The meaning of the saying is impossible to always be a hero. “It is impossible to always be a hero, but you can always remain a man” (A.P. Chekhov) (Unified State Exam social studies)
You can't always be a hero
But it is always possible to remain human. I. Goethe.
A hero of our time... The theme raised by the great classic back in the 19th century in the novel "A Hero of Our Time" is also relevant in our 21st century. In the main character Pechorin, we will find the features of the current generation, such as individualism, turning into egocentrism. M.Yu. Lermontov at one time described the hero of his own time, albeit ambiguous, but he remained in history.
It is firmly entrenched in our minds that real feats were accomplished only during military operations. We remember at what cost the victory in the Great Patriotic War! Twenty million lives! Their deeds are immortal!
And where to look for a model of a hero for a modern teenager ?!
The expression - in life there is always a place for a feat - is known. Is it possible to be a hero in our time?... Why not?! Today, it can be called a heroic deed if you were protected from a bully. Although before it was considered in the order of things to stand up for someone who is weaker and cannot fight back himself. The Paralympic Games proved that there are heroes. Disabled people who have won so many medals, aren't they heroes? Is the boy who brought his younger brothers out of the burning house a hero? What if he jumped into the water and saved a drowning man? Why not call him a hero?
And the pilot who, by his actions, forced the governor to apologize to the passengers, the flight was delayed because of him, and was fired - didn’t he show personal courage against the backdrop of general servility?
And the officer who publicly revealed corruption in his unit on the part of the command and was fired, does he also not count?
And what about the major of military communications, who, at the cost of his life, saved the soldiers subordinate to him during the explosion of a combat grenade?
And those soldiers and officers in the Caucasus, saving at the cost of their own lives their comrades, civilians, children in Beslan during a terrorist attack, in the name of only one thing - duty and oath - do they not count?
Yes, time has not stopped giving birth to heroes. But heroism is possible not only during the war or in some extreme situation. It is quite possible to call a hero someone who in our time has achieved something with his work, took place in the profession, created a strong family, who is revered and respected by people.
Of course, such a person did not get everything at once and in one day, but achieved everything with his diligence, diligence, and determination.
The hero of our time is my grandfather Anatoly Ivanovich. He is already 72 years old. But all these years he did not stop working.
With tears in his eyes, he recalls the difficult years of a hungry military and post-war childhood, a large family that miraculously survived, that as a teenager he worked on an equal basis with adults. Grandfather says that it is labor that ennobles a person, makes him truly happy.
My grandfather has a friendly family: a wife, my grandmother, with whom he has lived for 50 years in love and harmony, two adult daughters, whom parents are always proud of, three grandchildren.
And what "golden hands" he has! He built a house himself (it is the best among other houses on the street), grew a garden, in which there is nothing, and, despite his age, he still takes care of a large garden. Now he is on a well-deserved rest, but 40 years have been given to them by the Yaroslavl mining and processing plant, where he worked as an electrician of the sixth category. It has honorary title"Veteran of Labour", many letters and thanks.
So what is he, the hero of our time?
This is a hardworking, honest, decent, responsible person who can always be relied upon, who does deeds and deeds not for personal gain.
Development of the Central Bank No. 000 im. Y. Gagarina
"Hero. Who is he?"
Literary and educational conversation
Third floor, and fourth, and fifth...
Here is the last one, engulfed in fire.
A veil of black smoke hangs.
Fire bursts out of the window.
We still need to pull up a little.
The guy, weakening, crawled to the window,
I got up, choking in the smoke on the ledge,
Picked up the girl and goes down
P. 4. Reading an excerpt from A. Marshall's story
"I can jump over puddles!"
Gradually the crutches became a part of my being. My arms have developed out of all proportion with the rest of the body, they have become especially strong and hard under the armpits. The crutches no longer interfered with me, and I moved freely on them.
When walking, I applied various "styles" to which I gave the names of the gaits. I could walk, trot, amble, gallop. Often I fell and badly hurt myself, but gradually I learned to take such a position when I fell so that my “bad” leg would not suffer from this. I divided all my falls into certain categories and, falling, I knew in advance whether this fall would be “successful” or “unsuccessful”. If the crutches slipped when I had already brought the body forward, then I fell on my back, and this was the most “unfortunate” type of fall, because my “bad” leg twisted and ended up under me. It was very painful, and, falling in this way, I pounded the ground with my hands to keep from crying.
