I do not remember it exactly, but it happened on sunday at half past two in the morning and it changed the rest of my life. I got an official chance to affect the course of events, at least by louder scream at the begining. What came after is not authenticated, first memographic evidence of consciousness dates back to nursery school, specificaly into dressing room. I has kept this outstanding sence of trifle noting till now. Besides a scar the nursery also engraved other memories into my mind. I developed a distaste to milk crust, always played a buffoon at masquerade, experienced first platonic love and baloon being inflated by hoover, even I fell for wordless and undisquised admiration for mrs teacher, who always and infallibly managed something completely unfeasible: to insert a loaded spoon into oral cavity without any loss recognizable all around.

Besides the notoriously known pictures in first grade textbook about mama and Ema when speaking about elementary school I remember just a little bit goofy but widely, relatively, and paradoxically favoured class "comrade teacher" in third and fourth year. She flavoured her popularity with astonishing humour at the expense of her pupils, not hesitating e.g. to publish an intimate interclass-mail, or to blow up an imperfection to a tragi-comic extent. Next years went as cool as cucumber, especially geography teacher resembled a funny cucumber, for him all of us were "zasran" (means a brat) and that suited the purpose for 90% of his emotional effusions. Our class teacher was great, I realy liked her, 'cause of her I started to like math and even farming lessons. :) The math has outlasted till now.
Unfortunatelly,I also experienced my first and mercifully my last bullying here, and must agree with the opinion that neither teachers nor parents count for much here. Solution is usually brougt by the end of school, change in agressor'd interests or simply a mighty-party membership (counterbalanced with certain services).
Off the school there was much more fun. Ovsište (housing estate in Bratislava-Petržalka) associates unlimited social opportunities for overcrowded concrete jungle community with pleasure from the rest of original river-round-landscape, and that's definitely essential for happy and exciting childhood. But the real fun took place in the country near Trnava, distinctive agricultural country with oases of original nature (willow trees along a stream), where I used to spend every weekend and holidays in the family and local friends fold.
Local scamp traditions comprised battles against neighbouring villages for strategic area, farmer's stack of straws infiltration and conversion into sophisticated labyrinth, burning down a waste dump and actually everything, that did not tend to turn against, then bunker digging, stretch guns production and consequent armed conflict provocation, furious rides down the village on roadworthy wooden boards, which though comprising neither ABS nor brakes they still disposed of unfailing navigation system that always safely guided into a ditch. I must not omit remote knocking on people's doors or periodic harvest maintenance of gardens.
Naturally there was much more of that, after all, childhood is not only those few stories adults get a kick of retrospectively but also the relict feelings which remains forgotten and covered by tons of newer, mostly hopeless ones. And it's a luck if these feelings are being brought back by our children, because this is the way how not to fall for pseudo-adulthood.

Here the real drill began, "Tomašička" (its nick) gave me tremendous basics of wide-spectral knowledge. All I had mugged up I realy started to enjoy. Naturally, couple of failures dampened my zest down, for example literary presentations usually turned me into a discomposed sad sack, or math tests - no matter how carefully prepared I was - it steadily ended up full of numerical mistakes and rated for mark "3". But I didn't give up. And passed the school-leaving exam. Like anyone. Now yippee to universityyyy :)

To be continued....