Page 23 - To Family with Love

night and tell me a nicer story. There were some stories after which I didn’t dare close my eyes for two nights in a row. And the goodnight kisses. There really are certain moments that make you wish you would stay little forever. Even now that I’m past my prime, it makes my eyes water when I think about that. It’s a good thing that I’m looking forward to my B-day today, other- wise I would have pushed the red alert button in my heart with all my strength at least once.
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No one paid too much attention to my emotional state, and the war was relentlessly running its immitigable historical course, with the roaring and croaking of the city and with the race of my life with my digestive tract and my highly set goal on the fourth floor. The only bright moments of those days were when, after the race, having been serviced, changed and cleaned, I’d sit in front of the TV and shout for two or three hours straight and at the top of my lungs to Đuka Čaić’s Hrvatine2. It was a triumphal song from the very beginnings of the war and our greatest war success at the time, a song I knew by heart and would sing on every winning occasion. You would sing that song until you were captured by the winning morale, or stopped by your parents who were already sick and tired of mine and Đuka’s singing. After a while, I didn’t even need Đuka anymore, that’s how well I was doing. The loudest I sang it was at school, in math class, when Pythagoras announced that I had managed to soar to D minus on my test, which, as that was a time of war, was a success equal to a feat. Pythagoras sent me to the principal’s office stating that you can’t yowl in class, not even in math class, but the real reason was that he just couldn’t stand someone being successful. The principal also knew Đuka’s song by heart, so he interrupted me after the second stanza, just when the guidance counselor burst
2 A patriotic song (1991)
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