ESSAY
TOPIC: "MY NEIGHBORHOOD"
PLAN:
1. Neighborhood - The homeland is a small homeland.
2. The neighborhood is the cradle of our great values.
3. My grandfather is one of the veterans of our neighborhood.
4. I want to look like my grandmother.
5. Conclusion.
Neighborhood... In the essence of this one word, the whole world's virtues, customs and traditions, hot taffeta are embodied. My neighborhood is an example of my loving mother. Every morning my mother wakes me up by stroking my head and encouraging me to do good things, my neighborhood sympathizes with me by holding my hand towards great goals. If my mother washed and combed her white hair, it would not be wrong to say that my neighborhood is my Kaaba, which transferred this whiteness to my heart. Because this land, where my navel blood was spilled, taught me to have good intentions in my heart. He reminded me that someone's right is never someone else's, how much the concepts of patience and contentment in our people are ingrained in our blood.
Our forefathers, who glorified the Motherland and sacrificed their lives for it, taught us to love and honor the country. That is why Vatan is always used together with the word mother. My country is my mother...
What I used to call this country my country is my neighborhood. My country is my threshold for all good deeds, and my neighborhood is my companion. As our first president noted, "For the first time in the history of our statehood, the concept of neighborhood was included in our Constitution, and its place and status in the management of society was determined." This status still holds its place and is increasing day by day. If we take the example of our neighborhood, all people live harmoniously. This is, of course, the solidarity of our neighbors. We, the boys and girls of our neighborhood, help them with their chores and lighten their burdens. I am always moved by the fact that they pray for a long time when we perform small tasks, and first of all, they wish for peace in our country. Isn't that the greatest happiness? After all, isn't that what faith in the future is all about? It is not for nothing that the proverb "A golden apple is a prayer, a prayer is not gold" has been said in our people since time immemorial. These golden prayers motivate us to achieve great things. Every time I hear or see about the achievements of the youth of our country in the field of science and sports, the medals they have won, my heart is filled with excitement and tears come to my eyes. I feel like I have seen the answers to the prayers of our elders.
I believe that it is the result of the attention given in our family and neighborhood so that we, the children of the country, can achieve such milestones. In our family, our old grandfathers take their young grandchildren to the garden every spring to plant seedlings. There is so much meaning behind this simple custom. A young baby holds a sprout with his small hands and watches the actions of his grandfather. Through this, the seed of goodness is implanted in his heart together with the street. Even when he grows up, he repeats the habit he learned in his youth every spring. Even though our grandmothers are old, they embroider with needle and thread. And their little granddaughters are around them and try to sew. This simple effort opens the door to the virtues in them. As soon as our girls pick up a needle, they develop a high feeling called patience. The reason is that embroidery and sewing require special love and patience. With this one work, our grandmothers teach us to strengthen our patience in the face of life's hardships. When I see such high customs, the words of our president involuntarily ring in my ears: "The Uzbek neighborhood has been a place of national values since time immemorial." Mutual kindness, harmony and harmony, receiving information from those in need and needing help, patting the heads of orphans and widows, sharing weddings, festivals and events with many people, even on a good day, Customs and traditions typical of our people, such as being together even on a bad day, were formed and developed in the environment of the neighborhood. During the years of independence, many new tasks and obligations were added to these age-old values and characteristics of the neighborhood. The neighborhood's role, position, and powers in society were expanded. Each neighborhood had its own elder, counselor and guardians. Isn't this a proof that the Motherland of this neighborhood is a small Motherland? The neighborhood became a small state within a self-governing society. Isn't this a great gift of our independence? Neighborhood chairmen were elected by the votes of their fellow residents, isn't this reality the fruit of freedom? How many sacrifices did our people make until we reached these days. How many of our grandfathers' blood was not unjustly shed, you say? How many young men and our fathers were not mobilized for the war to protect and protect the honor of the Motherland?
When my grandfather often tells us about the painful events of the war, what he heard and saw, he repeats over and over again, "Thank you for these days, our peaceful times, my son." Sometimes I think that the wrinkles on each of my grandfather's faces are a sign of his suffering. Indeed, the hardships my grandfather saw, the fact that he earned a living by studying and working at a young age, and that he did not back down from any hard work to help his parents, creates the image of a brave person for me. We have reached such glorious days today because of the sufferings and hardships they suffered in their times. One day, when my grandfather saw us, his happy grandchildren, eating bread in our hands, he immediately called them to him, picked up the fallen pieces of bread one by one and applied them to his eyes, and told us a story.
I have not seen these cases of my grandfather before. In my mind, the wrinkles on my grandfather's face seemed to multiply by one more. Although they were very offended by our cheerfulness, they never spoke harshly to us. They say that it was very difficult to make a living as a child. His father worked as a blacksmith from morning to night, making tools for people. Sometimes they go to the workshop to help their father, and sometimes they rush to work in the fields of the collective farm to help their mother. They say that even at night, my mother was busy with some kind of sewing work, and she did not wake up until midnight. On one such day, my mother, who did not wake up until midnight, tried to bake bread in the early morning darkness. The breads of that time cannot be compared with the breads that you bake these days, my child. Even if the bread we were eating was black, we would rub it on our eyes. Because when I was a first-grader, I used to go to pick ears of corn together with my brothers and my friends from our neighborhood. The more whole and half ears we found under the harvested wheat, the more we rejoiced. The chairman of our collective farm used to put ears of corn on each child's skirt in return for his work. When I came home, the fact that my mother kissed me on the forehead and said "live, baby" was a great reward for me. My father used to rub the breadcrumbs in his eyes and thank himself over and over again.
One could not simply listen to these words. My whole body and soul shook. Tears came to my eyes and I remembered my grandfather's words that he often repeats: "Thanks to himself, thanks to his creation."
Thank you for creating me, for your healing days.
My helper, thank you for giving me peace and love.
What we do is for you to salt the bread you have given us.
I leaned on you, thank you for taking care of us like that.
We always proudly say that my country is my mother. Because we see the Motherland in the form of our loving mothers and grandmothers. Every time I go to see my grandmother, they stroke my forehead, press me to their stomachs, and take them to the table. They hang on me the shirts and pillows they made for me. At that moment, a question crossed my mind. Whatever I do for my grandmother's favors, her happiness rises. When I ask them, they say, "Son, you should come more often." Neighboring women often come out to my grandmother. Some are there to learn the secrets of betting, and some are there to avoid getting tips. No matter what purpose someone went out for, grandmothers never turned them away. Always talk to women about patience and always say, "My girls, never give up on work. Your hard-earned, most rewarding, sweetest bite. The more you patiently strive, the more riches you will get. Listening to these words, I am involuntarily proud of my grandfather and grandmother.
In conclusion, I would like to say that our elders are our angels. Their prayers are our companion, their place is incomparable in the development of our neighborhood and its wide, surface. My neighborhood is my pride. I am always proud of my neighborhood.
