I am no master at raising children. But I have seen many methods.
The first and simplest is the stick method. The method is clear: did something wrong—got hit with a stick and immediately understood everything. If you don't do it smartly, it turns out badly, of course. But who even asked me? This method is very popular because parents most often have neither the time nor the energy for proper supervision and upbringing.
The second method is to completely forget about upbringing. The children will figure everything out themselves. Let them scream, let them yell, let them stick their hand in boiling water, let them fall. In short, a fifty-fifty chance method. Everything depends on the child. Survived, understood—good job.
The third method is something between the first and second.
The fourth is some kind of coochy-coo. You don't hit the children, you tell them "no" a thousand times and also explain why. But when has that ever stopped children? When such tasty sand is lying on the street? Or when they urgently need to shove something in their mouth that absolutely shouldn't be touched? Who knows what's in their heads.
I never knew which method is actually correct.
Right now Naya and Art are fighting over a toy. Dozens of toys are scattered around them. But no. They both need exactly one. The same one.
So what to do?
As a caring father, I simply took this toy from them and went to play with it myself.
The children are already a year old. Naya and Art are already walking with might and main. And they don't just walk around the house; they already often run to the neighbors' as if it's their own house.
"Alastia, how do you like your children?" I asked once.
"OW!"
She came up from behind and started choking me.
"The children are gone," she said. "Now we can play ourselves."
"ACKKK..."
Then she still let me go, and we just lay next to each other.
Thus another year passed.
The children were already speaking in some connected sentences.
Once we had a conversation like this:
"Papa is big-big," Art said.
"Mama is big too," Naya immediately added.
Then Naya poked her finger at her brother:
"Art is small."
"Small," Art repeated.
And both immediately started giggling just at the word "small".
A minute later they were both hanging on me.
"Papa, papa, papa! Give us a piggyback ride!" "Me too! Me too!"
"Alright," I said. "The birdie will give Naya a ride first, and then you, Art."
"Why? Why Naya first?"
"She asked first."
"I want to go first too! I want! I want! I want!"
I thought for a bit.
"Oh, I know a better solution. Let's fly to Mama's work."
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! We want! We want!"
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Lately, they generally said "want" and "give" very often.
"Okay, come on. One sits on one shoulder, one on the other."
I squatted down. They stood on the sofa and began to climb on me very precariously. To avoid falling, they held onto each other and my hair.
"FORWARD!" they both shouted.
And, pulling my hair, began to steer.
"The golem is ready to go," I said. "Show the way."
They immediately pulled my hair forward, and I moved.
"The golem is going to hit the wall now," I warned.
"The golem is going now! The golem is going now!"
"AAAAAA!" they both yelled when I almost crashed.
And immediately started pulling my hair every which way.
Then, when we finally got out of the room, they grew bolder and began to steer me much more confidently.
Getting to the hall where the mages train turned out to be not so simple. Not because it's far. But because I had two very loud commanders sitting on my shoulders.
"Forward!" Naya shouted, pulling my hair. "There! There!" Art yelled, pulling in the other direction.
"The golem is going to fall apart now," I warned.
"No! The golem is strong!" Naya immediately objected. "The golem is big!" Art supported.
"The golem is tired." "Not tired!"
And so we walked. More accurately, I walked, and they rode on me, pulled my hair, and considered that they were fully in control of what was happening.
When we had almost arrived, I decided to go through the door without bending down.
Mistake. Thump.
First Naya. Then almost immediately Art. Both bumped their foreheads on the doorframe.
Silence hung in the air. I froze. Them too.
Then both simultaneously grabbed their heads. I had already prepared for a roar.
But no. Naya just looked very angrily at the doorframe. Art—at me.
"The golem is bad," he said accusatorily.
"The golem didn't notice the door," Naya added.
"The golem apologizes," I said.
"Need more," Naya suddenly said.
"What do you mean 'more'?" I didn't understand.
She poked a finger at the doorframe. "Hit it."
"Ah, revenge."
"Yes."
I lightly slapped the doorframe with my palm.
"Done. We took our revenge on it."
This satisfied them.
We entered the hall.
Training was just going on there. Mages stood in rows, someone was holding a stance, someone was gathering mana, someone was trying not to fail the exercise. Alastia stood in front and was explaining something with such a face as if just a little bit more—and someone would die of their own misunderstanding today.
When she saw us, she simply fell silent at first. Then slowly looked at me.
"Zenkhald."
"What?"
"Why did you drag them here?"
"They wanted to see Mama."
Naya immediately raised her hand. "Wanted!"
"And the golem brought us," Art said.
One of the students snorted with laughter.
Alastia covered her eyes with her hand and took a deep breath.
"Alright," she finally said. "Just be quiet."
"Of course," I answered.
The children immediately climbed off me and started walking around the hall. Quiet, yeah right.
They immediately stared at the students. They were standing in stances. The children also decided to stand in stances.
Naya positioned her legs almost correctly. She raised her arms crookedly, but very similar to what she saw.
Art nearby tried to do the same. Positioned one leg, then the second, then for some reason squatted down, then straightened up and ultimately just stood with a very serious look.
Naya looked at the mages. Repeated the hand movement. And suddenly a small stream of air swirled very smoothly around her fingers.
It immediately became quieter in the hall. One of the students even lowered his hands.
Art saw this and also raised his hand. Nothing. He frowned harder. Raised the second one. Nothing again. Then he looked at his sister, then at his palm, and simply stomped his foot.
I watched this: Naya—is talented. Art—is not.
Well, or not like that. Naya caught everything on the fly. As if her body understood how it should turn out. Art tried to copy, but without her lightness. Stubbornly. Through force. Through "I want to do that too."
Alastia saw it too. I noticed how her face changed for a second. Just a tiny bit. But I noticed.
Art, meanwhile, was not falling behind. He began to copy not the technique, but the mages themselves. How they stand, how they raise their arms, how they make serious faces. At some point, he even began to walk between them, importantly putting his hands behind his back, and muttered something under his breath.
Naya nearby was already trying the air again. This time a small spark also twitched above her palm.
"Oh," I said.
"Not 'oh'," Alastia said quietly, not even looking at me.
"Then what?"
"Nothing."
But from her voice, it was clear—she was thinking.
Art at this moment walked up to one of the students, looked at his stance, then positioned himself exactly the same way and said:
"Like this."
The students were already barely restraining themselves.
Naya also stepped closer, extended her hand, and something worked out for her again. Very weakly, but it worked out.
Art saw that everyone was looking at her, and immediately said:
"Me too."
Raised his hand. Nothing. Raised it higher. Nothing.
Then he turned to me:
"Papa."
"What?"
"It doesn't want to."
"It happens."
"Bad magic."
"Or good you," I said.
He thought for a bit and nodded, as if that sounded reasonable.
Alastia finally let the students go to rest, and they immediately began to glance at the children without any pretense anymore.
Naya stood in the middle of the hall, pleased with herself. Art stood next to her and, it seems, had already decided that if it doesn't work out to be talented, you can at least be nearby.
I looked at them both and suddenly realized that this, probably, is how it will always be. One—grasping things faster. The other—stubbornly catching up. And both still pushing forward anyway.