If only one crutch slipped or I caught on a stone or root, then I fell forward on my hands and never hurt myself.
Be that as it may, I always walked around with bruises, bumps and scratches, and every evening I found myself treating a bruise or injury received during the day.
But that didn't upset me. I took these annoying troubles as something inevitable and natural and never connected them with the fact that I was a cripple, because I still did not consider myself a cripple at all.
I always tried to go straight, cut corners, looked for the shortest path. I walked right through the thorny bushes, so as not to take a few extra steps, bypassing them; climbed over the fence to avoid a small detour, although the gate was within easy reach.
A normal child spends his excess energy on all sorts of pranks: jumping, jumping, spinning, walking down the street, kicking pebbles with his foot. I, too, felt this need, and as I walked along the road, I gave free rein and made clumsy attempts to jump and skip, in order to thus express good mood. Adults, seeing these awkward efforts to pour out the joy of life that had seized me, saw in them something deeply touching and began to look at me with such compassion that I immediately stopped my jumps and, only when they disappeared from sight, returned to my happy world, where there was no place for their sadness and their pain.
P. 5. An excerpt from the story of D. Crews "My great-grandfather, heroes and me"
(retelling and reading)
In Montenegro, the country of the Black Mountains, once lived Blaze Brajovic - a boy with big black eyes. Of all his peers, he alone knew how to read and write - this art was taught to him at his request by a local priest. Other boys of his age dreamed of growing mustaches and getting a gun in their hands as soon as possible. Blaze's father, Rade, a man of gigantic stature, broad-shouldered and dense, to whom a pistol and a gun were as dear as a pipe smoker, called his son a lamb. And he often asked himself the question: “What will happen to him when the wolves come?” He called wolves the same Montenegrins as he did - men from a clan with which his own clan was in constant enmity. Men of one kind killed men of another kind out of revenge, for murders committed before. It was considered a shame to take revenge on women and children - only the murder of a man gave the right to believe that the murdered man was avenged. And the men died one by one.
The strife continued, and there was no hope that it would ever end. And Blje thought with horror that the day would probably come when he would have to kill with a knife or shoot from a gun little Ivo from the Brajovic family, with whom they often used to fish together in the stream for trout. This merry-go-round of revenge did not appeal to him.
And therefore no one was as happy as he was when his father announced one fine day that next Friday Đuranovići and Brajovići would gather in the meadow to negotiate an end to the feud. - How did this happen, father? Blazhe asked, blushing with joy and excitement.
I just counted how many men we still have left and how many Đuranovićs have. And I realized that if the bloody strife does not stop, both of our families will soon die out. Therefore, we need to give up revenge and make peace, whether we like it or not. On Friday we will all meet for negotiations. You will lead my horse. - All right, father, - Blazhe answered and again blushed with joy.
Negotiations were conducted on a meadow under a steep rock. It was noon. The sun was high. The air was dry and hot. According to custom, everyone came here: women - in black, children - in white, men - in bright suits and red waistcoats; some had two pistols tucked into their colored belts. Each family followed the order prescribed by custom: the head of the family rode, the eldest son led the horse by the bridle, the rest of the family followed the horse on foot. The black stallion, on which his father was sitting, led Blazhe by the bridle. Deftly jumping off his horse, despite his fifty extra years, Rade sat on a large stone. Even now, he seemed taller than any of his kind. The time for a truce was unfavorable - both clans were still mourning the dead. The pain and sadness were still too fresh, and the negotiations required prudence and endurance. Hardly suppressed hatred against the killers could flare up every second. But Rade, Father Blazhe, overcoming his own anger, kept others in check. When the lamentations for the murdered fathers, husbands and brothers began to grow louder, when both clans began to accuse the murderers and list the dead, he raised his hand and, having silenced both of them, shouted: - We have not gathered here to count the dead and inflame your anger! We have gathered so that both of our families do not wither like grass in a drought. Take a look around! How many wives are there without husbands! How many children without fathers! And you and we have enough weapons and there are still brave men who will not waver in their hand to make all the other women widows and children orphans. We want to make peace not out of fear or weakness, but out of common sense. If the past wins a victory over us here and we speak to each other not with words, but with lead, our families will not see the future! Our families will die out, and from each family there will be only bitter widows cursing their husbands! Blessed did not take his eyes off his father. He had never heard him say that before. It seemed to him that his father, blow after blow, was breaking the heavy chain that bound them all. Many of those present were grateful to the Rada for his speech. And when he, spreading his arms wide, turned to both families with an appeal: “Who is for peace, stand up!” - they immediately jumped to their feet, and behind them all the others got up. So stood next to Djuranovichi and Brajovici - as if an uncompressed field spread under a rock. - Let there be peace! Rade proclaimed, raising his hands.
