What I remember is that I was robbed by punks once. I think I was seven or
eight years old. We had unexpected guests and as we had no more alcohol at home,
so dad gave me money and told me to buy vodka at the local store not far away.
I went to the store, told the shop assistant my father sent me to buy the vodka. At that
time a young kid like me having money was a very rare occurrence, but my story was
very believable and I went home with bottle of vodka in my hands. Unfortunately two
punks at the age of seventeen or older saw me and stopped me. They asked me to
let them see the bottle and as I saw nothing bad about showing it to them so I did.
After few seconds they asked me what I was going to do with it and then they
asked me if I would give it to them. I refused because I had to bring it home. They
kept smiling and asked if they can borrow it just for a minute just to show it to a
friend. I thought about it and as they were adults in my eyes and we were taught to
do what you are told by adults (and after all one minute does not seem so long), I
They took the bottle and left. I waited for a minute. Then another minute
passed and I started to feel as if they were not going to return. I waited a few more
minutes and then went home terrified. What will I tell my father? Will he believe me?
My father took it surprisingly well. Returning home without the money and the
bottle, with fear on my face, he believed my story. I was glad I did not take a beating
for not fulfilling my mission. Young kids are often afraid of things that are not likely to
happen. Theft or robbery was very rare in Czechoslovakia those days as almost
everybody feared the police. I was not prepared for such a situation at that time.
I was very naive at that age and believed all people were good to each other.
My parents always told me to behave well, listen to older people, don't fight
back with other kids and most of time I was told it was my fault if something went
wrong. My self- esteem was low and I saw no reason to live.
The person I spent most of my time at home with was my sister. She is older
than me and since she was stronger, she could beat me up when she wanted to take
things or make me do what she did not want to do herself. Later as I grew stronger
she still fought me, explaining that because I am stronger and she is a girl I can't fight
her back. Men don't fight women, but take a beating quietly.
Girls have strange explanations sometimes and manipulation is maybe something in which they are
educated in secret or have natural talent for.
Whether she manipulated me or not, it worked. When I won a fight, all she
needed to do was to call parents and she then watched as I was taught a lesson.
Well, she was smart the girlish way. I hated her, and my parents, at that time because
instead of support l felt hostility from my family.