Moms are always welcome home their sons

With us in the train I was traveling man. Huge stern biker. Jeans, black leather jackets with fringe, on the bandana - Harley-Davidson, his beard thick and silky. It turned out to be one of our guys familiar acquaintance distant acquaintance. Hooked. And this: "Ho, ho, ho, motobanda, festa, I'm raising a beard to go to the beach in summer without swimming trunks, true-I was a kid, cross on Facebook»

. And when they came to the train, on the platform of a woman approached him. Intelligent is this: can the school works as a teacher of history, may, in the library

. He said to him: "Well, let's go home?»

And he says it like at school: "Well, Mom ... Let me say goodbye to the guys»

. Twice she had less worth, looking up at him, the love and tenderness of this in the eyes, smiling.

< And they will go home together
Because he's got a bike-fest, and her son returned home. Strong >

***
I went home on the train, in front of me sat a boy. In Suvorov form on the thin shoulders, he is a very important and serious. In the Suvorov military school we come in twelve years. I'm twelve years old yet the pasta itself was not able to cook, and then discipline, strange city, without a mother and grandmother.

You know their motto

«Soul - God, the heart - the lady, life - the Sovereign, the honor - no!»?

The boy went home for the weekend. Read fiction book about the adventures, he bought his tea. I called my friend, probably a former classmate. They had a long talk about what has already passed in mathematics. And the conversation it was clear that former classmates in math at all greenhorns.

And then my mother called the boy. And he immediately began to talk very quietly. And in the end I asked, "Mom, what are you to cook dinner?" Paused, closed his phone palm, turned to the window and told her with quiet resentment in his voice: "Mom, I asked you ... I asked to cook the meat. .. »

a man is going home, well, in actual fact.




Olga Demidyuk specifically for AdMe.ru
The poem is a preview: juniper Balchev





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