Development of the Central Bank No. 202 named after. Y. Gagarina
"Hero. Who is he?"
Literary and educational conversation
for children of primary and secondary school age
"You can't always be a hero, but you can always be human"
Johann Goethe
1st host: Every nation throughout the centuries-old history of their Motherland valued above all loyalty to the Fatherland, the courage and courage of heroes fighting for the triumph of goodness and justice. Ideas about the ideal hero were reflected in oral folk art, tales, legends, epics. Remember, for example, fabulous villains, ancient Greek heroes, medieval knights or Russian heroes. (we look and comment on the illustrations (slides 2-4), recall legends and fairy tales)2nd leader: In real life, heroism is most clearly manifested in extreme situations or in difficult moments of trials, for example, during liberation wars. It was then that almost everyone stood up to defend their homeland from enemy invaders ... And often, even at the cost of their own lives, people try to protect loved ones (children, fathers and mothers) from the worst ..., their actions are driven by a feeling of love for relatives, hearth and, of course, a sense of duty to their country - homeland. The creativity of writers, artists, musicians helps to capture the exploits of the liberators for posterity historically... (remember the war of 1812, the exploits of soldiers in the Great Patriotic War; read out an excerpt from L. Sobolev's story "The Battalion of Four" - see: appendix, p. 1, slides 5-6)1st host: Guys, is it right to think that heroism is manifested only in battles and battles? Do you think there is a place for heroism in peaceful life? (statements of the guys and reading the poem by S.Ya. Marshak "The Story of unknown hero"- see: appendix, p. 2, slide 7)2nd leader: Let's think about what is the meaning of the word "heroism"? (give the guys the opportunity to express their opinions) (slide 8) Summarizing all that has been said, we can summarize: heroism is actions that require personal volitional qualities from a person - courage, stamina, readiness for empathy. Together: Let's think about what qualities are inherent in people who perform heroic deeds? (slide 9, discussion of the character traits of a person capable of performing a feat; leading the children to the idea that for a heroic deed it is not physical strength and developed muscles that are important, but strength of mind, convictions, stamina, etc.)1st host: In confirmation of our reasoning, I will read you an old Scottish ballad by R.L. Stevenson "Heather honey", which was translated for us by S.Ya. Marshak. (reading and discussion of the work - see: appendix, p. 3, slide 10)2nd leader: In the poem, the old mead maker says the following words: "I did not believe in the stamina of the young, who do not shave their beards," believing that it is difficult for young people to resist difficult life trials. I would like to doubt this statement and introduce you to the hero of Alan Marshall's wonderful story "I can jump over puddles", in which the author talks about the victory over his physical ailment. The fact is that the hero of the story, a boy from Australia (A. Marshall), at the age of six had polio and, unfortunately, and this was more than a hundred years ago, this disease was not yet able to be cured. Alan survived, but could no longer walk without crutches and a wheelchair. But the most important thing is that he steadfastly and courageously fought against the vicissitudes of fate in order to become a full-fledged person. Alan's dedication is amazing! They told him: “You can’t and you won’t be able to!”, but he did not reconcile himself to the sad fate of a cripple and fought with sticks with a school enemy, descended into the crater of an extinct volcano, learned to swim, ride a horse ... Overcoming himself gave rise to enviable stamina in him and courage. Do you know what the boy became when he grew up? A