Balka Orest Vasilevich

Balka Orest Vasilevich


lay flowers

July 26, 1998 was the happiest day of my life – my son was born. We called him Orestes. Orest Beam. He was our joy, meaning in life. I was always with him when he said the first word, took the first step, together we played and got the first bumps, scratches. Together we bought school supplies for the first class, rejoiced at his first success in school, gave advice if something did not work out.

Of course, for all, Orestes was an ordinary kid, but for me he was special, because mine, my blood-sucker, my heir. He lived an ordinary life, like all children of his age, but for me as a father she was very significant and dear. Together we went to school, a lyceum, where according to the results of the course of study, for his successes, the son received an increased scholarship.

We never had to blush for the actions of our son. He was our pride. He studied with desire, with interest comprehended the basics of the future profession, made plans.