I cook all day today, because the table should be laid festively and richly (if possible). Soon the most important holiday in our family is the Victory Day. Tomorrow, 8 May, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren will arrive, and my mother will show them a photo of my dad, who went through the whole war, Uncle Sasha, who liberated Prague, and of course, the portrait of Comrade I.V. Stalin. The boys will consider orders and medals, listen, opening their mouths like a granny, a student at the conservatory, digging trenches in front of Moscow, and then went with front-line brigades. Remember yourself why there is a glass of vodka and a piece of bread. And then we sit down at the table. And again they will be surprised how it is for the herring grandmother - a delicacy? Why, something like that remains from the war times ... Then they will leave, but our celebration will continue.
Early in the morning of 9 May I go to the obelisk of villagers who died in the war. Mom will not go, she this year - 90 knocks, walk a kilometer there and a kilometer back is already hard. I will go, I will remember on the way, how 10 years ago, when my mother and I first came to put flowers, they looked at us as crazy. Then a year later the bouquets were added, then the flower garden was broken, and for the third year local schoolchildren organize a concert for veterans. Progress? I do not know, but it really needs not dead, but alive. Therefore I will walk and lay flowers.
We are pleased to watch the parade, and then, I know, we will turn off the TV, Mom will take out her membership card, and I will turn on the ancient radio line, and we will put on the old, but the most expensive disc - “I.V. Stalin. Appeal to the people of 9 May 1945. " We will listen to the calm, measured, slightly solemn voice of the DRIVER, which even today inspires us to win! And my mother will say: “It was harder then, but we won. So, now we will win, just to live. ”And then we will listen to songs performed by M. Bernes and other singers ... then, not current ones. So, as these songs sounded at the front.
My old men, old men! How little is left of you! Real, proud, contemptuously looking at a mad tribe, which then will still repent and be ashamed of their stupidity and greed. You are doing everything you can today. You tell the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the TRUTH, fearlessly go to the demonstrations, carry red flags and put on your orders. On fear of all Bandera and fascists. You did not break! Do not scare! And you believe that VICTORY WILL BE US.
I am proud of you and I beg you - survive!