I knew it, I always knew it! Oh, no, I didn't know, I felt it! I'm writing a post, emotions are beating over the edge... I don't know where to start from/ who to start with... the post is being written thanks to my husband, but I'll start with dad. To begin with, my dad was a “storyteller.” No, he didn't write fairy tales, he told them. The main fairy tale of our family: the swarthiness of the skin and brown eyes were inherited by him and my younger sister from the great-great-grandmother of a gypsy who ran away from the gypsy camp. Look at our photos, how different we are. Our parents told us that I looked like my grandfather (dad's dad), and my sister looked like my grandmother (his mother). To be honest, I believed in it as a child. As I grew up, I began to doubt whether my parents would come up with anything. I don't even know about Dad, if he believed his own words. You can't ask now. When dad was no longer with us, but the Internet and social...
Everyday American life of a city girl from Siberia