My family, husband and our two daughters, sat at the dining room table covered with colorful plastic oilcloth, just like a real happy family in American film.
That day, I was not even aware of what is actually happening, and my world began to crumble like a house of cards. The death of my father, whom I was the favourite child, with whom I felt safe, and took a part of me.
In my opinion, the dress was beautiful. My joy lasted as long as my close friend in front of everyone in the hall, during the break suddenly makes fun of my dress.
It was a rule that every family in the former Yugoslavia, to the tenth child in a row, at its birth, President Tito would be a godfather and would be sent a package with a card signed personally by President Tito.
It was nearly the end of the war. The package was sent to us by my step-brother from Slovenia. We got it by accident, because this package was targeted by thieves too. Read family story
Read childhood memory. I felt a shame that we were poor, or rather I did not even know that we were poor, we did not have furniture like the others.
A family story, reminiscence of a poor childhood, which missed birthday celebrations. Birth dates in the family were insignificant, never marked for any.
And finally came the moment when Santa Claus takes out gift packages and individual calls out all first-grade pupils of our school, not just my class.
Although she was the step-mother because she married a man who already had six children from his first marriage, she was not stepmother that is described in fairy tales.
From the window in front of my classroom, almost jealously watched the employees of the Institute walked in white coats. I could only dream that I join them in the future and be in that environment.