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My Son Doesn’t Want to Be Russian Anymore
And when playing always wants to be Darth Vader or a stormtrooper
It will soon be a year since the war started. It will soon be a year since we left our home with no idea that we wouldn’t be back. In ways, it feels like a Pompei-like moment, we just woke up on Friday, February 25th, gathered our bags for a pre-planned vacation, closed the doors, and were off.
My COVID-inspired sourdough starter was hungry and needed to be fed. My mother-in-law was assigned to feed it once a week while we were away. I made a video of the process for her. My 20-year cat was ailing and holding on as best he could. We hoped to make it back before he departed for a paradise filled with mice and catnip — we didn’t make it.
My son’s world, practically every second he had spent on this earth, was our apartment, the playgrounds surrounding our house, the big hardware store on the corner, and the maze of city trams, buses, trains, tractors, and fire trucks that fill any major, Russian city.
And then, we pulled the door shut and were gone.
Not whining
Over this year, people all over the world have lost more. Ukrainians by the millions have been strewn across Europe in search of new lives. Alongside them are Russians who…
