In accordance with our tradition, we are publishing the best works, as judged by the jury, written within the framework of the fourth competition for the "Professor Borivoje Jelić" award, on the topic "My grandfather told me stories". You can read the expert jury's opinion on each of the works listed at this link.

Award-winning works and author biographies

With each work, we also publish a short biography of the author.

Code: Kockar

Times used to be better, he said. And we make time. It can’t just be better, or worse; we are time.

My grandfather told me how everything used to be better, how so much had changed from his childhood to mine, how I was growing up in a different time. And when I listen to him, I think about how I could have grown up better, how I could have experienced all the wonders of the old times. And that was a time of love. A time of wealth and happiness, joy and contentment. Now even words don’t mean what they once did. My grandfather told me how their home was the richest in the village. I didn’t understand it, because I know they didn’t have much. They had a dilapidated house and a piece of land. They didn’t travel, they didn’t have money. They had clothes that were years old, handmade, in their house. And I thought he didn’t understand the concept of wealth, although he understood it much better than I did. He had eight brothers and sisters. Their house was full of love every day, full of harmony. The foundation of their house may not have been solid. The house might have collapsed with the first storm. But the foundation of their family was indestructible. It was laid by their mother and father, madly in love and aware that they had nothing but each other. They knew that they would build their happiness and wealth on their own. With harmony and respect, they laid the foundation, and on it, they bravely built their family. They wove love into the walls, so that external forces could do nothing to them. They built large windows, so that their children could have a view of the world. They built generosity into the doors, so that everyone who entered their home would feel a sense of belonging and hospitality, so that their children, leaving home, would know that wherever they went, they always had someone to return to, someone to wait for them on the doorstep and embrace them, no matter how old they were. They left that house bravely into the world, each in their own way. Their parents gave them wings, let them fly, even though, over the years, sending off their children one by one, they lost a part of themselves. Those parts scattered around the world. Some of them became doctors, some pilots, some professors, and some factory workers. And all those parts, if they were reunited in the old house, would be worth the same, they would have all the power in this world. And separated, they would be worth nothing, they would not be able to do without their roots, without their support, without their childhood. Taught by their parents, by their courage and determination to create the life they dreamed of, their children, including my grandfather, also created foundations for themselves in the family. They gave birth to children, and received their blessings, grandchildren, from them. Whenever they tell me about their life, childhood and growing up, I think about how lucky it would be to live in such a time. When God represented love, not a reason for division. When the family was a refuge, not a source of benefit, when brothers and sisters were best friends, not rivals in the division of what was left of their parents. His childhood was healthier than today's. He spent his days in nature, with friends, whom he did not have to look for on the street, but around his hearth. On Sundays, they went to church, praying for their own health and the health of their loved ones, knowing that God had the last word. Back then, it was a shame to lie, to be dishonest and malicious. People lived as God had ordained.

Different times did not come on their own. They were brought by people far from God. The river of hatred and human malice, overflowed its bed, flooded the earth and changed people. But not all. That water could do nothing to those who are close to God, who believe, continue to believe, and have true ideals. I am grateful that my parents were one of them. That they cared about their family even when it was difficult. That they dedicated their time to me and my sister, trying to make us good people in the new time. And let time not be an excuse for us. Let us try to return it to God with our kindness and right deeds, to make it the time in which we want to live, because time does not define us, but we define it.

Biography of Dunja Kovačević

Dunja Kovačević was born on December 24, 2007 in Prijepolje. He lives in Nova Varoš, where he graduated from the elementary school "Živko Ljujić" with a "Vuk Karadžić" diploma. She is a student in the 4th year of the high school science and mathematics major, with the highest grades.

Code: maslačak567

A chessboard, pieces on a small table under the vines, summer in the village, my grandfather and I. The white queen took the lead, and the black king was left alone, isn't this a sad day? The sun's rays fall on my face, revealing my angry gaze, my sullen attitude, I lost again, just like the previous day.

It was a long time ago, when I was little I spent a lot of time with my grandparents in the countryside, during the summer holidays. Yes, you could say I was my grandfather's pet, but he never let me win. My grandfather and I loved board games, we especially enjoyed cards and chess, we were both competitive, but I never managed to beat him. I demanded a fight again and again, I wanted a rematch, but at the end of the day it was always checkmate. Again the same disappointment, another sigh, and after them my grandfather's words: "My falcon, never give up!" And so we would play again, and again, until we smelled the delicious bread and soup, and we sat down at the table before my grandmother arrived to tell us it was time for lunch. Although I was frowning most of the time then, this is still a nice memory for me. I set off, I start, I want to, and I give up, then like the sun through the fog the words "My falcon, never give up!" That is my motto, my wind at my back, a reminder that even when you are no longer with me, you are my grandfather. After lunch, we played chess again, until dinner, and after dinner I fell asleep with the bitter taste of defeat, yet when a new day dawned, the birds chirped loudly, as if telling me not to give up. So every following day I got up with new hope that one day I would win, believing that I must not give up. However, I never beat him, not because I gave up, but because my grandfather was soon getting old, and with them his illness. So I lost my white teammate, I had no one to play chess with, and the chessboard was left behind the old couch gathering dust, and right now I'm holding it in my hands as I remember all the games I played with my grandfather. Looking at all those pieces covered in dust, the memories suddenly aren't so pale, I want you to know – I never gave up, grandfather.

