World outlook instead of the "National Idea". “Religion for salvation. Where to stay? "

It was my first day off, because for the first time in my life I studied in first grade for a whole week.

I didn’t know how to start such a day, so I decided to imitate my dad: waking up, I put my hands under my head and stared out the window.

Dad once said that on Sunday morning, because he didn't have to rush to work, he was thinking about all sorts of things and how the whole week had passed. What was more in her - good or bad? And if there is more bad, then who is to blame for this: dad himself or, as he likes to say, coincidence of circumstances?

There were more bad things in my first week of school. And not because of me, but because of the circumstances that began to flock long ago.

If I had been born at least two days later, then I would have turned seven years old not on August 31, but on September 2, and I would not have been accepted to school. But dad already had to persuade the head teacher. And the head teacher agreed to accept me on probation.

I was the youngest and smallest student in the entire school.

In Detsky Mir they bought me the smallest uniform, but when I tried it on in the cockpit, it turned out that it was also large. Mom asked to remove the uniform from the false first-grader, who stood in the window and smiled, but they persuaded mom to refuse this request and advised to alter the form. They also gave her advice on how to feed me, so that I grow up faster.

Mom herself shortened her trousers, and they kept her cap in hot water all night, then pulled it over a saucepan and ironed it, but it still fell over my eyes.

In general, on the first of September I went to school, and at the very first break, the tallest boy in our class, Misha Lvov, measured me from head to toe with my own briefcase. He measured it and immediately gave me the nickname Two Portfolio. And he appropriated the nickname Tiger to himself. Because of the name Lvov.

Even the high school students got my nickname. At breaks, they stared at me and wondered:

- Two portfolios!

- Indeed, Two Portfolios!

They didn’t tease me, but I still felt the biggest resentment of all that I received in the nursery, in the kindergarten, in the yard and at home.

I walked off to the side, did not play with anyone, and I was so bored that I wanted to cry.

True, one day a high school student came up to me, stroked my head and said:

- Two portfolios, do not hang your nose. The time will come, and you will become four portfolios, then five, and then eight. Here's a look. And at break, do not stay in one place. Knead the bones. And don't be afraid of anyone. If they start to scare you, blow out your nostrils. They will lag behind right away. I've always done this. I am Olya.

- And I - Alyosha, - I said, and Olya showed how to flare your nostrils.

But no matter how much I inflated them later, it did not frighten anyone, and my ears buzzed with a cry:

- Two portfolios! Two portfolios!

For such a nickname, I hated the Tiger. It was good for Dadaev. They called him Dada! Kapustina - by Kochan. Galya Pelenkina as a Brazilian footballer - Pele. Gusev's name is Choga-choga, and he is very happy. Lenya Katz - Katso. I alone - Two Portfolios.

Nothing! Perhaps, over time, they will all get tired of such a long nickname and only Fela will remain of it. Fel! It's not bad…

So I lay and thought, and suddenly I was staring ... In front of my window, in one place, just like a helicopter, a sparrow was hanging and suddenly - bang! He hit the glass, fell on the cornice, then jumped again, fluttered and tried to peck something.

Then I saw a large blue fly that flew into the room and wanted to fly back. She buzzed, tossed about on the glass, then fell silent, as if she had lost consciousness, and again began to circle on the glass, like on a skating rink.

“Here is a stupid sparrow,” I thought, “it sees a fly at its very beak, but it cannot peck. Probably, he is angry and surprised how suddenly, for no reason at all, such a warm moving air has become hard and cold. And the fly is surprised that everything is transparent, but it is impossible to fly away. "

Suddenly the sparrow flew away again and flew into the room with a bullet through the window. I screamed, waved the blanket - he got scared, made a circle under the ceiling, flew back and fluttered on the glass next to the fly.

But I felt sorry for both the sparrow and the fly. Day off ... The morning is so good, but they got caught ...

I jumped out of bed and threw open the window.

- Fly, stupid, about your business! You will not understand that it is not the air around it that has hardened, but the glass is transparent. And I understand, because I am a human!

So I said aloud, looked out the window, and I also wanted to go outside.

As I thought, Mom was not at home. Long, long ago, when her grandmother was still alive, she agreed with her dad that Sunday before lunch is her day. Dad and I were on our own at this time. Dad was lying on the sofa bed just like I had just been, and he was thinking.

- There is no rain. We have to get up and go somewhere, ”I said.

Dad squinted at me and said nothing.

- Well, how was your week? (Dad was silent.) Was it more bad?

“It was both good and bad,” Dad finally responded. - But, in general, the whole week was gray. Gray is the worst thing that can be. In my opinion, it is no coincidence that spiders and rats ... brr ... gray ...

- And the elephants? - I objected.

- Elephants are silver gray. This is a completely different matter. Both airships and airplanes are also silver-gray, - said dad.

I have had many good weeks in my life, bad ones, like my first school year, few, but a gray week is already something new. When we went to wash, I asked:

- So everything, everything was gray? And business too?

- Since thoughts are gray, it means that things are gray.

- Well, what about the weather?

- I think I said that everything was gray!

Dad took my palms in his, beat up a thick pink foam. I myself have never been able to soap my hands like this.

“You're confusing something,” I said. “The weather was sunny this week. No clouds, no rain.

- Shall we stand here and talk? Do you want Sunday to be gray too? Wash off the soap quickly!

- Or maybe it's your own fault that everything was gray? - I guessed.

Dad mumbled something, because he already had a toothbrush in his mouth, made terrible eyes and pushed me out of the bathroom with his free hand.

