Slava Brodsky: Funny Children's Stories

But our hockey net is real. Well, it is almost real. We score goals under a bench. The puck has to pass between the legs of the bench, under its seat. And this is exactly the spot where our hockey sticks most often break. Because when you push the puck under the bench with your felt boot, no hockey stick can withstand it. By the end of December, all our benches are covered with snow. Then we come up with something else.

Today a boy from our yard decided to play with his stick when we kept score. And my friend Gleb Paramonov, with whom I have shared a desk at school since first grade, broke this hockey stick right away.

The problem was that the stick was not homemade. It was a real hockey stick from a store. That was the first time in my life that I have seen a hockey stick like that. The boy who brought it said that the stick was for Russian hockey. It was not straight and thin at the bottom like a Canadian stick. It was round and thick. And it seemed so durable that none of us thought it could ever be broken, especially that quickly.

So the boy who brought the hockey stick started to fight with Gleb. But when he started to fight, I reminded him of the rules we had in our yard. Everyone knows them. If you decide to play with a hockey stick and I break your stick, then I am not responsible for what happened. Well, obviously I am not responsible as long as I did not do it on purpose. That is the rule. And Gleb did not break it on purpose. Everyone saw that.

Well, and of course, after hockey I came home all wet. And my mom did not like it. My mom never likes it when I come home wet. But after hockey, you cannot come home dry. And because after hockey you are supposed to be wet, Mom does not like it when I play hockey. She always wants me to switch to something else.

Last year Mom took me to the swimming pool to sign me up for swimming classes. But at the pool, they said that Mom brought me in too late. Then Mom asked what time we should have come at. And they replied that they did not mean that. They meant that it was already too late to make an Olympic champion out of me. I should have begun much earlier. They told Mom that she should have brought me in when I was five years old.

Mom argued and asked them to sign me up for beginner class. But they replied that they did not have beginner classes. And when Mom started to insist, they said, “Okay, leave your child. But if he sinks, we will not be held responsible.” So we left.

I continued to play hockey. And Mom kept being upset when I came home wet.

Today Mom was upset again that I came home wet.

She told me that it was only Tuesday and I looked as dirty as if it was already Saturday. And she might have to fire up our gas boiler to wash me.

And she would have to change my bed linen every week, like in the best hotels abroad. And she would have to see if my shirt from yesterday had dried.

Mom also said that if she had not yelled for me to come home on time, I would have probably died out there, in the yard, right next to the tin can.

Yesterday's shirt turned out to be dry. But Mom still could not calm down. She told me that she hoped I would not take my wet clothes off on the staircase and dry them. And if I was stupid enough to do so, I would easily catch a cold.

And when I hesitated with my answer, Mom was horrified and said that she just did not know what to do. She probably should not punish me for my back being wet. Because with such unreasonable behavior, I could easily catch pneumonia.

So I had no choice but to promise Mom that I would not let my back get wet again. Finally, Mom calmed down, and I started to do my homework.

As I was doing my homework, I could not stop thinking about the broken hockey stick. Before it was broken, I had held it a little in my hands. Of course, it was terribly beautiful. Its edges were not sharp. They were rounded. And the whole hockey stick was covered with some wonderful varnish. The stick had such beautiful curves that shivers went down my spine. And I thought to myself that I was very lucky that we had a yard where we could play hockey. I was lucky that many kids in our yard liked hockey. And I thought that all this was just great.

And as for Mom’s idea about my wet back – I mean, about undressing outside on the staircase and drying my wet clothing – I liked it very much.

The Handkerchief

I do not like to lie. My mom thinks that I never lie. Therefore, I never do lie. I do not even say things that are untrue. Because if my mom found out that I said something that was not true, it would be the end of the world. And I do not want it to be the end of the world.

But sometimes it is very difficult to tell the truth. Sometimes telling the truth is just impossible. But those are completely different things: to say something that is not true or not to tell the truth.

For example, yesterday Mom gave me money for school breakfast. And when she saw that I put the money into my pants’ pocket, she did not like it. She suggested putting the money into the pocket of my school jacket so that I would not lose it.

But I did not put my money into the pocket of my school jacket and just said that I would not lose the money, “Don’t worry, Mom.” And I went to school. Well, unfortunately, it so happened that I did lose my money. I think it happened because I had my handkerchief in the same pocket where I put my money. And it is most likely that I lost my money as I was taking out the handkerchief.

When I came home from school, Mom did not ask me whether I had lost my money or not. If she had asked me about it, I would never have lied to her. I would have certainly told her that I had lost the money. But it did not occur to Mom to ask me this question.

I also made it seem as though I was in a very good mood. Because if I had not been my usual self, Mom would have immediately asked me what was wrong. But I did not want Mom to ask me these kinds of questions.

In the evening, at dinner, Mom asked Dad whether he was late for work because he had left home later than usual. Dad said that he was not late for work. But he did get in later than usual and saw how people were running to the entrance gates. And Dad pitied them. Dad especially pitied the old women. They were barely able to run, but they were afraid to be late. So they ran. “However,” Dad said, “I hope that nowadays they will no longer send people to prison for being one minute late.”

And here Mom gave Dad THE look. It was supposed to mean that Dad should not have said this in front of me because I was still too young.

But in reality Mom does not object to Dad saying this in front of me. Because Mom knows that I am no longer little. If Mom really did not want Dad to say these things, Dad would not, under any circumstances, say anything. I cannot remember Dad ever doing anything that Mom did not like.

So I think that when Mom gives Dad this look, she does it just for my sake. To make sure that I understand that at my age I should not be hearing things like what Dad said. And if I, for whatever reason, did hear it, I should not talk about it anywhere.

Then Mom started to ask Dad what interesting things happened at work. And Dad said that nothing interesting had happened. Everything was as usual. And that all the tracing paper had been pilfered from the drafters again. And Mom said that she was not surprised. Because food could be properly wrapped only in tracing paper.

Then Dad complained that, for whatever reason, the standard menu for lunch suddenly had been changed and now they would be given jelly instead of dried-fruit compote.

And here I told my parents that my tooth hurt. I said this because I was worried that they might ask me about what I had eaten at school. Then I would have had to confess that I had not eaten anything because I had lost my money. And as soon as I said that my tooth hurt, I became sad. Because it turned out that I had lied. And this was even worse than when I pretended to be in a good mood.