Once in my childhood an essay

My childhood passed in the village, in the old, wooden house of my grandparents. My family is not big. I am one grandson, therefore I received full love and care.

My parents chose the profession of archaeologists. so they disappeared in expeditions, on excavations all over the world. They came rarely, but I perfectly remembered these visits. Souvenirs adorned the walls of my small room, surprising with its originality and originality. And so the stories of distant wanderings and adventures in general, the price was not. After the departure of my parents, I carefully wrote them down in a thick notebook, which I carefully stored in the secret drawer of the desk.

My favorite books were also about fantastic travels, heroic deeds and fearless heroes. I read constantly and therefore knew that the book is the best friend. with whom I can consult and even share my childish secrets.

For the summer holidays, my friends from different cities came to the village. I proudly read them about my parents, about amazing finds, about different countries and continents. Energized with enthusiasm, we went to seek adventure in the vastness of our native land.

The impenetrable thicket of the forest beckoned us with mysterious rustles and we, desperately afraid, nevertheless waded into the thick of dark thickets to fight unprecedented monsters. With tattered shorts and scratched faces, as if we fought off hundreds of furious cats, with victorious screams we made our way to the forest lake. throwing off their rags on the run. We dived to exhaustion, cooling our flushed hearts and heads. The summer sun baked mercilessly, but we were happy to expose our chilled bodies to it, tossing it from side to side in order to better fry.

My childhood was happy and carefree. And I am infinitely grateful to him for the most native and beloved people on Earth.

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Once in my childhood an essay