"Перед шестнадцатилетием позвонила мама. Сказала, что заказала ресторан...

“Before my sixteenth birthday, my mother called. She said that she had ordered a restaurant for my friends, but unfortunately they will not be with my dad.“ You won’t be offended? ”Asked. Offended? But this is just some incredible luck! Sixteen years without ancestors, I am alone with friends in a restaurant! Wow, this is a holiday! "It’s a pity that you will not be,” I say. “Dad hi.” This “pity” was one of the most insincere in my life. On my birthday I got a present from my dad, and instead of a postcard, his portrait with the inscription: “Beloved Ksyushenka from a loving dad.” The gift was unpacked quickly and with impatience , and put the portrait on the shelf in passing. On the morning of my birthday I was in a panic: the dress turned out to be a greasy stain, and I still had to put my hair in, choose a bag, shoes. My father’s call caught me in the beauty salon: "Dear little, we congratulate you! Sorry we're not together today. Understand there are circumstances. "" What are you, dad, everything is fine. Thank you for your congratulations, it's just a hairdryer, hard to hear. You don’t need to come, then we’ll deal with you, "I said." Daughter, I love you very much, "I heard somewhere in the distance." Yes, yes, dad, I love you too, "I mechanically answered, examining my On that day, his father was released from the hospital on his own responsibility home for the weekend, he was helped to organize a private plane, and after three and a half hours he was in Paris, thinking that he had forever left the country that he truly loved. It was one of my most fun holidays: gifts, girlfriends, loud music, dancing and all the joy, and the pungency of life, which happens only at this age. What hell did my parents live in these November days of my sixteen, I found out when my mother returned from Paris after dad’s heart operation, at home she whispered in a whisper about dad, hospital, heart attack and the fact that my father still cannot live in our city, in our country. How many holidays, dresses, rustling packages with gifts and for evenings! How could to be so absorbed in vanity that you don’t hear the trembling in your father’s voice? Why didn’t I leave the institute and did not go to live with my father in Paris? There is already no first love, I don’t remember the names of my fellow students and I don’t remember with whom I spent these years my father’s links. And the one whom I miss so much, I remember every day. And that father’s portrait every day reminds me of the main flaw of the human essence - the inability to appreciate the truly valuable in the present. "Ksenia Sobchak