“... As a child, I had a dream - to own a helicopter. This is a toy: you tear the propeller off the screw rod and it flies up to the sky. Beauty! The toy cost three rubles. I stole three from my mother's wallet, but was caught red-handed. The case was transferred to the father. And my kind dad for the first time tried to teach me a hard lesson... I ran around the oval dining table, dropping chairs with high backs that obstructed the angry dad. Moreover, to save my skin, I screamed that I was not their own son, that if I were their own son, they would not have driven me to extremes, but would have bought me a helicopter themselves. This argument horrified my mother. She snatched my dad’s belt on the fly and began shouting that she didn’t care about this money, that she was mistaken, that she had lost this unfortunate triple... The neighbors listened with pleasure to my screams - I caused minor inconvenience to many of them. They noisily rejoiced at the reprisal and advised dad not to lift the chairs, but to jump over them. Dad heeded their advice and tried to jump over, but was unsuccessful. He twisted his leg... And I went out into the yard victoriously, launched the helicopter, and the propeller, according to the law of disgust, broke the glass of neighbor Suren, who advised his father loudest of all. In a word, an endless story..."