Instead of making a clarification: the following text is not a book review and, let’s say, almost self-evident, that is, an act of collegial arrogance, taking into account many years of coexistence and friendship under the roof of “Kathimerini” . These are rather spontaneous thoughts, born while reading the sixth book of Nikos Vatopoulos, entitled “A Child Growing Up in Athens, 1934-1944”.

Using the childhood and youthful diary entries of his father, Ioannis Vatopoulos, born in 1928, as the main fuel at one of the key historical turning points of the 20th century, which also includes the period of occupation, the author and beloved colleague in “K” there is a double simultaneous anatomy: both childhood and adolescence, and Athenian microhistory in a theoretically familiar period of time, which we must know by heart and confuse, but ultimately it is evidence of a disciplined and curious child of the occupation, revealing our monstrous ignorance of the very important daily events of that time. Example: who knew that almost the entire Saronic coast, from Neo Faliro to Vouliagmeni and Varkiza, was occupied by the Germans and swimming in the sea without proper permission was a matter of life and death? Or this: In one of the black-and-white photographs illustrating the book, I was surprised to see the full stands of the Leoforo stadium during the match between Panathinaikos and Olympiakos in June 1944. In short, the image of occupied Athens. without flashes, “normal life” is completely out of reality.

With such dense and historically charged raw material at his disposal, Nikos Vatopoulos could make his life easier by succumbing to two seemingly understandable writing trends. Either turn his interest solely to the family heritage, delving into personal relationships, or focus on the actual treasures that his father inherited, rewriting the history of Athens during the occupation. He deliberately does neither. To give, finally, a portrait of the era, and above all of the whole generation that grew up in the small, cramped, damp rooms of the endless quarters of Athens, survived the war and not only did not bend, but also laid the foundations for post-war transformations. At the same time, the book is also a presumption of a whole “path” of growing up, connecting us with the people who brought us to life. This path is connected to the emerging microcosmic culture of the area, the role of local sports clubs, material constraints that fueled the imagination, but also the love of life. So a book about Athens and the occupation becomes a book about ourselves and about the people who raised us.