It’s funny when sometimes my 10-year-old son tries to say something about Russian or Soviet life.
Yesterday, when I asked him what good he could find in films about countless space battles on TV, 
he remarked, "Do you think it would be more interesting for me to watch some film about a man who lives in Moscow, has some wife, and there is always winter in this film. So, they live and live and live 
in Moscow and walk along boring streets and then go somewhere by an old plane... Do you want me to see such films? And they are almost always black and white."
I was very surprised, "I don’t remember if I ever saw such a film", I replied, "I know so many good and interesting Russian and Soviet films you don’t even know of. And they are mostly color, excluding only very old ones. What on Earth put such an idea into your head? And what about comedies you liked a lot? Are they all about a man in Moscow and black and white, too?"
- "Oh, comedies are another case! By the way, have we brought the comedies we saw recently in Vladivostok?" – "No, they were not ours, as you know." – "But I thought we recorded them then."
– "No, we didn’t. And, anyway, we have not a video player yet. But when we go to Moscow in a while (in two or three years, not too soon, I think) it will be possible to buy them then." – "Oh, OK then."

Today in the morning having his breakfast, he felt that the cookie he ate reminded him "some Soviet ones".
– "But the Soviet time had ended before you was born. How do you know about Soviet cookies?"
– "And what time began after?" – "Perestroyka", I said with inner laugh and sigh.
Fortunately, he was busy with his milk and "Pebbles" and didn’t ask any more questions about times.
(Even my computer didn’t understand this word and had to underline it with a red line).

When we came to Canada, our son missed his living in Vladivostok more then we did, not only because he used to study in a very good school and had his friends as well as almost all he needed there (good food, clothes, toys and books that we tried to provide to him) but because he didn’t need to think about his own and our family’s future. He didn’t know all our doubts and troubles there.

We miss our friends here as we always did when we were far from them (and I used to live 6,000 kilometers far from my closest friends and my relatives since I went to live in Vladivostok), and we thought of our last life as of something in the past – it’s dear but can’t be returned. There is some nostalgia in it. I’m sure, there was much good in my life especially when we didn’t know how dull and hopeless life could be sometimes – and we didn’t think of any troubles – we were just young and gay. I really like my memories of that happy time.

(To be continued)