The first year of my live I spent living with my student-parents in a large city.

My grandmother helped them with me often, as well as older neighbor-kids, who kept my carriage with them on the streets.

I know only a few related to me stories of that time:

  • My father told me that only he responded to my crying at night.
  • I refused to eat normal food as a baby. One of the doctors volunteered to teach me a lesson and took me for a couple of days to force-feed me Semolina porridge or starve me into submission. All I know, she did not succeed: I would not swallow. All I remember, I never could stand the smell of "cream of wheat" (farina)  ever after.
  • Once, as soon as I started walking,  they left me in a room alone, and I covered all the surfaces I could reach, including the floor, with unfolded white paper napkins.

The teenage kids who took care of me while my parent were in their universities, and my grandparents were working, remain very close to me. They all were 10-13 years old at that time. I trusted the girls well into my teens, until they married out, and was amazed by the boys, who were around me as a baby most likely to flirt with those girls. But they remembered fun stories about that time, which I cannot recall anymore.

These guys hey were also close with my cousin, being roughly the same age, and hanging out with them all was so much more exciting than with the teens of my age.

The first year of my life.