traveling reporter (and later a writer)! He traveled the world in a van and a specially adapted car, and with his life and work he proved that hopeless situations are rare and human strength is not so small as to not withstand the blows of fate. (reading an excerpt from the story and searching for an answer to the question "Alan Marshall's main character traits?" - see: appendix, p. 4, slide 11)1st host: Let's get acquainted with another book, which talks a lot about exploits and heroic deeds. The book "My great-grandfather, heroes and I" was written by a wonderful German author D. Krüs, the meaning of which is to clarify the question, who is the real hero? The old man and the boy tell each other parables, stories, fairy tales - and they are all about heroism. This is a very wise book on how to learn to distinguish a feat from recklessness, boasting, bravado. (reading and discussion of an excerpt from the story - see: appendix, p. 5, slide 12)2nd leader: Today, talking about various events and people, we very often used the concept of "heroism" ("courage", "courage"). But does heroism depend on a person’s age or gender, and, in general, how and from what is this quality born? (guys saying)(slide 13) Heroism is born only if a person has strong-willed qualities - courage, stamina, readiness for empathy, as well as a sense of justice and good heart. These people are our contemporaries. 12-year-old Ksyusha Perfilyeva saved a drowning seven-year-old boy, gave him first aid, although she herself had only recently learned to swim. 11-year-old Anton Chusov saved two girls who were drowning in a pond, according to all the rules of a professional rescuer, remembering the film that the children were shown in class. 22-year-old stewardess Vika Zilberstein did not lose her composure in the plane that caught fire during landing, in smoke and flames she reached the emergency hatch and did not leave the burning plane until those who could move independently were saved. According to eyewitnesses, she saved about thirty people. 8-year-old girl Sasha Egorova saved a three-year-old baby during a roof collapse in Moscow's Transvaal water park. For more than an hour she held the girl above the water, not even noticing that her own arm was broken. These people are not strong men at all, they do not have pumped up muscles, but we call them heroes for their courage and noble heart. Together: And now, please, choose the statement that, in your opinion, most accurately reflects the concept of heroism. (slide 14, the guys read and discuss quotes, make their choice and justify it). And in conclusion of our meeting, I would like to tell you guys, think more, read. It is very good if the book becomes your true friend! References:Sobolev L. S. Battalion of four: stories and essays / L. S. Sobolev, art. A. Alekseev. - L .: Det. lit., 1988. - 127 p. : ill. - (Sea glory).
Marshak S. Ya. The story of an unknown hero / S. Ya. Marshak. - M .: Det. lit., 1989. - 20 p. : ill.
Stevenson R. L. Children's flower garden of poems / R. L. Stevenson. – M.: Octopus, 2011.- 159 p. : ill.
Marshall A. I can jump over puddles / A. Marshall. - M. : OGI, 2003. - 372 p. - (We are together). Crews J. My great-grandfather, heroes and me / J. Crews, trans. A. Isaeva, art. L. Nizhny - M .: Det. Lit., 1972. - 191 p. :ill. Efremova T. F. Modern Dictionary Russian language in 3 volumes / T. F. Efremova. - M. : AST, Astrel, Harvest, 2006. - 976 p. Philosophical encyclopedic Dictionary/ Ch. edition: L. F. Ilyichev, P. N. Fedoseev, S. M. Kovalev, V. G. Panov - M .: Sov. Encyclopedia, 1983. - 840 p.
- Science Fiction Lab [ Electronic resource]. – Electr. Dan. - Access mode: /edition44650
free. - Zagl. from the screen. Universal Library [Electronic resource]. – Electr. Dan. - Access mode: /ARCHIVES/K/KRYUS_Djeyms/_Kryus_Dj..html free. - Zagl. from the screen.. [Electronic resource] - Electr. Dan. - Access mode: /alan-marshall/ free. - Zagl. from the screen.
Application.