I admit, I thought about it many times, but each time something stopped me – those were your words. Thank you for everything, grandfather. Persistent and hardworking will create anything, victory is for the one who does not give up!

Biography of Anđela Popadić

Anđela Popadić was born on August 19, 2009 in Užice and is a second-grade student at the High School in Nova Varoš.

Code: leptirić25

“In every home, it must be known who is the parent and who is the child, and these roles must not be changed.” “Always respect your elders, help your parents, and be patient with them and for them, even when they are wrong and when they have wronged you.” At almost every family dinner, I listen and remain silent to all the parenting lessons that are addressed to me. “You can’t talk to your mother like that!” Someone in me was furious, like a stray dog, howling and foaming. And when a series of unspoken words accumulates in you for so long, you guessed it, nothing good will come of it. But, once, my grandfather told me…

My grandfather is a strange man, or so it would seem to you, if you met him in a store, analyzing with great interest the declaration of some milk chocolate, looking for the percentage of cocoa it contains. If you met him in the forest, gathering herbs for tea with my grandmother, or if you noticed him in the corner of a room, thoughtfully silent, you would think the same thing – “that’s a strange man”. Since I’m still young and haven’t been seized by any dementia, I remember our games in his apartment. I remember, once, when I fell off my bike, I ran at the fastest speed a seven-year-old girl could develop and achieve to kiss my bleeding knee. And I always did that. Whenever I got a scratch of some kind, I would always run to him to kiss it and promise me that it would pass. For me, he has always been and will remain a very mysterious man. But a good man. He is always there to help everyone and when any neighbor needs something, they know who to call – my grandfather. He is mysterious after all. “Don’t judge a book by its cover” I should have remembered. But, I have read this book several times already, and apparently I missed some pages. It is impossible that throughout my childhood I could not see how much wisdom is hidden in it. How many bad experiences and missed opportunities. Although, I should have guessed, older people hide many secrets behind the shadow of their age. And so, one rainy afternoon, my grandfather told me… He made me tea and asked me to sit next to him. He let me know that the other day he had seen me sharply answering my mother. I explained to him what had happened, or at least I tried to, because halfway through my explanation he interrupted me: “You never know what tomorrow will bring.” That sentence stuck in my head. With a look of astonishment on my face, he assumed that I didn't understand anything, just as I didn't. He told me a terrible story. He had only once argued with his mother, and although he was right, he never forgave himself for it. His mother passed away soon after, and they never reconciled. They probably forgave each other everything, but it hurts when the last words you say to such an important figure in life as your mother are mean and wrong. "You never know what tomorrow will bring." And he's right. It doesn't matter if it's death, illness, or some kind of disaster, our last words should never come out in anger, uncontrollably. At one point, it was as if I saw a spark of a tear in the narrowing of his eye. That scene hurt me and always will. I always ran into his arms to comfort me, and that was the first time I saw him cry. And I say, that scene hurts me. It hurts me because I couldn't kiss him and tell him it would pass. Because it already passed. But I helped him anyway.

I don't know what kind of father my grandfather was to my father, but if all this is possible to believe, and it is, he is a good father. But he is an even better grandfather. He taught me that one should deal with anger patiently, even though they are two great opposites. Only the man who can control his anger without harming himself or others is great and wise. The one who will end every argument humanely and who will always make a point in them with true values. And that is why I promised everything to my grandfather, that I would never repeat his mistake, and although he doesn't know it, he is much wiser than he thinks. Sometimes true wisdom is based on the mistakes of the past.

Biography of Emina Krdžević

Emina Krdžević is a second-grade student at a high school in Nova Varoš.

Commended works

Code: naočare

We all have our own hero as children. A person we admire and secretly want to be like.

