I've had sometimes to process what I learned from my father and I decide to share it with you guys. My father died in 1985. I was around two and half at the time so I don't have much memories. Anyway, my father did aquired various way something from out dear eastern Neighbour, then known as Soviet Union, which their big brother then known as KGB didn't like to lose. And that was got my father killed but not till he hid it so well, that according my father's best friend, people still search it, even today.
Now this do tell quite alot about what kind of man my father is but also gives me alot mixed feelings. He was professional who put what he believed in prior everything. He gambled everything dear to him for his work. He was tenacious, resourceful and had ability to withstand tremendous stress. But I also think was that work really necessary for him to go so far and risk that much? In result of that I lost my father before I even knew him for the reason nobody knows outside very small circles. I often these days think, what my father could have taught me and what kind of person I would become, if my father would have placed family first instead his job? Though I do understand that in his kind of work, you really don't get out, which most likely was the case with him when he met my mother. I am really a lucky one as I don't remember my father except few memories. My older half brother's do not talk about him, nor does his family. my father has become a taboo of somesort ever since there was rumors about a laywer investigating my father case and circumstances in few years later, disapearing and few years later his remains was recovered from a small swamp grave with two most likely makararov calibre holes back of his skull.
My father was a spook that became taboo but I know there are few person in this family and outside who do remember him. I just wish we could talk about him but unfortuantely nobody is willing to do that and considering everything that has happened, I am not surprised. But with his legacy, I got my first computer, my first knife and I drove with my drivers license thanks to my father and the widow's pension my mom was entitled. I found when I was 6 or so bunch of rust which was pocket knife under a washing machine, it was my father's old, most likely german made, all rusted, broken plastic handle camp knife. I still remember how it looked so it was no problem years later to indentify the pattern. You barely could see the blades from rust. But pattern was a camp knife. My greatest regret is that I don't remember what I did with it. I may have thrown it out as it was pile of rust in the eyes of young kid. These days I really hope I would have that but I haven't seen that knife since. It was no frill working man's knife. Nothing fancy Bond had. I think in away choice of his pocket knife told me alot from his personality aswell. A camp knife small, sturdy knife that can take abuse. Its a true working man's knife, not a knife you would buy to open letters.
when you actually think this, our family story could make half decent spy novel... but it could also make the few remaining people in certain circle feel perhaps too uncomfortable. So, perhaps its best to wait 20 more years to make absolutely sure that those who were active during cold war and had power are dead or atleast senile enough... in case I really make it a book