P.1. An excerpt from the work of L. Sobolev "Battalion of Four". The sailors are fighting an unequal battle - there are only five of them, one is seriously wounded, and there are hundreds of enemies. But stubborn courage, contempt for death, unshakable stamina win, and the impossible happens - the enemy retreats! ... When suddenly there was silence, they came to their senses and looked around: Kotikov's cheek was pierced by a bullet, two bullets were sitting in Perepelitsa's leg. Litovchenko was also wounded. All fore-menki went to dressings. Ahead, obviously, were only their own. The sailors made Leontiev comfortable in the trench, brought him water, washed him and gave him a drink, put a machine gun and grenades near him, found in the trench. He looked at all these worries, smiling weakly, and his eyes, full of tears, spoke better than any words about what was in his soul. This look probably embarrassed Negreba, because he got up and said with excessive efficiency: - Lie down here, we won't shake anymore. We'll send a stretcher. Let's go look for ours. And they stood up - four people in striped vests, in black peakless caps, tinted, tied with scraps of uniforms, but strong and ready to break through hundreds of enemies again. And, apparently, they themselves were amazed at their tenacious strength. And Perepelitsa said: - One sailor - a sailor, two sailors - a platoon, three sailors - a company ... How many of us? Four? .. Battalion, listen to my command: step ... arsh! P.2. Poem by S.Ya. Marshak "The Story of an Unknown Hero"| 1. Looking for firefighters, looking for the police, Looking for photographers in our capital, Looking for a long time, but can not find a Guy of some twenty years. Medium height, broad-shouldered and strong, He walks in a white T-shirt and cap. The TRP sign is on his chest. They don't know anything about him anymore. What did he do, and what is his fault? Here's what people say about him. | One citizen was driving around Moscow - White cap on head I rode in the spring on the platform of the tram, Singing something under the roar of wheels ... Suddenly he saw - opposite in the window Someone is rushing about in smoke and fire. A lot of people crowded on the panel. People looked under the roof in alarm: There from the window through the fiery smoke The child stretched out his hands to them |
| 2. Without losing one minute for nothing, A guy rushed from the platform of the tram to cut across the car And climbed up the drainpipe. The third floor, and the fourth, and the fifth ... Here is the last one, engulfed in fire. A veil of black smoke hangs. Fire bursts out of the window. We still need to pull up a little. The guy, weakening, crawled to the window, He got up, choking in the smoke on the ledge, He took the girl and goes down | Here he grabbed the column with his hand. Here he stepped along the ledge to the balcony ... Barely stands on the ledge leg, And to the balcony - four steps. Seen by people looking down How carefully he walked along the ledge. Here he is halfway through. We still have to go halfway. Step. Stop. Another. Stop. Here he deftly reached the balcony. Climbed over the iron barrier He opened the door - and disappeared into the apartment ... |
| 3. A cloud of dust interferes with smoke, Fire trucks are rushing They click loudly, they whistle in alarm. Copper helmets glitter in rows. A moment - and the copper helmets crumbled. Stairs grew quickly, like in a fairy tale. The people in the tarpaulin - one by one - They climb the stairs into the flames and smoke ... The flame is replaced by carbon monoxide. The pump drives a water jet. A woman, crying, approaches the firemen: - Girl, save my daughter! | - No, - the firemen answer in unison, - The girl was not found in the building. We have now gone around all the floors, But no one has been found yet. Suddenly from the gates of a burnt house One unfamiliar citizen came out. Red from rust, all bruised, He held the girl tightly in his arms. The daughter cried, hugging her mother. The guy jumped on the platform of the tram, A shadow flickered behind the wagon glass, He waved his cap and disappeared around the corner. The sign "TRP" on his chest |
| 4. Looking for firefighters, looking for the police, Looking for photographers in our capital, Looking for a long time, but can not find a Guy of some twenty years. Medium height, broad-shouldered and strong, He walks in a white T-shirt and cap, | They don't know anything about him anymore. Many guys are broad-shouldered and strong, Many wear t-shirts and caps. There are many similar badges in the capital. TO glorious feat everyone is ready! |
