprise when the grandfather got up from his sofa and walked around the house with his granddaughter. Moreover, this did not happen just once and not for a couple of minutes. They walked every day for a long time, and then went to do laps in the stroller along the street.

The always pouty and stern grandfather broke into a smile at the sight of his granddaughter, lisped and flirted with her, and she reciprocated. When the girl grew to a more or less sociable age, she pestered her grandfather with her childhood requests without any fear. She did not hesitate to disturb his sleep, crawling over him and fiddling with him until he woke up and inflated another balloon for her.

The son, seeing such an idyll in the relationship between his sister and grandfather, began to send the little one to his grandfather with requests for himself. If, for example, my son asked to get a tent from the top shelf of the closet, and I was busy and sent him with this request to his grandfather, he, in turn, persuaded his younger sister and she, not sensing a trick, conveyed it in her still gibberish language request to grandfather. He couldn’t refuse his granddaughter, and once again, disturbing his peace, he went after something the children needed. So the three of them coexisted for quite a long time. But time after time, request after request, the son became bolder. And the time when he ran into his grandfather’s room, silently looked at him, and then ran to me and complained that his grandfather did not want to play with him, was over.

Rebirth of grandfather into grandfather

Now the grandfather has not only a granddaughter, but also a grandson. Of course, our grandfather is far from ideal, and even to be just a good grandfather (in the generally accepted concept of the word), he still needs to study and learn. But for him, active communication with his grandchildren is a great achievement. Just a year ago, no one could have imagined that he would play football with them and teach his grandson boxing techniques, knocking out a punching bag.

Without noticing it, the grandfather became for the children grandfather. They run to him to show off his new toys, like to look into his plate when he has dinner, and drag him outside to play ball or shoot a bow. Moreover, while never showing real severity to his children, he has a huge influence on them, especially on his grandson. I often can’t get along with my son, and to avoid a scandal, I call my grandfather for help. As soon as he appears in sight, his son immediately changes his line of behavior. He listens to his grandfather and knows for sure that he is always right, although sometimes he still asks me to influence him so that he gives in and allows another prank.

I recently read somewhere that for children, especially boys, the presence of a grandfather in their lives is important. And this is certainly true. I completely agree with the statement that people of the older generation are able to invest in a child such vital qualities as kindness and self-sacrifice, the desire to give and perform feats. But even a child, even the smallest, most foolish and inexperienced, is capable of giving his grandparents almost less than they give him.

In our particular case - even more. Of course, our grandfather also has something to tell his grandchildren, something to remember and something to teach. But the children themselves have not yet grown up to such conversations, but they have already managed to give their grandfather a lot of new emotions and forced him to get up from the sofa, which no one had been able to do before them. Which I am sincerely happy about, because who else, if not the grandfather, spoils his granddaughter and invests important and necessary things in his grandson.

No grandmother can replace grandfather

I myself grew up far from one grandfather and with the complete indifference of the second. Apparently that’s why I missed my grandfather’s communication at one time, but I understand how important this is in a child’s life. And communication with your grandfather cannot be replaced by even the best grandmother.

My cousin grew up next to his grandfather. They had an ideal relationship. The grandfather taught his grandson everything he knew. Accuracy, patience, consistency, meticulousness and attentiveness to everything you do - these are the qualities that my brother adopted from his grandfather. The grandfather practically gave his grandson a profession, teaching him to thoroughly understand the workings of a car.

Our grandfather doesn’t understand cars, but he can teach his grandson to fish and cook fish soup, shoot accurately with a bow and slingshot, chop wood, paint a fence and remove oil paint from jeans. And I really hope that in a year or two, grandfather and grandson will become so close that they won’t need either my help or the help of my sister and granddaughter to communicate.

Photo - photobank Lori

Chapter Four

Grandfather and granddaughter

At that hour when Ivan Savvich went to bed with the vague anxiety of a man who had forgotten to do something important, at that very hour the granddaughter of Glechikov’s grandfather, Tonya, was shaking in a cart along the roots of the bog road.

It was late. There were eight kilometers left to the village. It was dark in the forest, like in a remote corridor. Clouds were pouring into the sky - a thunderstorm was brewing. The Emtees coachman, feeling sorry for the horse, walked next to the cart.

The weather was getting worse. The corner of the hard tarpaulin lashed Tonya’s hand more and more painfully, and it was impossible to stop it.

Tonya remembered the official cleanliness of the soft carriage, in which she had settled down for two days, the chirping of glasses in the railway cup holders, she remembered her fellow passengers: an engineer in socks worn inside out, an intelligent old teacher. The train sped away far away, far away, and the compartment is still warm, and on the table, probably, lies the unread “Victoria” that Tonya took from the teacher. The engineer is probably snoring, having moved to the lower shelf, and the teacher is looking at her baby’s card for the hundredth time... They are calm and comfortable, and they are rushing towards their usual happiness.

