Ivan’s story is the story of many children in the world. Everyone should read it.
The story is about Ivan, but totally, it isn’t only about him. It is, rather, about millions of other children like Ivan, living the same nightmare across the world today.
While this story of Ivan is fictional, its message broke my heart into pieces. We must not ignore this issue. We must not forget Ivan.
After failing his exam, Ivan walked home slowly knowing that his mother would be angry, and he was right. She grabbed him and threw him on the floor. She didn’t care a bit when his leg hit the chair, she even slams his head twice on floor. When his father was back home, he beat him hard for the same reason.
He woke up, he realized he was already at the hospital. He looked through the window and saw children playing outside and their parents hugged them from time to time. The poor boy cried because he knew his mother would never hug him like that.
Ivan died two days because of his injuries. The doctors then found writings on his hand:
My name is Ivan and I’m 7-years-old. I love my mom and dad, but I’m also very afraid of them. They often hit me and I don’t understand why.
This morning I woke up and went to school. I am a good student and my teacher likes me.
I like all my classmates, too, but I have no friends. That’s why I usually stay indoors during breaks. Nobody wants to play with me. I tried to make friends with the other children, but they rejected me and said I was disgusting.
They laugh at me because I wear the same worn-out jeans, t-shirt and torn shoes every day.
One day after school I went into the coat room and stole a jacket that was hanging there for a long time, nobody seemed to be missing it. Then I went home alone through the snowstorm. I was shivering with cold and it was hard to walk against the strong wind. Suddenly someone pushed me forward, I fell down in the snow and someone pressed my face into it. Then they said:
“No one likes you. Idiot!”
They kicked me in my back and in my stomach, then they ran away and left me in the cold snow.
I cried. Not because I was cold or injured, I cried because I did not have a single friend, even though I liked everyone else.
As soon as I got home, my mother ran over and grabbed me by the hair.
“Where have you been? Why are you so wet and dirty? Blasted child, no dinner for you, go to your room and stay there.”