| 1. Heather drink Forgotten a long time ago. And he was sweeter than honey, Drunker than wine. They boiled it in cauldrons And drank it with the whole family Little mead-makers In caves underground. | The Scottish king came, Ruthless to the enemies, He drove the poor Picts To the rocky shores. On the heather field, On the battlefield, Lying alive on the dead And dead on the living. |
| 2. Summer has come in the country, Heather is blooming again, But there is no one to cook Heather honey. In their cramped graves, In the mountains native land Little honey cooks have found a shelter for themselves | The king rides up the slope Above the sea on horseback, And next to him the seagulls soar On a par with the road. The king looks sullenly: "Again in my land The honey heather blooms, But we don't drink honey!" |
| 3. But then his vassals Noticed two of the last meaders, Survivors. They came out from under the stone, squinting at the white light, old hunchbacked dwarf And a boy of fifteen. | They were brought to the steep seashore for interrogation, But not one of the captives uttered the Word. The king of Scotland was sitting, Not moving, in the saddle And the little people were standing on the ground |
| 4. Angrily the king said: "Torture awaits both, If you don't tell me, damn it, How did you prepare the honey!" The son and father were silent, Standing at the edge of the cliff. Heather rang over them, Waves rolled into the sea. | And suddenly a voice rang out: "Listen, Scottish king, Let me talk to you eye to eye! Old age is afraid of death. I will buy life by treason, I will give out a cherished secret!" - The dwarf told the king. |
| 5. His sparrow voice sounded sharply and clearly: “I would have given away the secret long ago, If my son hadn’t interfered! The boy doesn’t feel sorry for life, He doesn’t care about death ... deep waters - And I will teach the Scots How to cook ancient honey! .. "A strong Scottish warrior The boy was tightly tied | And cast into the open sea from the coastal sheer cliffs. The waves closed over him. The last cry died away... And the old father answered him with an echo From the cliff: "I told the truth, Scots, I expected trouble from my son. I did not believe in the stamina of the young, Not shaving their beards. And I'm not afraid of a fire. Let him die with me My holy secret is My heather honey!" |
MBOU Dedinovskaya ShISOO
Essay-reasoning on the topic
"And the heroes are near..."
11th grade students
Zhukova Alena
Teacher: Simakova N.N.
2016
And the heroes are near….
You can't always be a hero
but always
You can remain human.
Johann Goethe.
Probably everyone admits that more than once he thought about the question: “What is heroism, who is a hero?” We hear a lot in Lately about the fact that the heroes "transferred", only the heroes of the past, war years, remained, since there is no war - there is nowhere for the heroes to come from. An active discussion of this issue made me recall one case and challenge those who believe that heroes are only in war.
Once in a city park, I happened to hear a conversation between a mother and her son. The child fiddled with his mother, then suddenly asked:
Mom, who is the hero?
A hero?.. Well, this is some unusual person who performs feats, brave, courageous, courageous. Most often, such people are awarded medals.
I was consumed by curiosity as to what prompted the boy to ask this question. Disregarding the rules of decency, I looked around: a young woman was sitting on a bench, a book lay on her lap - M.Yu. Lermontov "A Hero of Our Time" “I see,” I thought, “probably recently learned to read, I decided to show off.”
But the boy, who looked about six or seven years old, did not let up:
It turns out that heroes are only in war?
Not only. A hero can be called any person who has done good, courageous act and in peacetime.
Then my friend Sasha is also a hero. He climbed a huge-oh-ohm tree and helped the little kitten down.
Oh yeah! Your Sasha is undoubtedly a hero!! mother scoffed.
It was a pity for him! .. Do you know how he meowed? ..
Who? Sasha? - the woman laughed out loud, which made me look back a second time - I saw smugness on her face, it seemed to say: “That's how I know how to joke!”
It was fun for everyone. Like in a joke. Mom brilliantly "cut off" children's curiosity and desire to broaden their horizons.
I remembered all this now, when the question of the meaning of the word “hero” was raised, but even then, when I was a little girl, I realized: my mother said everything correctly, but something was wrong ... Years later, it became clear WHAT exactly was not so and why I was so impressed by this dialogue. I really wanted then that the mother took the act of her son's friend more seriously and said: “I agree, your Sasha is a real hero! Not everyone dares to save a kitten.
