I am no master at raising children. But I have seen many thods.
The first and simplest is the stick thod. The thod is clear: did sothing wrong—got hit with a stick and imdiately understood everything. If you don't do it smartly, it turns out badly, of course. But who even asked ? This thod is very popular because parents most often have neither the ti nor the energy for proper supervision and upbringing.
The second thod is to completely forget about upbringing. The children will figure everything out themselves. Let them scream, let them yell, let them stick their hand in boiling water, let them fall. In short, a fifty-fifty chance thod. Everything depends on the child. Survived, understood—good job.
The third thod is sothing between the first and second.
The fourth is so kind of coochy-coo. You don't hit the children, you tell them "no" a thousand tis and also explain why. But when has that ever stopped children? When such tasty sand is lying on the street? Or when they urgently need to shove sothing in their mouth that absolutely shouldn't be touched? Who knows what's in their heads.
I never knew which thod is actually correct.
Right now Naya and Art are fighting over a toy. Dozens of toys are scattered around them. But no. They both need exactly one. The sa one.
So what to do?
As a caring father, I simply took this toy from them and went to play with it myself.
The children are already a year old. Naya and Art are already walking with might and main. And they don't just walk around the house; they already often run to the neighbors' as if it's their own house.
"Alastia, how do you like your children?" I asked once.
"OW!"
She ca up from behind and started choking .
"The children are gone," she said. "Now we can play ourselves."
"ACKKK..."
Then she still let
go, and we just lay next to each other.
Thus another year passed.
The children were already speaking in so connected sentences.
Once we had a conversation like this:
"Papa is big-big," Art said.
"Mama is big too," Naya imdiately added.
Then Naya poked her finger at her brother:
"Art is small."
"Small," Art repeated.
And both imdiately started giggling just at the word "small".
A minute later they were both hanging on .
"Papa, papa, papa! Give us a piggyback ride!" " too!
too!"
"Alright," I said. "The birdie will give Naya a ride first, and then you, Art."
"Why? Why Naya first?"
"She asked first."
"I want to go first too! I want! I want! I want!"
I thought for a bit.
"Oh, I know a better solution. Let's fly to Mama's work."
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! We want! We want!"
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Lately, they generally said "want" and "give" very often.
"Okay, co on. One sits on one shoulder, one on the other."
I squatted down. They stood on the sofa and began to climb on
very precariously. To avoid falling, they held onto each other and my hair.
"FORWARD!" they both shouted.
And, pulling my hair, began to steer.
"The golem is ready to go," I said. "Show the way."
They imdiately pulled my hair forward, and I moved.
"The golem is going to hit the wall now," I warned.
"The golem is going now! The golem is going now!"
"AAAAAA!" they both yelled when I almost crashed.
And imdiately started pulling my hair every which way.
Then, when we finally got out of the room, they grew bolder and began to steer
much more confidently.
Getting to the hall where the mages train turned out to be not so simple. Not because it's far. But because I had two very loud commanders sitting on my shoulders.
"Forward!" Naya shouted, pulling my hair. "There! There!" Art yelled, pulling in the other direction.
"The golem is going to fall apart now," I warned.
"No! The golem is strong!" Naya imdiately objected. "The golem is big!" Art supported.
"The golem is tired." "Not tired!"
And so we walked. More accurately, I walked, and they rode on , pulled my hair, and considered that they were fully in control of what was happening.
When we had almost arrived, I decided to go through the door without bending down.
Mistake. Thump.
First Naya. Then almost imdiately Art. Both bumped their foreheads on the doorfra.
Silence hung in the air. I froze. Them too.
Then both simultaneously grabbed their heads. I had already prepared for a roar.
But no. Naya just looked very angrily at the doorfra. Art—at .
"The golem is bad," he said accusatorily.
"The golem didn't notice the door," Naya added.
"The golem apologizes," I said.
"Need more," Naya suddenly said.
"What do you an 'more'?" I didn't understand.
She poked a finger at the doorfra. "Hit it."
"Ah, revenge."
"Yes."
I lightly slapped the doorfra with my palm.
"Done. We took our revenge on it."
This satisfied them.
We entered the hall.
Training was just going on there. Mages stood in rows, soone was holding a stance, soone was gathering mana, soone was trying not to fail the exercise. Alastia stood in front and was explaining sothing with such a face as if just a little bit more—and soone would die of their own misunderstanding today.
When she saw us, she simply fell silent at first. Then slowly looked at .
"Zenkhald."
"What?"
"Why did you drag them here?"
"They wanted to see Mama."
Naya imdiately raised her hand. "Wanted!"
"And the golem brought us," Art said.
One of the students snorted with laughter.
Alastia covered her eyes with her hand and took a deep breath.
"Alright," she finally said. "Just be quiet."
"Of course," I answered.
The children imdiately climbed off
and started walking around the hall. Quiet, yeah right.
They imdiately stared at the students. They were standing in stances. The children also decided to stand in stances.
Naya positioned her legs almost correctly. She raised her arms crookedly, but very similar to what she saw.
Art nearby tried to do the sa. Positioned one leg, then the second, then for so reason squatted down, then straightened up and ultimately just stood with a very serious look.
Naya looked at the mages. Repeated the hand movent. And suddenly a small stream of air swirled very smoothly around her fingers.
It imdiately beca quieter in the hall. One of the students even lowered his hands.
Art saw this and also raised his hand. Nothing. He frowned harder. Raised the second one. Nothing again. Then he looked at his sister, then at his palm, and simply stomped his foot.
I watched this: Naya—is talented. Art—is not.
Well, or not like that. Naya caught everything on the fly. As if her body understood how it should turn out. Art tried to copy, but without her lightness. Stubbornly. Through force. Through "I want to do that too."
Alastia saw it too. I noticed how her face changed for a second. Just a tiny bit. But I noticed.
Art, anwhile, was not falling behind. He began to copy not the technique, but the mages themselves. How they stand, how they raise their arms, how they make serious faces. At so point, he even began to walk between them, importantly putting his hands behind his back, and muttered sothing under his breath.
Naya nearby was already trying the air again. This ti a small spark also twitched above her palm.
"Oh," I said.
"Not 'oh'," Alastia said quietly, not even looking at .
"Then what?"
"Nothing."
But from her voice, it was clear—she was thinking.
Art at this mont walked up to one of the students, looked at his stance, then positioned himself exactly the sa way and said:
"Like this."
The students were already barely restraining themselves.
Naya also stepped closer, extended her hand, and sothing worked out for her again. Very weakly, but it worked out.
Art saw that everyone was looking at her, and imdiately said:
" too."
Raised his hand. Nothing. Raised it higher. Nothing.
Then he turned to :
"Papa."
"What?"
"It doesn't want to."
"It happens."
"Bad magic."
"Or good you," I said.
He thought for a bit and nodded, as if that sounded reasonable.
Alastia finally let the students go to rest, and they imdiately began to glance at the children without any pretense anymore.
Naya stood in the middle of the hall, pleased with herself. Art stood next to her and, it seems, had already decided that if it doesn't work out to be talented, you can at least be nearby.
I looked at them both and suddenly realized that this, probably, is how it will always be. One—grasping things faster. The other—stubbornly catching up. And both still pushing forward anyway.
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