Probably on a warm sunny day in 1964, a 6-year-old boy sent alone to the kindergarten, which was a common practice at the time, decided just outside the kindergarten door that today is not a day for kindergarten and it is better to go to mother’s work. The boy’s mother worked in a restaurant in Pirita, presumably as a warehouse manager. This kindergarten, Tallinn Noise Bear Kindergarten on V.Reinmann Street, is still working today, and about 6 km from there to my mother. What a little boy’s head meant to be done! In the first quarter of the road, the boy had a homemade bread shop. It was hard to say how or for what, on the next beach trip, this boy looked like a fresh, wonderfully fragrant pastry. At first, pinching one hole in the heel of the pastry with a finger and pecking at the delicious pastry, later tearing the crust and enjoying its delicious crispness. Before the Tallinn Olympic Games in 1980, Pirita did not lead to a wide beach path but a narrower and sparse beach road, too many to call a promenade. The border between the road and the sea was rather imaginary. The boy on his way to the mother once walked on the sidewalk, once on the water’s edge jumping stone-to-stone. In the modern sense, the boy had no stress, no conscience for not going to kindergarten, no time or responsibilities. He did not know that journey, and these moments would perpetuate the boy’s life. The culmination of her visit to her mother was the moment she reached Pirita Bridge and was a few steps down to the white house where her mother worked. Suddenly, a boy noticed a truck with a dark green box moving left from the restaurant’s house onto a large road. A woman in a white robe, who had noticed a boy moving on the bridge, was looking out of the truck’s cab window. Mom and son recognized each other. It was a great joy for the boy, a great surprise for the mother. Next, a series of images of the boy’s memories are cut out, and it must be logically deduced what happened next. The mother found a son, did not wake up or quarrel, could be in Nomos, brought her to a cabinet, and the boy was brought to the restaurant with spinach cream (a special soup hit throughout the Soviet era). This day is a sunny memory of the yearning for her mother. Unfortunately, these bright mom’s memories were not given much to the boy, because five years later he was already with his younger brother in front of his mother’s coffin, who was 31 years old.
Nearly sixty years later, I told this story to my adult daughter, who has been more than her grandmother for years. It turned out that the first job of his life was in the same Regat House business center and showed the riverfront facade to the windows of the second floor, where the boy had a restaurant hall.
I’ve traveled countless times across the bridge, as a child on the bus, as an adult in my car, once as a boy in playgrounds, in a cottage, on my mother’s grave, home. The views from the bridge trigger the boy’s motor memories.
Opposite the Regat House, across the river is the Kalev Yacht Club building, which I completed a renovation project in 1987 and was renovated. Back then, I dreamed of sailing in the distant seas and the freedom that lay behind the horizon of the sea. Pirita was my home port for wood hunting.
On the city shore, to the right of the bridge, is where, as a bigger boy, I used to fish all day, catching only one small gill. When I got home, I fried it and was proud to continue to taste the fish for a family of five.
On the opposite bank of the Pirita Bridge are the ruins of Pirita Monastery, whereas a young boy much climbed and contemplated the past, which later grew in love for the Story of Time.

I discover that the Pirita Bridge is a place in this world that brings together a lot of events in one person’s life. Things that have influenced his feelings, perceptions, and behavior for life …