I remember little about my early years, but my mother used to say that I was an easy child. I didn’t cry over small things and was a humble, calm kid. Childhood is a time that lives more in other people’s stories than in your own memory.
I know I had an older sister, Vera, named after my paternal grandmother. According to my mother, she would take me out in a stroller when I was very small. Sadly, Vera died of leukemia when I was one or two years old. I don’t remember her, but this loss was always a part of our family.
One of the episodes I do remember happened in kindergarten. We were playing in the yard, and I bent down, reaching my hand under the porch to grab some fragments of gray roofing tiles. They were lying there in piles, and I thought they could be used in our games. I didn’t know that under the porch a dog was hiding with her puppies. Suddenly, she bit me on the right hand. At first, I didn’t understand what had happened, but soon I felt a strange sensation, as if something was pulling me inward.
My cry brought the caregivers running immediately; they pulled me out from under the porch and gave me first aid. They treated the wound, calmed me down, and called my mother. She took me to the doctor, and since then I’ve had a small scar on my right hand — a reminder of that day.
Unfortunately, after this incident, all the dogs on the kindergarten grounds were put to sleep.
Entering a music club at the age of six became the starting point of significant changes for me. That was when my creative journey began. Our neighbors on the same floor, a family with several children learning piano, offered us their teacher — Olga Valeryevna.
They did us a big favor by giving us their old black “Lyra” piano. The neighbors had bought a more modern domestic piano, perhaps a “Lyrika,” distinguished by its light brown color and updated design that was popular in the 1990s. So this black piano appeared in our small room, and my first steps into the world of music began.
Olga Valeryevna turned out to be a patient and understanding teacher. She not only taught me musical notation and proper hand placement but also tried to instill a love of music. Each lesson started with warm-ups, after which we moved on to technical exercises, simple pieces, and études. Gradually, with every lesson, my fingers became more confident, and the sounds I drew from the piano began to sound more melodic.
Lessons were held in a typical Soviet school not far from our house. To get there, we had to walk through several courtyards and cross a road. My mother always accompanied me, so the walk seemed familiar and even pleasant. Olga Valeryevna taught me twice a week. Over time, new subjects were added to the individual lessons, such as choir and solfeggio. Although, to be honest, I was very reluctant to go to these lessons and sometimes was even glad when I got sick and could skip them.
Winter evenings from my childhood were special. As soon as fresh snow fell, the world around would transform. White, absolutely white snow covered the yard, like a giant downy blanket inviting you into its cozy softness. I looked at this backyard from the 17th floor, where we lived then, and my heart was filled with anticipation.
That evening, when the sun was already setting, my mother, my brother Ilya, and I went sledding down the hills. There were two hills in the yard: one icy, perfectly slippery, the other — snowy, soft, and packed down, as if made just for sledding. They ran almost parallel, and sometimes it was unclear which one you could slide farther down.
We laughed, shouted, teased each other, enjoying the moment. Other kids from the yard were with us, each bringing their share of fun, noise, and excitement. In the frosty air, the sounds became sharper, as if that evening was imprinted by nature as something magical.
We returned home tired but incredibly happy. Our cheeks burned from the cold and from laughter and warmth inside. Outside the window, the light of streetlamps began to flicker, lighting up that very white snow, while at home a warm dinner and a quiet evening with the family awaited us.
These moments were more than just games for me. They were a symbol of care, joy, and unity, something that will always live in my heart, reminding me that true warmth doesn’t come from the weather, but from the closeness of those around you.
I remember how on Fridays our whole family would gather in front of the TV to watch “Field of Miracles” — a popular game show where contestants spun a wheel and guessed words. This was one of those pleasant moments we spent together, rejoicing in the contestants’ successes and enjoying each other’s company.
When the time came to go to first grade in 1995, my father, a man of strict principles and high intellect, made the decision about my education. He believed that a gymnasium would be the best place for my development. His own story was an example to me of hard work and striving for perfection. He held a PhD in physics and mathematics and graduated from the Moscow Engineering Physics Institute (MEPhI) with honors.
Before perestroika, he worked in his field as a nuclear physicist, but during perestroika he became involved in cooperatives, mainly related to electronics. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, he devoted himself entirely to business, which included repair work and, eventually, building balconies on any floor. His diligence and unwavering determination to achieve his goals left a deep impression on me.
