Relations between parents and children

Relations between parents and children

In the mornings, going to school, I turn on the music center and listen to the records of my favorite performers. Their songs accompanied me and on the way to school: I take a player with me. And we also have a video player at home. With its help, I watch and listen to the speeches of my favorite bands: Linkin Park, Limp Bizikit and others. We often buy video and audio CDs, we have a large library. At one time the disks lay in disorder on the windowsill, on the desk, on the bookshelves and even on the floor. My mother scolded me for neglecting things. I was angry, but in the end I decided to put all my disks together. A place for them was quickly found. In the bedside table on which the TV was standing, old records were lying in a cardboard box. “We do not have a turntable for a long

time,” I thought, “so there’s no need to keep records.” Parents about them, probably, long ago and forgotten. “I decided to throw out the unnecessary plates, and I thought I’d put them in. So I did.” Then he boasted to my mother that he finally found a place for the discs, showed the order in which they lay in the bedside table. “And where are the plates?” Asked my mother. “I took them out with the garbage,” I answered. “How could you do this without asking me?” Mom said softly and cried: “Go quickly and bring the records back “- Dad said sternly: I was late.” The car had already taken away the garbage, and the containers from under it stood empty. “But still we do not have a loser “I tried to comfort my parents when I returned home with nothing.” These records are dear to us as a memory of youth and youth, “said my father,” your grandmother also listened to them. ” as it seemed to me, plates and in their place to fold discs. So I did. Then he boasted to his mother that at last he found a place for the discs, showed in what order they were lying in the bedside table. “Where are the records?” asked my mother. “I carried them along with the garbage,” I replied. “How could you
do this without asking me?” – Mom said softly and cried. “Quickly go and bring the records back,” my father said sternly. I am late. The car already took away the garbage, and the containers from under it stood empty. “But after all, we do not have a turntable,” I tried to comfort my parents when I returned home with nothing. “These records are dear to us as a memory of youth and youth,” said my father, “your grandmother listened to them as well.” as it seemed to me, plates and in their place to fold discs. So I did. Then he boasted to his mother that at last he found a place for the discs, showed in what order they were lying in the bedside table. “Where are the records?” asked my mother. “I carried them along with the garbage,” I replied. “How could you do this without asking me?” – Mom said softly and cried. “Quickly go and bring the records back,” my father said sternly. I am late. The car already took away the garbage, and the containers from under it stood empty. “But after all, we do not have a turntable,” I tried to comfort my parents when I returned home with nothing. “These records are dear to us as a memory of youth and youth,” said my father, “your grandmother listened to them as well.” that finally found a place for the discs, showed in what order they are in the nightstand. “Where are the records?” asked my mother. “I carried them along with the garbage,” I replied. “How could you do this without asking me?” – Mom said softly and cried. “Quickly go and bring the records back,” my father said sternly. I am late. The car already took away the garbage, and the containers from under it stood empty. “But after all, we do not have a turntable,” I tried to comfort my parents when I returned home with nothing. “These records are dear to us as a memory of youth and youth,” said my father, “your grandmother listened to them as well.” that finally found a place for the discs, showed in what order they are in the nightstand. “Where are the records?” asked my mother. “I carried them along with the garbage,” I replied. “How could you do this without asking me?” – Mom said softly and cried. “Quickly go and bring the records back,” my father said sternly. I am late. The car already took away the garbage, and the containers from under it stood empty. “But after all, we do not have a turntable,” I tried to comfort my parents when I returned home with nothing. “These records are dear to us as a memory of youth and youth,” said my father, “your grandmother listened to them as well.”

This case will be my lesson for life. Parents understand my hobbies, they try to understand my problems, and I share my secrets with them. But why was I so inconsiderate towards them? I spent a long time looking for records of those songs that were on the records. And I found them!


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Relations between parents and children