But the child is right! We are accustomed to calling heroes people who have accomplished a feat in the name of the Fatherland. Why is not a hero a little brave man Sashka, who, having forgotten about the danger and punishment of his father not to climb trees, performs such a noble deed ?? Undoubtedly a hero! Let it be in the name of the cat, let it be small for now. It is from such Sasha that real heroism grows, since he comes from childhood.
In my opinion, the concept of heroism needs to be looked at more broadly, because if you look closely, the heroes are nearby, but not everyone can see, understand and appreciate them, just as the boy’s mother did not appreciate the boy in the park, although she claimed that any person who has done a good deed can become a hero. a courageous act.
So what qualities should a hero have? Of course, he must possess such traits as honesty, courage, courage, sensitivity, wisdom, selflessness and, of course, the ability to take care of loved ones, and sometimes give his life for their salvation or well-being, that is, all the qualities of a highly moral person.
Is it not possible to call a woman-mother a heroine? Who will rush to save the child in the first place, no matter what situation he finds himself in? Who takes care of him from birth, protects him from worries and adversity, cares and educates him, forgetting about fatigue? It's hard to imagine whatthe weaker sex must have strength carrying on their shoulders all the burdens of education. Remember what the country experienced on the terrible morning of September 1, 2004. Most of the dead that day were women. Mothers brought their children to a school in Beslan, mothers, unable to stand it, rushed at the terrorists, mothers covered their children with their bodies. Both their own and others. Selfless maternal love is not a feat? And how many painful trials does Nilovna go through, the heroine of M. Gorky's novel "Mother"? Having learned about the political position of her son Pavel, Pelageya Nilovna from a mother becomes a woman fighter, capable of anything to protect her son and develop his business. She becomes a friend of his ideological comrades, accepts their views, helps in everything, while painfully experiencing the danger that threatens Paul and his like-minded people.
A hero... Often we don't notice him, but he is near, he is everywhere.
Once I saw a helpless grandmother standing in the middle of the highway, desperately looking around at the stream of cars rushing at breakneck speed. It is clear that she crossed the road in a place not allowed for pedestrians. But how does Grandma know where it is safer and closer to the hospital? She was so frightened and confused that I involuntarily wanted to help her. Suddenly, one car braked sharply, and the driver does something completely unpredictable: he turns the car across the road, thus blocking traffic, gets out, takes the stunned grandmother by the arm, drives across the road and, bowing to other drivers, they say, sorry, sorry, leaves. Isn't that a heroic act of this sensitive driver? Undoubtedly! Another thing struck me: a young woman behind me whispered caustically: “Well, just a hero ...”
The question that has tormented me ever since: “How does a sense of heroism arise in us? Why not everyone?" It means that someone forgot to tell that young woman how important goodness is in the world, and “Master and Margarita”, where Yeshua preaches goodness and considers it the truth of mankind, she did not read - she did not have such a life lesson at the time of the formation of her personality.
Thinking about heroism led me to the conclusion that literature teaches us to understand "what is good and what is bad." In childhood, we imitate the characters of fairy tales, at a young age - heroes works of art classic writers. Try not to admire Natasha Rostova when she frees carts loaded with valuable household belongings (crystal, books, carpets, expensive clothes, etc.) and gives them to the wounded. Not only this act deserves the respect of readers. How much courage, endurance and perseverance the heroine needed to take care of the wounded soldiers. All her beauty comes from the fact that she grew up in an atmosphere of spiritual purity, kindness and mutual understanding.
There is always a place for a feat, no matter what time we live. There are thousands of examples of heroism. I don't want to believe that modern people crushed so much that now everyone has a priority material values that there are no more true heroes with a broad soul. There are heroes. We must teach us to see them. That is why we should more often raise the question of who is a hero for us, whom we should imitate and consider the ideal of a person. And of course, to form all the qualities of a hero in a child is the task of adults, because it was not for nothing that Antoine de Saint-Exupery said: “We all come from childhood.”
I don’t know how the boy I met with my mother in the park grew up, but it seems to me that the mother, who did not attach importance to Sasha’s courageous act, may have killed in her child the ability to see a feat and imitate such courage. I would like to believe that the boy remained true to his convictions and went through life with a firm thought: “Sasha is still a hero, and I WILL be the same!”