My mother graduated from the Moscow Institute of Civil Engineering (MISI) as a cost engineer and successfully worked in this field. However, after my brother was born in 1983 and was diagnosed with cerebral palsy at birth, she left her job and devoted herself fully to his care. My character was shaped in an atmosphere of family responsibility and self-sacrifice. Watching my parents overcome life’s challenges, I nurtured resilience and a drive to succeed in myself.
I started first grade at the “Klassika” gymnasium, which had just opened in 1995. It was located in a brick building on Koshkina Street, not far from Kashirskoye Highway. At that time, only the first floor had been renovated, and that’s where classes were held. Every morning, my mother took me there by bus, and in the evening brought me home by the same route.
At the gymnasium, I started learning English, which was already an important part of the school program and opened up a whole new world for me. I enjoyed taking apart foreign words, trying out their pronunciation, and learning something new about the culture of other countries.
That’s also where I made my first real friends. Now I don’t remember their names, but their personalities are still alive in my memory. One was calm and thoughtful; he lived in Saburovo and always approached things seriously, even in games. Another was more active and cheerful — he lived in Zyablikovo, like me. There was also a girl among us, Snezhana, kind and responsive, with whom I easily found a common language. These friendships filled my school days with joy, especially when we played in the yard.
Our favorite games were tag and hide-and-seek. In tag, everyone tried to run away from the chaser as fast as possible, and when it was my turn to chase, I liked coming up with clever moves to catch my friends. Hide-and-seek always turned into a real strategy game: we found secluded spots behind trees or fences, trying to stay unnoticed as long as possible. These moments brought a sense of freedom, excitement, and incredible closeness that only happens in childhood.
Besides that, we loved collecting chestnuts and inventing our own games. Our yard was a place where imagination knew no bounds, and every meeting became a little adventure.
However, not all relationships went smoothly. I also got my first “rival” — Volodya. We didn’t really argue or fight, but we just couldn’t find common ground. Sometimes he could hurt me with his behavior or words, and I didn’t always know how to react. Nevertheless, he remained part of our small group, and such situations taught me to better understand people and accept their different sides.
At the same time, I began to get interested in computer technology. We already had a ZX Spectrum computer at home, but it was at the gymnasium, where there was a classroom with some of the first personal computers of that era, that I got to know more modern devices, thanks to our teacher. He introduced us to Norton Commander, which became my window into the world of file systems and basic software tools.
One of the memorable games was a puzzle where you had to transport a sheep, a goat, and a wolf from one bank to another. The main challenge was to observe the correct order so that none of the characters would get hurt. For example, if you left the goat alone with the sheep, the goat would eat the sheep. Similarly, if the wolf was left alone with the goat, he would eat her. The logic of the solution was to first transport the goat, then the wolf, return with the goat, take the sheep across, and finally come back for the goat.
This game was not only entertaining but also taught me to think strategically, to plan actions and foresee the consequences. Similar tasks, along with learning text editors and other tools, only deepened my interest in computers and programming.
Every day at the gymnasium brought something new: friendship, games, and, of course, interesting events outside the school walls. In the spring of 1996, a girl from our class decided to invite only me to her birthday party. It was unexpected, but very pleasant. That day, her parents picked me up, and we went to a kids’ club. There we were met with contests, riddles, and exciting games.
I still remember one of the activities: we had to guess metro stations. When the riddle was about “Chkalovskaya” — a station on the new light green line, opened just a few months earlier, on December 28, 1995 — I was surprised. I hadn’t even known it existed! It was a real discovery for me.
At the party, I was treated to ice cream from Baskin-Robbins. That was my first experience with this legendary brand, founded in the USA and famous for its 31 flavors of ice cream. At that time, Baskin-Robbins was just beginning to develop in Russia — the first store of the chain opened in Moscow in 1990. The unusual flavors and the brightly colored, bendy spoon made a strong impression on me, and I still remember this discovery.
After the party, I stayed overnight at their house. In the morning, the birthday girl woke me up with the words that it was time to get up. It was so sweet! They even managed to wash my socks. These moments still touch me to this day. After finishing first grade, unfortunately, we lost contact, but that day has remained in my memory forever.
My interest in music also continued. One of the brightest memories of that time was preparing for the first grade graduation concert. My classmates and I spent a long time rehearsing the song “Ah, You Porches, My Porches.” I sat at the piano, diligently playing the melody, while the girls sang. On the day when we performed in front of the whole school, I felt for the first time that music can unite and bring joy not only to me, but also to those around me.