While he was shaving, tea boiled. We made scrambled eggs with bacon and onions ourselves. Dad knew when to cover the pan with a bowl and what kind of fire to make to make the eggs tall and fluffy.

- And what was your week? Dad asked. - After all, it is not simple. It is necessary to remember it for life.

“I remember,” I said, stuffing my mouth full.

- And with whom are you sitting at the desk?

“With Tyga,” I said.

- Strange name! - Dad was surprised. - Maybe he's French? Then it is not Choga that is correct, but Choga. There was such an artist Dega.

- The correct name of Chogi is Gusev. Why Choga, I don't know.

- Of course, Gusev! Choga-choga! So they call geese in the village, - laughing, dad realized. - Well, what was your nickname?

I said nothing, taking a sip of my tea. And dad probably decided not to ask me about his studies on the day off.

After breakfast, he said emphatically:

- I understood what we have to do! Do not even do, but commit! Anything unusual! Something out of the ordinary! And then all the grayness will disappear.

- Listen, did I also seem gray to you all week? I asked.

- You seemed purple to me! You even had ink on your ears, ”Dad said.

- And mom?

“Mom is always beautiful,” Dad said sternly.

“Or maybe your surname is Seroglazov,” I suddenly realized, “because you see everything in gray?”

“The last name has nothing to do with the mood of the person,” said Dad. - Get ready quickly.

“How much he has! - I thought. - I should have seen what kind of mood you would have from the nickname Dvaportfela! .. "

I had nothing to gather. But dad for some reason put on his nice suit, white shirt, black shoes, and we left the house.

He lived in the world for only 63 years, but, fortunately, he managed to do a lot - his unique tree-garden and other scientific achievements are studied in university textbooks.And he also left a good memory of himself, because possessed not only the gift of a scientist, but also the talent to live, love life and respect people. Therefore, today we will not talk about Zorin the scientist, but about Zorin the man.

Story aboutpurposefulness

Fyodor Mikhailovich was a kind person, warm and non-conflict. That did not stop him from achieving his goals, and without scandals, but solely thanks to his talent to find an approach to a variety of people.

Once, while still a student, Zorin found himself in the garden of the famous scientist Ivan Vladimirovich Michurin. He walked along the alleys, studied the plants carefully and realized: this is his place. In this garden, next to a famous breeder.

However, how to get to work for Michurin? His name thundered, walkers flocked to him from all over the country. How will a provincial agricultural college graduate stand out from this mass?

And Fyodor Mikhailovich made up his mind. He came to his idol and said honestly: I dream of working with you. The venerable scientist tried to get rid of the annoying young man, citing the lack of vacancies, but where there! Zorin was ready to go even as a laborer, the main thing is to be next to Michurin, to adopt his experience and knowledge.

Why are there laborers! He expressed his readiness to do without a salary and even spend the night at the station (at first, by the way, it was so), if only
don't miss the chance to work with a great man.

And he gave up. He believed the persistent, awkward young man, allowed him to stay and was not mistaken. His disciple, during his lifetime, became the same legend as Michurin himself.

A story about empathy

In 1958, the International Competition named after P.I. Tchaikovsky. And in 1960, the winner came to Sochi, the American pianist Van Cliburn. And of course I came to see the Tree of Friendship.

Fyodor Mikhailovich always tried to find out more about his guests - he wanted to find for them exactly the words that would sink into the soul. It happened this time too. Fortunately, since we were talking about a celebrity, there was a lot of information.

From the book "The Legend of Van Cliburn" Zorin learned that the most important person for a musician is his mother, who is now in distant Texas. And the gardener had an idea. He remembered: his own mother, who lives in Moscow, had given him an orange seedling not so long ago. She understood that this thermophilic plant had no chance in the metropolitan climate and asked her son to take him to the South. And she added: “I would really like to have my orange grafted
on the Tree of Friendship, not every person, namely the one who loves his mother very much "...

... Fyodor Mikhailovich told this story to his famous guest after he walked around the garden and listened with interest about his work. The breeder took the musician to a little orange and said: "We decided that you are the very person who will give this vaccine."

Van Cliburn was deeply moved. He took up a garden knife and ... Here Fyodor Mikhailovich again showed himself to be an attentive and sensitive person. Realizing that the pianist needs to take care of his hands, the scientist prudently put his own finger under the blade: if the musician makes a wrong move, the knife blade will come off, but will not injure the artist.

The story of how passion can melt the ice

Fyodor Mikhailovich's talent, his charm, dedication and ability to talk about work in an interesting language, worked magic.

One day in May 1965, Danish journalists came to the garden. For some reason, they turned out to be gloomy, unfriendly people, whose cold, harsh looks could embarrass anyone. But not Fyodor Zorin.

He greeted the northerners in Danish. They were surprised. Then he showed them an elegant bamboo gazebo: "Our Reception Hall."
They laughed. Then he took out photographs of a winter garden with snow atypical for Sochi and the ice was melted.

And now the Danes, as if spellbound, follow Fyodor Mikhailovich. And he interestingly, excitingly tells them about the secrets of his work, about the little secrets of nature, about the boiling of that life, which is often hidden from the eyes of a random person.

An hour later, in these interested, smiling people it was impossible to recognize those gloomy personalities who had recently crossed the threshold of the garden. Journalists enthusiastically talked about something with the breeder, clarified something and wrote it down.

And finally they said to Fyodor Mikhailovich: “Your work warms cold heads. If all people could do this, then the whole world would be filled with the sun, smiles and flowers. " There is a saying: “I came, I saw, I won!”. But now it happened differently: we came, we saw ... And you won! "

Julia Zorina based on the books by L. M. Dmitrenko "Poet, agronomist and eccentric"