043Творчеством серьёзно стал заниматься последний десять лет. Пишу короткие рассказы, основываясь на увиденном своим глазам и развиваю эти события. Этими событиями долго живу, вынашиваю, анализирую и, конечно, стараюсь художественно изложить. Они всегда с нами, трогательны и близки к сердцу. Мои рассказы – это мое счастливое по большому счёту детство, мой педагогический путь, мои ученики и друзья детства и данного времени.
Я по профессии учитель физики, много лет проработал с детьми. Поэтому больше пишу на педагогические, воспитательные темы. Если бы я не был педагогом то, скорее всего никогда бы не стал писать В мыслях нахожусь среди детей, поэтому происходят мои события среди них. Проблемы отца и детей, детские понятия, мировоззрения, отношение человека с животными, окружающим миром, любовь к Родине, природе и т.д. Основная скрытая моя тема – это человечность, человеческие взаимные отношения, познание человека самого себя, окружающего мира. Это мне кажется связано с моей профессией. Она, думаю, и привела меня к писательской деятельности.
Иногда писал в газетах и журналах публицистические, научно-педагогические статьи. Занимаюсь научной работой по педагогике. Они в прямом смысле тоже повлияли на мои творческие работы. Педагогический труд, работа с детьми естественно тесно связан с творческим подходом. И таким образом, думаю, происходило слияние и взаимное сотрудничество двух творческих сил. Мне кажется, эти творческие силы взаимно обогащали, развивали друг друга. Они открывали друг другу желания творить и внутреннюю энергию. Это слияние учит нас видеть мир по-другому. С точки зрении физической науки: он не только саморегулируемый, но и саморазвивающийся процесс, который способен в процессе действий и развития создавать и даже изменять программу своих и других действий.



It is daylight. It is only six o’clock in the morning. The sunlight forces me to screw up my eyes like a shy daughter-in-law. Isn’t that just beautiful! The morning nature is infinitely indescribable. As well as in my youth the hot wind at dawn does not allow to inhale deeply. The heat went down yet. But it is still hot around. This kind of the nature is similar to the description of the great Kyrgyz poet Joomart Bokonbaev:

                            The may-bug chirrs. The heat scorches.

                            The hot wind blows, the wind howls…

Though the spring is full of downpours, the summer burns our skins, it is a lot of storms in the autumn, the winter is frosty, all the same it is our native land. That is why it is dear and hallowed to me. I cannot leave it for a long time. Even if I am in the distance, at heart I wander on this land, I play jumping from a stone on a stone. In general, these seasons are deep inside, they were taken in us. They are not strangers for me, on the contrary, these natural phenomena awake different feelings in me. Probably all our life we are fated to live with reminiscences of our childhoods, to become younger and to summon up fresh energy. And what winter colds were, our eyebrows and eyelashes were covered with hoarfrost, our faces burnt and glowed from a frost! With ages as well as all people we recollect those cold days. As if you become the child again, seeing something you recollect own childhood each time. It seems we are always obliged to follow on a string of our memoirs.

         The red cock as usually walked up a ladder leant against a wall and crowed very much in spite of the fact that morning has come for a long time already. Or he simply understood that all of us still sleep. The voice of my mother in the meantime was heard:

         “I hope it chokes you! Poor your father has fallen asleep only at daybreak and this cock yells at the top of its voice!”

         And my mother run after the unfortunate cock round the house. Her words sounded for me as a hint that it is my cock who does not give to rest for all.

         “Oh, mum! Together with the cock you cry out on all two streets. So not only I and my father, but also all neighbours have already woken up”, – I have put out my head from the warm and soft bed, and I have given voice through an open window.

My mother rounded our house three times, at last understood that she cannot catch the cock, mopped her brow and murmured:

         “Don’t be so sanctimonious, sonny”.

         “Mum, you was noisy, and I was woken up. Because of the cock and your noise”, – I said last words in a breathless voice.

         My mother began to justify herself:

“So you fed up with this cock? Then immediately get rid of it! – further she completely shifted the blame onto the poor cock. – And it’s good, it means, at last you understood the tricks of your cock, too”.

         “Well, well, mum”, – I understood that there is something behind that.

         “You’ve got up, so dig onions patches. Water flood not only potatoes, but also onions too, therefore they are overgrown with weeds. And the red apricots remain untouched till now, it’s a pity. Perhaps, you’ll dry them for the winter, and we’ll drink compote from them”.

“All right, – I understood now what there was behind these words, but decided to give no sign. – I didn’t have enough sleep, mum, may I sleep an hour? Don’t wake me up, o’key? – So I tried to get rid from the demands of my mother. – Yes, mum, when I’ll get up, I’ll start to work with my sisters”.

“Start at once today, or all will be overgrown with weeds, and all my and your father’s works will be vain. When you’ll have your sleep out, weed and throw out them far away! Perhaps, you’ll think up about apricots, too…”

“Mum! Did the red cock prompt you about weeding, too?” – dozing I did not know how to calm my mother.

“Well, look at him, eh! The image of his uncle, the same wisecracker. If you don’t like my words, so yourself wake up earlier, feed a cock and weed beds! Don’t put it off till tomorrow, or then it’ll be difficult”.

“Well”, – I stopped up my ears.

“You look like our godfather Momush, only don’t lose your head, or you’ll pass for an idle talker. Especially for the boy it isn’t the best nickname! – my mother long muttered to herself. – Of course, this is the nature of a cock – to inform on dawn arrival. But your cock has one lack: he cries out when it isn’t necessary. Oh, how selfish it is! Give it forages and nothing else!..”

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