24.07.1923 - 15.05.2015_x000D_ My father Leonid Poshisholin was born in Tula on July 24, 1923 in the district of Zarechye. He went to the front as an ordinary soldier from the Krasnodar Military School at the very beginning of the Great Patriotic War. At that time he was already 18 years old... Fought at Stalingrad! He was seriously wounded on August 2, 1942, received a through bullet wound to the left thigh, lower leg, right thigh in the middle third - so it was written in the certificate of injury in the battles for the Soviet Homeland, provided by the head of hospital #1250, Captain of medical unit, Doctor of Medical Science Asaturov... He was wounded like this: they were in a ravine, and they were trying to crawl up, so he made another push and crawled higher and was immediately wounded. If he had not taken this last step, the Nazis would have shot him with machine-gun fire right in the area of the heart... Next to him was a boy of the same age, shot in the stomach... And so the two of them tried to crawl, saying to each other "Don't leave me".... Stalingrad... Everyone knows what fierce battles were fought there...These are the pictures my daddy saw when he was there: sitting in a truck they saw absolutely burned women, almost firebrands.... Or on the battlefield, there was a lull, there were about twenty five of them, young guys, standing, talking, remembering their homes, my dad decided to go away in need... He went about fifty meters away, suddenly there was a fire, an explosion... when he turned around, where his companions had been standing a moment ago, boys just like him - there was only a giant funnel and... no one... Well, such a small sketch from the life of an ordinary soldier, veteran and disabled veteran of the Great Patriotic War... His leg was amputated, and he spent his entire life walking on a prosthetic leg, and he skied so much that he won prizes while working at a machine-building plant in Tula... "Where I was born, I fit in," was what he liked to say.... My beloved daddy, I love, I remember, I will never forget... _x000D_ P.S._x000D_ My mother told me on May 9, 1945 in Tula... What she saw: people in the streets running towards each other, shouting, crying, kissing... My dad was in the hospital that day... and he and my mom did not know each other yet, even though the hospital was a five-minute walk away.. He was 22, a boy... After learning about the Victory Day, he and his comrades lying in the hospital found the nurse and persuaded her to bring their clothes... They returned to the hospital by midnight, after celebration of this this day, Victory Day! It was HAPPINESS!_x000D_ He died on May 15, 2009 at the age of almost 86.