The cart moved more smoothly - we got out of the forest onto a field track. High in the sky, a plane rumbled: among the rare unclear stars, Tonya noticed slowly floating green and red lights, amazingly beautiful in the pitch darkness of the night. But no matter how hard she looked, she could not distinguish the plane itself, as if it were transparent and the stars were shining through it. Soon the lights were lost, the noise gradually died down, and only the wind, gusty, winter-like, whistled across the ground. Suddenly lightning flashed, and a white ghost appeared next to the cart for a second. Tonya did not immediately realize that it was the coachman. A thunderstorm was clearly brewing, but there was no rain. Somewhere nearby, thunder struck like a shot, and again everything became quiet except for the wind and the insinuating whisper of cart wheels.

So, without waiting for the rain, we entered the village after midnight.

The village was asleep. The huts were barely visible in the darkness. The horse, out of habit, went to the collective farm office, but the coachman caught up with it and sharply pulled the reins. He was very out of sorts. Departing from MTS, Tonya said that she was going to visit her grandfather, but now it turned out that she had never been to the village and did not know where her grandfather lived. “How will you find him now?” - muttered the coachman and started his horse at random along the road. Fortunately, a man’s steps were heard near the nearby hut, and the coachman shouted:

Hey master! Where does Glechikov live here?

Advisor? - they asked from the darkness.

The steps approached, and someone jumped into the cart, painfully pressing Tonya’s leg.

“Come on, let’s go,” said the collective farmer. - Keep to the right.

Tonya freed her leg and they drove off.

Who are you bringing? - asked the collective farmer.

The livestock specialist delivered,” the coachman answered.

Will they live with us?

You. Where else?

Woman.

Then things will work out,” the collective farmer said mockingly.

Tonya was very tired, she wanted to sleep, and she did not have the strength to be offended that they talked to her as if she were deaf and dumb. We drove for quite a long time. Finally the collective farmer said:

Brake.

Here? - asked the coachman.

No, said the collective farmer. - This is where I live. Turn it back and measure from here... wait a minute... Zefirovs, Vasilievs... measure the seventh hut from here. Thanks for the ride.

What are you doing?! The horse is steamed, and you!.. I you!.. - out of indignation, the coachman was unable to construct a more or less coherent phrase and burst into such intricate abuse that, listening to him, the collective farmer managed to find cigarettes in his pocket, light a cigarette and even examine Tonya, unceremoniously bringing the dying match close to her face. He was a young guy in a jacket casually thrown over his shoulders and his shirt unbuttoned, despite the cold. Tonya didn’t have time to see his face. I only remember a smile, some strange, unusual, shyly impudent smile frozen in the corners of his thin lips.

“Retarded man,” he calmly told Tonya. “Instead of thanks,” he barks. If only he had understood that he would have traveled longer without me, he would have voluntarily given me a lift.

And, having said this, the guy went home.

The coachman somehow counted out the seven huts, and the cart finally stopped. Tonya knocked first quietly, then louder. Nobody responded. Then the coachman, irritated to the last degree, entered the front garden and began to thrash the window frames with his whip so that the glass rattled. He hit so hard that the door to the neighboring hut opened and a sleepy voice said:

Who's that breaking in there?

Don't know if Glechikov is at home? - the coachman shouted.

The two of them started knocking: Tonya on the door, the coachman on the window. Dogs began to bark throughout the village. There was not a sound to be heard from inside.

“Nothing can be done,” said the coachman. - You'll have to spend the night in the barn. Now I'll take a look - maybe the barn is not closed.

I'll look at it for you! - suddenly came from the entryway.

Grandfather! - Tonya was happy.

Who is this? - they asked from the entryway.

It's me, grandpa, Tonya.

Who is Tonya?

Granddaughter, Tonya. Open up, grandpa!

There was silence in the hallway, and nothing was heard for a long time.

Will you open it or not, old devil? - asked the coachman.

The bolt being pulled out made a noise, the latch clanked, the door opened, and Grandfather Glechikov stood on the threshold in trousers and felt boots.

Why did you come? - he asked Tonya as if they had not seen each other for two or three hours.

I am forever, grandfather, from Leningrad...

Why are you doing this in the middle of the night?

I couldn't wait to get there. Hello, grandfather!

Glechikov kissed his granddaughter’s cool cheeks three times, as expected, and began to help the coachman carry the suitcases.

What do you have there, bricks or what? - he asked, dragging his suitcases into the dark hallway.

Books, grandpa.

Ahhhh, books! - Glechikov drawled, and he immediately lost the desire to carry things. However, he gradually warmed up, perked up and even invited the coachman to have some tea. But he refused to even enter the hut and went to spend the night with Zefirov.

Tonya entered the room. The stuffy smell of matting and rotten potatoes enveloped her.

