I remember signatures being collected in schools for the language law. I don't know what the signatures were for, or why they were asking 9-year olds to do it. But I remember signing it and I remember feeling joy doing it. We were told we didn't have to wear our Octobrist pins anymore. That day I went home and asked my mom for a hammer. I sat on the front steps of my house and I beat that grotesque pentagram and Lenin's bald head into a flat piece of metal. I now wish I'd kept it, but back then I just wanted to be rid of it.

They gave us new schoolbooks. The old ones all started with a four-page adulation of Lenin, the Lover of Children and Our Great Father. They said we could throw the old ones away. My school was only about 50 meters away from the Bronze Soldier and the Eternal Flame, a recessed gas fire, was still burning there. Me and some of my friends didn't feel like dumping the books in a trash can. After school, we went to the Flame and we ripped those books to shreds and burned them. Keep in mind we were 9-year-olds. No one told us to burn those books. We weren't politically savvy. But we knew almost viscerally that this shit they had been forcing on us was pure, unadulterated evil.