When I was six or six and-a-half I had no idea what I'd be when I grew up. I liked grownups and all the different kinds of work they did. All my thoughts were jumbled then. I just couldn't decide what I wanted to be.

First, I wanted to be an astronomer and stay up all night watching the stars through a telescope. Then I wanted to be the captain of a ship. I'd stand on the bridge with my feet set firmly apart, just like a real captain. I'd visit far-off Singapore and buy myself a pet monkey. Then I decided I'd be a station master in the Metro. Then I got all set to be an artist, the kind that draws the white stripes down the middle of the street to guide the traffic. Then I decided it might be a good idea to become a brave explorer like Alain Bombard and row across all the oceans with nothing to eat but raw fish. Alain Bombard had lost twenty-five kilos during his voyage, though, and since I only weighed twenty-six it meant that if I followed in his footsteps and lost that much I'd only weigh a kilo by the time I got back. But what if I caught a couple of fish less than him? I'd lose still more weight. Then I'd probably just dissolve. It'd be the last anyone ever saw of me. I decided to give up the idea.

The next day I was all set to become a boxer, because the evening before I'd watched the European boxing championship on TV. The way they pummelled each other! Then there were shots of the boxers in training. They showed them pounding at punching bags to develop their punches. After watching them I decided I'd become the strongest man in our yard. A man who could knock anyone out if I had to.

"Buy me a punching bag, Daddy," I said.

"What for?"

"So's I can practice. I'm going to be a boxer and win all my fights. Will you, huh?"

"How much does it cost?"

"Not much. Just about a hundred rubles. Or three hundred."

"You'll just have to manage as best as you can without it," he said and went off to work.

I got mad at him because of the way he'd said it, like he was making fun of me. Mommy saw I was in the dumps and said, "I have an idea. Wait a minute."

She got out my basket of old toys. I didn't play with them any more, because I'd outgrown them. I'd be starting school in September.

As Mommy was rummaging in the basket I spotted my old trolley car that had lost its wheels, though it still had the old string. There was my plastic horn, my dented top, an arrow with a rubber tip, a sailboat sail and a lot of other junk. Then she pulled my big old teddy bear out from under everything else, tossed it onto the couch and said,

"Here. This is the teddy bear Aunt Mila gave you for your second birthday. It's a fine teddy bear. See how tightly-stuffed it is? It'll make a fine punching bag. And we won't have to buy you one."

Just then the phone rang and she left the room.

It was a great idea. I sat my teddy bear in a corner of the couch so's it'd be more convenient to develop my punch.

He was chocolate brown. The paint had come off his nose, and he had two different eyes: one was the yellow glass one he'd always had and the other was a button. I don't even know when Mommy'd sewn it on. But that didn't matter, because he was looking at me happily out of his different eyes. His hind paws were set wide apart, his big round belly bulged and his front paws were raised, as if he was saying he gave up before we'd even started.

I remembered the time my bear was my best friend. I played with him and slept with him and set him on the table when I ate, and fed him from my spoon. He looked so funny when some food got on his muzzle. He looked alive. And when we went to bed I'd croon him a song as if he was my baby brother. I'd whisper bedtime stories right into his stiff, velvety ear. I loved him with all my heart then.

Here he was now, sitting on the couch, my former best friend, my best childhood friend, laughing out of his different eyes. And here I was, getting ready to develop my punch by socking him.

"What's the matter?" Mommy asked. She'd just come back into the room.

I didn't know what the matter was, so I didn't say anything, but I turned away. I didn't want her to guess by the sound of my voice or by my crooked mouth what the matter was. I looked up at the ceiling to make the tears roll back into me. Finally, I said, "Nothing. Nothing's the matter. I just changed my mind. I'm not going to be a boxer."