All orphan children have their own story; some are bad and some are good. In my case, it was terrific. Yes, I was in an orphanage for several years before my brother and I were adopted. I remember bits and pieces of what my life was like during those years. I remember when I first arrived there I was separated from my brother, Pasha, and taken to a different room, given a bath, and then put to bed because it was naptime. I remember wanting to see Pasha, because he was the only family I had at that point.
You see, before the orphanage my life was chaotic. My dad was beaten to death when I was young, and my mom was an alcoholic. She was hardly ever there for us, and my oldest brother was in the military for some time.
I remember when I was living at home with my mother. She could not hold a job for more than a day because she got paid, got drunk, and would not show up to work the next day. I remember waking up in the morning wet, because she had peed in the bed. I also remember that Pasha and I were in the streets most of the time, playing around or just walking. I remember a few great times we had as a family, like going to Arkhangelsk to pick up Pasha, who was attending school there.
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