However, my hero is not from a cartoon or a series at all. He is a man I have known since birth, a man who loves to tell stories about people who were important and valuable to him. He preserves family values ​​and traditions from being forgotten. In some moments of sadness or despair, he is the one who would cheer me up, comfort me, and encourage me to keep going. For every situation, he would find an adequate story, in which he or someone similar to him might have once found himself. When one of us children in the house would start complaining about the conditions and how we don't have enough space for privacy, he would always say that unforgettable sentence "where the house is not cramped, the family is not angry." He would laugh to himself, because only he knows why we shouldn't complain. He told me how it was during the war, when people had nothing to eat, they were taken to camps and tortured to death. This sentence was always followed by a heavy sigh, he would talk about how as a child he didn't understand the point of community, always complaining about the food, not understanding the misery they lived in. He justified us because he knew how we felt, how we thought. He often said that in a house like his, which has thirteen members, it is never boring, quiet and monotonous. Sometimes he would get angry at the noise we made day after day with our games, but that anger wouldn't last long, because as he says, he loved to hear laughter, because of his childhood, which was spent in crying and constant fear. He often mentioned a friend from his class whom he hadn't seen since the war began. He always remembered their mischief, but one moment of his life remained deeply in his memory. The two of them went to school, not knowing what awaited them. Since they were not good students, they were constantly receiving warnings from their teachers. However, they decided to join the hajduks and, as they say, defend their country. But as hajduks do, they took the oath in the forest under an old oak tree. He did not mention the oath, but added that he did not break it no matter how long he had not seen the other person. After this story, he would probably fall asleep and make me think. Can friendship last even when you have not seen a person for decades? What is the purpose of war and killing innocent people? Does every wrinkle on a person reflect the weight of his life? How would today's children behave in such situations? They would probably forget everything, break the oath and move on. Is the value of a person measured by deeds or words? What does it mean to be a good person in a time when only material things are valued? But I am sure of one thing, that I will look up to a man, like my grandfather, who has moral values. No matter how stupid it is for someone to turn out to be good and faithful, it won't be for me. I understand my grandfather when he tells me not to complain about life.

Even though I have a lot of sisters and brothers, I want to be their support like my grandfather was. That they can always count on me even though I don't often show it. To be a loyal friend. Even though not everyone talks about their hero, I can proudly say that my grandfather is my hero!

Biography of Marija Trtović

Marija Trtović was born on August 4, 2009 in Prijepolje.

Code: Sunčica

Some people say that fathers are a special universe for daughters. As a born moron, I am here to deny it and say that for me personally, my grandfather was that special universe.

Our relationship was not ordinary, it was unique and pure. From the day he took me out of the maternity ward until the day he died, we were one. The same soul, heartbeat, but two different bodies. As a little girl, he told me that he had given birth to me, that I had fallen from his eye and come into this world as his little heir. He was always flattered when I often said that he had given me a name and that he had raised me. It was an unusual relationship. He would often take me with him wherever he went, whether it was a walk, a visit or the countryside. I was his real little tick. My father and mother would joke that I loved him more than them, and then, my grandfather and I would look at each other with a smile that only we could interpret. He never held anything against me, he would always tolerate and forgive everything and say that it was just an integral part of growing up. He always defended me and kept me away from harm. I was his real princess. When I didn't want to listen to anyone, I listened to him, and when everyone got angry and scolded me, I ran to him because I knew that in his arms the warmest hug and words of comfort were waiting for me. He was my guardian angel and my oasis of peace. Whether I did the worst or the best thing, he was always there, as my greatest support and strongest support. When that fateful January came and when he stopped breathing, in a way, I stopped too. Life suddenly, from the greatest variety, went only to gray and white, like the paintings of the past. I realized that I would no longer have someone to run to and tell about how I spent that day. Usually, he was the one who made me happy every year and was the first to walk into our house for Christmas. This year, it wasn't like that. I came to his house, but he wasn't there. There was only his picture, watching us sit in the blackness with the greatest pain in my soul. We were left speechless. If I had known that the last day of last year was the last time I would see him, I would have hugged him tighter and tried to convey how much I loved him. The emptiness in my heart is still there and it eats away at the fact that I know that he will be there forever and that no one will ever fill it. I will always remember his warm words, smiles, and hugs. No one can replace that. His "Ancho" will always bring a smile to my face whenever I think of him. As long as I breathe and live, he will live through me. He was a man who was born once, who did not know about bad words, selfishness and evil. He always told me that the best and true medicine was a smile, and that I should always smile because that's how, in his opinion, I was the most beautiful and he loved to look at me like that.

It was a true gift from God, in the end, it went to him. My handsome grandfather Bogdan. Now, instead of me, he makes people laugh, in that higher, as they say, better place. I know that he sees and hears me and I know that he still protects me from evil, only now, spiritually.

Biography of Ana Drčelić

Ana Drčelić was born on June 14, 2007 in Belgrade. She is a fourth-grade student at Nova Varoša High School, majoring in electrical and computer engineering.

The authors of the works that won the first three places will receive, according to the competition's provisions, 10,000 (ten thousand) dinars each. In addition, the "Petar Mandić" Foundation will present both the authors of the awarded and the authors of the commended works with a copy of the book Tesla: Spiritual Figure (second, revised and expanded edition), with a dedication by the author.

We warmly congratulate all the authors of the awarded and commended works and wish them success in their further professional development and development of their writing talent.

We owe special gratitude to the director Branka Rakonjac and the teaching staff of the Nova Varoš High School, for their goodwill for cooperation and the energy invested in holding the competition according to all the rules and standards that apply to this field.