“Now I’ll light the lamp,” grandfather fussed. - Stop, I’ll light it now. We have electricity, but it only works until twelve... And after twelve, electricity does not work - after twelve, good people have no use for electricity.

Grandfather climbed onto a stool, lit the wick from a torch, and for a long time, motionless, watched the horned light crackle, gaining strength. And Tonya looked at his face, illuminated by the trembling light, not exactly thinner, but somehow shrunken, at his beard, which was visible in places, watched as he watched with bated breath the lights, not extinguishing the torch, so that, God forbid, he would not waste an extra match , - and suddenly a feeling akin to disgust stirred in her soul. And for a long time afterwards she remembered the tense figure of her grandfather, illuminated by the pale kerosene light, and reproached herself for this involuntary feeling.

The lamp gradually flared up, and Tonya looked around.

Along the long wall, a tightly attached wide bench stretched from corner to corner. In the corner, near the smoky icons, stood an uncomfortable square table, long ago painted with green oil paint. In another corner one could see a wooden bed painted with the same paint, littered with rolled up rugs, sheepskin coats and buckets. There were dirty piles of potatoes under both the bench and the bed. The kitchen was separated from the room by a board partition that did not reach the ceiling, covered with pink wallpaper. The chocolate-colored logs of the walls were long and deeply cracked with age, and the handles of knives and forks stuck out in the cracks. The walls were bare, only a cracked mirror glittered greenishly on the partition.

The hut looked gloomy and seemed uninhabited to Tonya, like a large storage room that had not been tidied up for a long time.

Come on, let me see what you are like... - Grandfather got off the bench, took Tonya by the shoulders and brought her closer to the lamp. - Nothing, smooth. Like on the card. What didn’t you write?

I didn’t know exactly where they would be sent. Only today this issue was resolved at EMTEES. I asked to come here and they respected me. Registered as a livestock specialist.

So - for good?

For good, grandpa.

What politics! - Grandfather drawled, carefully examining Tonya. Then he sighed and went to put on the samovar.

Tonya sat down on the bench and looked around with longing.

Will they pay for you? - Grandfather suddenly asked.

What to pay?

Well, apartments, or something. After all, for example,” the grandfather came out with splinters in his hands, “here, for example, when a lecturer from the city takes up his billet, workdays go from the collective farm to the owner.

“After all, grandpa, I’ve come home,” Tonya said hesitantly.

That’s right, go home,” the grandfather sighed. - They won't pay for you. It's right.

And he went to light the samovar.

A cat came out from behind the partition, so thin it looked like it had been run over by a car, and stared at Tonya with crazy green eyes.

What's her name, grandpa?

Kitty.

Cat, and that's it. She doesn't have a last name.

The cat upset Tonya even more, and the hut seemed even darker and dirtier.

Do you have any bedbugs here? - she asked with caution.

Who knows. “I don’t need it,” said the grandfather.

At least open the shutters.

Open it. It's the owner's business.

Tonya opened the shutters, but the night was black, and the hut did not become any more cheerful.

Lightning flashed occasionally, dry thunder rumbled reluctantly, but there was still no rain.

“Like a bad play,” Tonya said, looking out the window,

What play? - Grandfather asked.

She didn't answer.

Strongly and often thumping with his crooked legs, the grandfather carried the heavy hot samovar. Then two cut glasses appeared on the table, each of which the grandfather carefully sniffed, deep saucers, a jar of baked milk, a vase with finely chopped sugar and another vase with sweets.

Do you have any candy too?

But of course! We live no worse than others,” grandfather grinned smugly. - Look, what a room. Others have an entire family in such an area, but I live alone, like a gentleman. And I don't need anyone. And there is more order than the other woman. Look, I've gone broke on wallpaper. I covered the boards with wallpaper - it was no worse than in the city apartment. Of course, the sun had whitened the wallpaper a little, but it was really good wallpaper, with pictures, that’s what the wallpaper was like,” the grandfather moved the mirror and showed an unfaded dark rectangle.

A sharp feeling of pity for her grandfather suddenly pierced Tonya, and she felt ashamed of the parcels that she sent him. “I wanted to pay myself off with parcels,” she thought, and she was so upset that when she sat down at the table, she didn’t even rinse her glass. They started drinking tea.

How are things on the collective farm? - Tonya asked.

How are you? To put it simply, things are not going anywhere. They decided to sow some corn, they occupied the land, but nothing was produced. And so another owner’s goat gives more milk than our cow. And here there is still nothing to feed. And there seems to be no one to work. There are fewer and fewer men.

Now the main work is not done by people, grandfather, but by machines. Tractors.

“It’s the tractors that cause all the trouble,” Grandfather remarked coolly, sucking sugar and lisping a little as a result. - Tractors are destroying the earth.

How so?

