Telegony in men
For the first time, all that was known about the phenomenon was that it left an imprint on a woman’s reproduction; it turned out that everything was not so simple. Telegony in men - the effect of the first female - is a more complex phenomenon that can be described as “the effect of any female,” in contrast to a woman in whom only the first partner bears the fundamental function of transmitting traits. A man receives a charge of genes from each partner, which is stored in the genome. The more women there are, the more pronounced the change in genetic information in a man is.
First husband of Anastasia Zavorotnyuk
The actress prefers not to remember her first marriage - with German-born entrepreneur Olaf Schwarzkopf. The union with a man who was 12 years older than her lasted only a year. The ex-spouses did not maintain contact - Olaf is blocked from Zavorotnyuk on his mobile and social networks - and domestic tyranny was cited as the reason for the couple’s breakup.
Schwarzkopf did not remain silent: nostalgia for marriage gradually gave way in his interviews to too personal revelations - for example, about a lost child. And when Anastasia Zavorotnyuk fell ill, Olaf reappeared in the news space - with archival footage from the wedding, confessions of “I still love you” and wishes for recovery, Tsargrad wrote. The ex-husband Zavorotnyuk himself lives on the outskirts of Magnitogorsk and works in construction - his business went bankrupt long ago.
Anastasia Zavorotnyuk and her first husband Olaf Schwarzkopf. Photo: still from the show “Let Them Talk,” “Komsomolskaya Pravda”/Globallook
The psychoanalyst brought me to light, saying that most of my successes and failures are closely related to one man. Moreover, this will continue to happen - for the rest of my life. One way or another, I will associate my choice with him, thanks to him. And it doesn’t matter at all where he is, and whether he is even alive... I, as they say, “precipitated.” The specialist reassured: “This is called first love syndrome.” Those whom we first fell in love with, considered beautiful, dreamed of, it turns out, do not disappear anywhere. They live in our subconscious. Sometimes we compare our lives by them, as if by an indicator, and sometimes, when making decisions, we think: what would such-and-such do. And at the same time, we write down all achievements, if any, with a clear conscience. And off we go. The psychoanalyst began to take me apart “to the bones.” Why do I like grey-eyed, fashionably brown-haired men with thin lips? Why does a beautiful nose have to have a hump? Why is knowing how to ride a bike important? I got along like a child, honestly. It turns out that all these “attributes” are inherent in my first love, not to mention the name. Many of the men I met throughout my life with his name were considered trustworthy in advance. I felt embarrassed. It was a long time ago, almost in our pink childhood, and we were connected exclusively by platonic relationships. “Yes, this is understandable,” the interlocutor assured, “sublime love is the strongest. Everyone experiences it. And then they carry this imprint all their lives.” The distant light of the first real feeling travels across all our age boundaries and makes us sensitive and vulnerable. This turns out to be a universal human weakness. Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great had it, Hitler and Stalin, Aivazovsky and Rublev, Sakharov and Solzhenitsyn. Everyone has it: mayors and the unemployed, bankers and plumbers, teachers and writers, good and bad... Memories of our feelings and meetings warm our souls, like a fire on a cool night. After this discovery, I clearly saw a wet mushroom forest, a casually thrown raincoat, and large hazelnut bushes. I look at them carefully from below; there should be mushrooms with small caps, like nuts. And suddenly this voice, which now rarely sounds in a dream: “Madonna!” As a rule, we are called such names when we are thirteen or fourteen years old. Then we talked about nothing, but I remember that I was very worried and, as usual, hurried to quickly say goodbye, ran away into the cool forest, and he stayed by a large hazelnut bush, where, probably, there were mushrooms. But for some reason I suddenly had no time for them. Why do I remember this?.. Yesenin even has poems for this: “We all loved during these years, which means they loved us too.” So it turns out the feelings are mutual? Or maybe not? Maybe it's just me? And he has such a cycle completely in the opposite direction, and he forgot about me? Then why, when two years ago I accidentally met his mother, she considered it necessary to tell me that he named his gas station after me. It turns out he remembers. It is noteworthy that all these feelings take place against the background of a completely happy life today. Someone else, not him, handed me the car keys. And for Christmas I put a cute little ring under the tree with a blue diamond interspersed with the color of my eyes. Another, much more dear, takes care of my home and endures my eternal reproaches of “nothing to wear.” Another one talks to my relatives on the phone while I'm in the bathroom or have cream on my face. But what a paradox! Even when I spend the night in the apartment of another’s parents, where everyone talks only about him, I dream of a wet mushroom forest, a carelessly thrown raincoat and a voice calling me... The most hated thing in this case is the morning, because disappointment comes every time. Oh, if only it were just once! Yes, and I chose the other one according to his principle: fashionable brown-haired hair, thin lips, gray eyes, a hooked nose…. That's how I got into trouble! What’s remarkable is that if we had something called “family,” one of the quarrels would definitely end in murder. The characters and temperaments are too similar. But God is merciful - he did not allow this. We have been living in different countries for a long time, telling our children bedtime stories in different languages, and we named our children after different saints. Memory gave me another gift - I forgot the bad and ugly. I forgot how, through his fault, I jumped onto a rusty nail driven into a board, piercing my leg; How I argued with the teacher during the exam, and for the first time my report card was stained with a “B”. I probably wouldn’t forgive anyone else for this. What more! ...And again a wet mushroom forest, a large hazelnut bush, a carelessly thrown raincoat and this voice. What is this all for? After all, it’s clear as daylight that we are never destined to be together, neither in this life nor in the next. Why do I respect the hobby of cycling so much? And my call to heaven is fruitless: “Let me go!” The answer has long been known: “Never.”
