I stand at the school in Kozari Boku and read: Dr. Vinka Žganca, My School - Eco School ... As I wait for my child, I run on the corridors and look at the big poster: "This is the place of zero tolerance to violence." Come on, how ironic. Because, here, my generation in my skin has learned what this violence is. But not from peers. But from the professor ... I sit on the bench in the corridor and I'm back 30 back years ...

Sometimes it was called "1". May "and we loved him terribly. In the compositions we called it "red beauty" because it was new, bright and coated with a red brick. The big gym room was all about us, and remembering how in the blue sky we ran to the gablec waiting for us at the tables in front of binomial. Cabinets, boards, chalks ... We all loved and really appreciated somehow.

But about how much we loved school and what happened in it beautifully I would write on another occasion. Now I'm targeting those who have done everything to scare us and to be scared. And this is the "school director" personally and his cousins, the abusers of children who did not choose to punish - the professors of chemistry, history and the Croatian.

It is no surprise to me that people from my neighborhood, from my generation, speak the best Croatian language that I hear a little where. We clearly distinguish between "and" and "we" have no problems, and there is no doubt about what the adjective, predicate or verb is. Because if Rogićka had them, Rogić would break our heads quickly. Swaddling, haircut and painful ejaculation. At best…

In worst case, Pija's head was so brazenly in the phone book that made him observe that the whole booklet had been forgotten by the blood. Blood, literally, marked the clocks of Croatia and history and I had the misfortune that this completely unbalanced woman was a four year full-time ...

Rogićka was a dumb, forgetful woman who would remember halfway in the corridor to forget something in the cabinet. Then he would put the booklet, bag, and jacket in the middle of that same corridor and head back to the classroom. I will never forget how we overlooked her things and how we were afraid we would not touch them. Because, apart from nursing the nose, she was terribly fond of her. And then he shook hands over the trash can to get rid of the broken hair. It was not a mockery for me, even though I did nothing wrong. I did not like that because she was impressed by my team winning at the level of the then Yugoslavia. She was very excited about it and prepared me to read the winning composition in Lisince. I remember how it was and how the people, the JNA generals and some very important people with the zulufs in suits and wide crowns were sitting in the first place. And me? I simply feared with no voice. I could not even say letters. Not because of uniforms. Not because of the tie and very important people. But for the one who looked at me from the second row ...

Rogićki was dangerously competing with an alcoholic who was teaching chemistry. We called it Groggy. He just scamed it regularly. If you do not know the answer to the question, he followed the blow. Never, I will never forget how to hit a cognac when Edi was sitting with me with me back. I do not know what Edo was doing wrong, maybe he whispered to me or raised a paper ... The horrible he hit his head with both hands at the same time ... So strong that my little friend noticed just slid off the chair.

All this blessed the director. Small, smooth, with glasses and suits, tense and barely clenched on the stomach. He was cruel. And I know, I just know, did not like kids. Professionals who did not have the heart beat children, "malicious" sent to the director. These unlucky guys were usually led by an excellent disciple. I remember, my story and my sister, how she cried the leading disobedience because she knew what was waiting for them. The director never asked anything, and the door started to beat and beat where he came. We, who waited for them, cried together with them returning to the classroom.

Interestingly, we have never reported such things to our parents. Just, we thought it was normal, that we were evil, that we deserved it and that everywhere was like that.

Now I realize that this is not normal and that in other schools it was not so. We often commented that such professors were at us, in Kozari boku, by punishment. As time passes, I increasingly believe in it ...

It was, though, the wonderful professors who were compassionate with us, around us, and wanted to make us good people. I suspect them, however, that they were silent observers without any reaction. In spite of everything and everything, we mostly have grown up in good people. I note with sorrow that those who were most punished have done something worse. With no confidence and bent heads they walk around the square as if something is wrong. And they did not. Now, and they were not even then ...