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A ako čítam to, čo píše, tak ho vidím, je to veľký chlapec, usporadúvajúci čarovné dobrodružstvo pre milióny maličkých, postavil sa na ich čelo ako starší brat a zvolal: „Deti, teraz sa vydáme na veľký pochod k zátarasom dospelých! Oni majú najstrašnejšie zbrane, ale ja mám vás a vy máte mňa, a to by malo stačiť, aj keď neviem celkom presne, čo sa stane, keď sa s nimi zoči-voči stretneme.“ A už idú, blížia sa k zátarasom dospelých, ktorí sa na svojich miestach zakopali ako naveky, niektorí ešte mladí telesne, no v dušiach starci, studení starci, čo zjedli chlieb svojich detí, vypili vodu svojich detí, spálili uhlie svojich detí, vydýchali vzduch svojich detí, vyrúbali lesy svojich detí, zamorili pôdu svojich detí, naliali otrávené mlieko do hrnčekov svojich detí a pokúsili sa vyoperovať z hláv svojich detí ich detské myšlienky, ešte skôr ako vznikli, a nahradiť ich svojimi stareckými lžami, a teraz už len čakajú a vidia, že sa zástup detí blíži, a myslia si – veď nech len prídu na dosah tie naše deti, čo už s nimi, s takými deťmi bez vzduchu, bez vody a bez myšlienok, aj tak by dlho nevyžili, ale my, keď ich teraz zjeme, prežijeme aspoň o nejakú chvíľu svoju vlastnú smrť… A deti nevedia nič o úmysloch dospelých požieračov detí, idú a blížia sa k ich zátarasom a na ich čele kráča Gorbačov a trochu sa chveje a vedľa neho kráča Pipi Dlhá Pančucha, ktorá sa smeje: „Skôr ako sa s nimi stretneme, prezradím vám tajomstvo! Nevyšlo im to celkom s tými vyoperovanými myšlienkami! Máme ich ešte dosť! Nebojte sa, pane, nie ste v tom sám, aj my už čosi vymyslíme…“

And as I read what he wrote, I can see him, a big boy, organising an irresistible adventure for millions of young ones, leading them like an elder brother, crying out: “Children, now we’ll set out on a great march to the grown-ups’ barricades! They have the most terrible weapons, but I have you and you have me, and that should suffice, though we don’t really know what will happen when we meet them face to face.“ They’re already on their way, nearing the barricades of grown-ups who have dug themselves in, as if for once and evermore. Some are still young in body, but old of mind, cold men, old men, who have eaten the bread of their children, drunk the water of their children, burned the coal of their children, felled the forests of their children, polluted the soil of their children, poured poisoned milk into their children’s cups and tried to remove from the heads of their children their children’s thoughts before they’ve had time to form and replace them with their old people’s lies. And now they just wait and watch the crowd of children approaching and think to themselves – Let them come within reach these children of ours, what can be done with children like these? With no air, no water and no ideas they couldn’t last long and we, if we eat them now, will outlive our own deaths at least for a while… And the children know nothing of the intentions of grown-up gobblers-up of children, as they stride on and approach their barricades, Gorbachov at their head trembling a little, with Goldilocks marching at his side, smiling to herself: “Before we meet them, I’ll tell you a secret! Their plan to remove our thoughts didn’t really work out – we’ve plenty of them left! Don’t worry, sir, you are not in this alone, we’ll think of something, too…”