I often wonder: where does the homeland begin? From the house in which I grew up, with the warm hands of my mother, who embrace and caress me, from the strict look of my father, when I learned to hold a spoon in my hands to eat? Or from the sun, which is impossible to see, and it manifests itself only with red flashes on closed eyelids, or with a sunny rabbit running in the green foliage of trees? Or maybe, with the infinite sky – the overturned blue cup, and the stars that lead through the night even the most stray wanderer?
I think that the Motherland begins with such impressions, when you marvel at the world, and you understand that the place where you were born is absolutely unique and unique. The connection with our native land and native land remains with us for life, and I believe that even... having gone far, far away, and settled in life, I will still miss my homeland and consider it the best place in the entire globe. Then the image of the native land is formed in our minds with the help of books. I remember how still very little I listened to Pushkin’s fairy tales, and was completely fascinated by them. Russian folk tales were also one of my favorites, they remain so to this day. In elementary school we were taught to count and write, I will never forget my first call, because for me it is also the image of the Motherland.
Already now I read in the textbooks about the exploits of our soldiers who died fighting bravely for their native land. They did this so that we could live in this country, we could rejoice and love our native land as much as our ancestors told us to do.