And like this. Do tractors nail the ground or not? The arable land should be soft and fluffy. And ours is like a stone. Of course, such heaviness goes back and forth - there is nothing else to expect. It's not like corn - nothing will grow here. Now whether you throw grain on the arable land or throw it on this board is just politics. It won't give birth to anything.

Yes, grandfather, you have not only anti-mechanization sentiments, but even worse.

I'm not in any mood! But wait. Soon the earth will not give birth to anything at all because of your machines.

And everyone here thinks so? - Tonya asked somehow stunned.

Everything is not everything, but those who are smarter understand. Are you drunk? Then go to bed. Otherwise there is no one to wake us up. The rooster doesn't crow either.

I got into a fight with a neighbor's rooster and it broke his necklace. From then on he fell silent.

You guys are pugnacious roosters.

How can they not be pugnacious when Morozov gave them vodka to drink? After drinking, the man fights, and then there’s a rooster. With this Morozov there was no problem at all. You cannot pass by him without prayer.

Tonya took the buckets and rugs from the bed, put her grandfather's hard pillow with a chintz pillowcase, covered the mattress and pillow with sheets and lay down. Grandfather turned off the light and climbed onto the stove. But sleep did not come to him.

Tonya, are you sleeping? - he asked.

No,” she answered sleepily.

I was talking about Morozov. After all, how is he? He poured rye grain into vodka, and then poured this drunken grain into the roosters. And I don't need it. They peck and peck. And now the rooster doesn't crow. And he doesn’t trample on chickens. Do you think I can sue Morozov for this?

But Tonya didn’t answer. She again dreamed of a compartment of a soft carriage, a capricious engineer whose tea was not brewed properly, a teacher who loves Hamsun, she remembered all their unnatural passenger politeness, and, despite the fact that Tonya was already asleep, she thought about the serene peace and stuffy comfort of this compartment , and about these people who don’t care about anything, almost with hatred.

The last thing she heard that night were her grandfather’s words:

But I’ll still drop by the office. Maybe they will still pay for you...

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The young family Alina and Sergei Petrov rented an apartment in Dyurtyuli this spring of the year. The owner - 54-year-old Aidar Suleymanov worked in the north on a rotational basis - decided to rent out the house and save up to build his own home in retirement.

The tenants found him to be a very courteous and pleasant man. The couple were simply speechless when, while cleaning the apartment, they found developed photographic film. It showed the same elderly Aidar and a half-naked girl - in completely unambiguous poses.

“They immediately called the police, and the operatives confiscated the film during the search,” says Nail HAFIZOV, head of the Dyurtyulinsky interdistrict investigative department. - We took photos - now they form the basis of a criminal case. It turned out that his granddaughter was in the photographs with Aidar Suleymanov.

It turned out that raped pervert girl throughout four years old, and the first time this happened when Guzel was only six years old.

“If you tell, you will feel bad...”

Guzel's parents, Ildar and Vera, like many today, devoted a lot of time to work. Fortunately, as they thought then, Guzel was lucky with her grandfather. He, of course, is Ildar’s stepfather, seemingly not his own person, but he paid a lot of attention to his granddaughter. If parents were late at work and did not have time to pick up their daughter from kindergarten, Aidar willingly came to the rescue. They asked me to go to work on the weekend - my grandfather took me granddaughter to yourself.

And at home - behind closed doors - he gained complete power over the little girl. And he used it. Moreover, he filmed the violence against the child with a camera.

“I was silent because my grandfather ordered it,” Guzel admitted to investigators. - He threatened that if anyone found out about this, I would feel bad...

To say that when the truth was revealed, Ildar and Vera were shocked - to say nothing. It seemed that such pain could not be endured. The only daughter and here it is!

I went to pick up my granddaughter in another city

Ildar began to have health problems; they called an ambulance several times because his heart could not stand it. Now it became clear to them where Aidar got this attachment to the girl. He even went to another city to pick her up. The family from Dyurtyuli moved to another city, and then the grandfather decided to build a house, they say, I want to live out my life closer to the children and bought land in the same city. The change in Guzel herself also became clear. Vera saw that something was wrong with her daughter: she was crying for no apparent reason, and somehow became withdrawn. No matter how much the mother tried to talk to her daughter, she did not say anything, then Vera took Guzel to a psychologist. But the girl, apparently, was so intimidated by her pervert grandfather that she did not open up to the specialist.

Now the “caring” grandfather is awaiting trial in a detention center; he faces up to 15 years in prison. During the investigation, detectives found pornographic magazines in Aidar’s basement. And when Aidar was arrested, in his trouser pocket there was an icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker with a prayer for wanderers. It turns out that the elderly pervert never parted with him.

Vera, Ildar and Guzel are trying to start living again. The girl started getting straight A's, joined the sports section, and is learning to play the piano. But the most difficult thing for her now is to believe in her family, loved ones, and loved ones again.