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excerpt  VI. MONDAY, 8 TO 9, GERMAN When I was in the first grade, I flunked French, German and Romanian. I used to spend my afternoons barefoot on the pitch, sweating, short-sighted, playing oina. [1] I had become famous for the lightning rapidity with which I would catch

The two students, Andrei Banica and Tudor Leru were in a hurry. That's why they had taken the shortcut. Leaving the highway that was taking a detour on the bank of the river Aries, they decided to climb up Vanatu, the mountain bordering on the river like a huge flat

Writing an oral history of a ten-year-old child may seem like a perfectly absurd enterprise any day of the week. The social experience of an individual of ten would not recommend an approach of this kind. With such a person it cannot be a matter of immediate memory. Hence

Dreams exist so that, when your grandpa dies, you can see him from time to time. (aged 7) by student in The Zaica Experiment

How educated are the Romanian parents? I asked Martha Iliescu, the president of the organization Our Children, while I was looking for material for an editorial about teen mothers. I am told that, according to the survey Knowledge, skills and parental practices in Romania,

I once experienced a terrible fright. I woke up one day to discover a different world from what I knew it to be, more clear-cut, more plainly divided into complementary colors and opposite moral categories. It all looked like in a naive painting: clear and graphic. The only

The jurist Matei Monorai lives nearby. If you'd hear him plead in court, you would not hesitate to call him Matei Golden Mouth. Ambrozie is on his way over, to ask Matei to plead for Vornicu, who has been sentenced to death. He arrives. Matei`s kids are playing outside,

excerpt Mother and I were working in a chocolate factory. My mother's husband was not allowed to work. He had to leave the country regularly and apply for asylum again and again. He and my mother always talked about how to make some money. We wanted to steal chocolate

An intellectual's room: books, books, books. At his desk, Father is reading, taking notes, reading. . . the door cracks open and Puiu enters: he advances a few steps, sees Father absorbed in work, and makes for the door.  FATHER (feels his presence): Puiu, is that

Ever since I had known him (and there are many, many years since then, almost four), Georgica is profoundly dissatisfied with the fact he doesn't have a moustache, like every man, and isn't allowed yet to manage by himself. Why, Georgica wonders, why do you have

excerpts …Dreary clothes I do not wish forworn-away I simply abhor!Speckless white – that strikes my fancyOnly white, nought left to chance – yeah:capwithout a speckand a frockwithout a loch.  Not a chimney sweep – a doctor would I be,though at present I may falter,that

Granny kept next to the socksSome old wrinkles in a boxAnd whenever her mood was foul,She'd put them on to help her scowl.  Her grandson, the unruly clot,Found the wrinkles, stole the lot,Stuck them neatly to his browAnd got old that instant – WOW! Now granny's