The Russian people say: "To live life is not to cross the field", thereby emphasizing how difficult it is human life how difficult its sharp turns can be. And at each of these turns, a person can find himself in situations where volitional qualities character - courage, determination, courage and courage.
Yes, it is always easier said than done. And one cannot but agree with the statement "how many people there are, so many characters." And that means different lives, and different destinies. Meanwhile, a person's life is so short that you want to live it as best as possible, brighter, more interesting. Or, as the classic says, "so that it would not be excruciatingly painful for the aimlessly lived years."
Each person goes through life in his own way. But at the end of this journey, not everyone dares to look back to see what "traces" he left on the earth.
I. Talkov has a wonderful ballad that has become a song. It tells how during civil war"the former podaul left to fight" "for people's power." And although this war was waged "with his own people," he was firmly convinced that "this is how it should be." Heeding neither the curses of his father, nor the disapproving silence of his brother, nor the quiet weeping of his wife, the former lieutenant left the house. He "succeeded in the war and finished it as commander." But in the end, judgment day came for him. After all, nature is wise, and the eye of the Most High Sees our every step on a thorny road; There comes a moment when each of us at the last line remembers God.
The army commander also remembered the curse of his father, And how he didn’t listen to God’s order by the river ... Then the shutter clicked, and nine grams of lead Released his sinful soul for judgment ...
In our hectic time, both morality and moral principles are often forgotten. They are replaced by business acumen, the ability to make a profit and grow rich, taking care of yourself first of all. Of course, "it is impossible to always be a hero, but you can always remain a man," said Goethe.
At the end of the 60s of the XX century. V. Vysotsky wrote a poem called "I do not love." It contains lines in which he expressed his attitude to the depreciation of morality and humanity that took place before his eyes:
I'm annoyed if the word "honor" is forgotten And if in honor there are slanders behind the back.
The popular Russian writer A. Ivanov has a wonderful story "Life on a sinful earth." The events described in it take place during the reign of Stalin. The guy and the girl do not have souls in each other. A loving couple is preparing for the wedding. But then a young handsome guy appears in their village, who has just served in the army. The girl liked him, and he tries his best to upset her relationship with her beloved. And when he fails, he sets fire to the collective farm stacks at night, arranging everything so that the blame will certainly fall on the girl's beloved boyfriend.
After spending almost two decades in the camps, a guy with poor health returns to his native village. Here he learns that the girl still married his rival. Even in the camps, the guy realized who and why put him behind bars. And for many years in prison, he only dreamed of taking revenge on the person who broke his life. It was the thirst for revenge that gave him strength and energy in prison, when he found himself on the verge between life and death. But gradually the guy - now an elderly weak man - understands that life has already punished the offender for him - drunkenness, illness, unhappy family life.
One early winter morning, a man goes fishing. In the pre-dawn darkness, he noticed from a distance a dark silhouette on the ice of the river. And when he approached, he saw his offender. He was making a hole and fell through the ice.
There was not a single living soul nearby. With one movement of the hand, a man could send his offender under the ice. But instead, he takes off the belt, ties it around his wrist, and throws the other end to a drowning man. Discussing the mental struggle of his hero at that moment, the writer concludes: "Yes, human beings ... There are many living creatures on earth, but there is no more beautiful person, with reason because, with consciousness."
It seems to me that such stories should teach each person what to be. After all, from childhood we are taught to love people, to be kind and sympathetic, courageous and noble, to be a good son or a good daughter for our parents, a patriot of our Motherland. But not every one of us becomes a real person. You have to be able to appreciate life. It is necessary, as L. Tolstoy said, to live, and not learn to live.
We live on Earth once, and our life will be long if we can understand its meaning, if we can leave the creations of our hands on earth. As A. Chekhov said, "life is given once, and you want to live it cheerfully, meaningfully, beautifully. You want to play a prominent, independent, noble role, you want to make history ...". Everyone would like to live like this, but it depends on the person himself. Whoever you are, whatever you do, if your work is not illuminated by love for people, if your worries are closed only on yourself, you will not be happy. Maybe your business will give you money, fame, pride and self-satisfaction, but among all this there will not be one thing - happiness ...
