LIGHTNING VISIT AT THE OLD SCHOOL

I'm walking down that particular confusing street again. I wish I could do it, so that I could intentionally avoid the building, which knows so much about me that it can almost see into my kidneys. My belonging memories from the miserable past still call to me; every cursed start of school in the fall makes me cry. The headmaster tried to give hair-splitting, iron-hatted conservatism to every student - literally - he retired a long time ago.

It's better that way! It belonged to other times, to other lost, plundered, evil-doing people. The kind of must-Hercules, who speaks first, and only then thinks about whether he did the right thing?! Since then, even I have been shaking continuously, like an orphaned poplar leaf left alone in the wind; the stigma wounds still hurt. Who knows where my former class teacher is or what he's doing?!

His imposing stature commanded respect, wherever he entered, as he had the backbone and bearing - as they say - of a man in the 1990s. "My notebook consists of 64 numbered pages!" - chanted the eminences, while the lonely donkey bench was waiting for me, like a kind of skunk half-hearted, even though I was not lacking in my witty intellectual abilities, at least according to the more penetrating medical opinion.

How many times did you have to stand in front of the class and recite what the superior asked for. And while the blush of public humiliation burned my chubby face, and I could already see the other emaciated accessories of my shipwrecked soul, as the class diary opened deliberately at the back, because I was last and still according to the roster: "Well, my dear friend! It's not enough right now, but you're going to fix it, right?!" - answered the mummy-looking satrap literature teacher with a big vest, and while sad, squirming, broken crocodile tears began to leak from my eyes regularly, I canceled the Sea Peeling, the Family Circle, Vörös Rebéket - until then, the inky black sat in the middle of my profile with insufficient reality.

I no longer purposely walk, even if I have to, on that confused street; I would try to forget everything that once belonged to me, and start all over again like a forbidden tabula rasa, or go back to the beginning, but I recently turned 40, and the trembling little boy still bears witness in me!