This Reminds Me

Archive for May 8th, 2006

What a great week to be in Russia!  Tomorrow, May 9, is Victory Day, celebrating the defeat of Nazi Germany during WWII.  Victory Day is particularly important in St. Pete, where brutalized residents eventually triumphed after a gruesome 5.5 month siege called “…bitterest battle of attrition ever fought. The Russians lost 1 million men in its defense (some sources say 2 million), and said later they would have sacrificed thrice that many to keep the Germans from advancing. Stop them they did. In hand-to-hand fighting so horrific that no other account in the annals of warfare exceeds it, the Red Army handed the fabled Wehrmacht its first major defeat, and signaled to the rest of Russia and the world beyond that it just might be possible to stop Hitler.”

Wow.  One of the reasons we’re not speaking German today is because of the bravery and tenacity of the people of St. Petersburg.    The grandparents of one of our Buckner workers survived the siege.  Printed op ed pieces and the quiet conversations of ordinary citizens all acknowledge a sobering fact:  We are slowly losing many of the “greatest generation,” and we must not forget their sacrifices.

It’s an emotional week here, with patriotic tunes and a smidgeon of Glenn Miller blaring from shops.  Citizens are wearing striped ribbons showing their national pride, with teenagers sporting faux military attire.  We’ve seen scores of smartly-uniformed soliders and sailors preparing for the big parade tomorrow.

And Children’s Home #47 celebrated today, too.  Not publicly, perhaps, but with the same grateful acknowledgement of personal sacrifice for a greater good.

Guanna-to-be-Julia walked quicky to Keith – arms extended – as we entered their play area today.  She knew we were coming, and had been watching for us.  She remembered us, all right!  She and her friends were dressed in their very best clothes, assembling for their own Victory Day celebration.  We enjoyed a quick reunion before she hurried to file into the Music Room.  We were invited to stay for the 30-minute program, joining the 40 children and four adult workers.

While I can’t publicly post a picture of Guanna-to-be-Julia, the music teacher did allow me to take her picture.

LIstening to the music teacher, I experienced “I don’t understand a word you’re saying but I understand exacly what you mean.”

The kiddos responded to prompts and direction to tell the story WWII in poems and songs.  The teacher walked from intriged child to intrigued child, showing two very small bits of bread, the daily ration for a solider during the siege.  She used colored flags and physical activity to represent the heroes of the siege:

Orange flags for the navy, with swimming motions and puffed cheeks

Yellow flags for the army, with tongue-clicks imitating horse hooves on pavement

Blue flags for the airforce, with arms mimicking wings and a motor-mouth sound

And finally – the red flag for victory, with jumps and shouts of ”hooray”

The chidren sang a variety of strident marching songs, followed by a game of musical chairs to patriotic music – which Guanna-to-be-Julia and another little girl won.  Keith and I, of course, clapped enthusiastically.

I’ve never seen a better-behaved group of six and seven-year-old children.  And if you’d seen them in person and looked squarely into their (mostly blue) little eyes - your hearts would break as you tried to figure out how you were taking one or two home with you.  They all react so strongly to Keith.  Me?  I’m just another woman, and they’re around women all day long.  But “Papa?”  Omigosh, he’s a big deal – literally and figuratively.  The little girls try to engage him in conversation, the little boys wave to him and try to show him things.  They all darted their eyes, attempting to make eye contact with him (and not incur the correction of a nearby adult.)  I thought several times, “I wish we could take you, and you, and you, and you.  But we are here for Guanna-to-be-Julia.  I hope your parents come for you.”   Because what was missing in that room was more clapping – by parents.  The whir of movie cameras and the clicks of camera shutters - belonging to parents.  The quietly proud “Didn’t she do well?” comments - among parents.  The hurried stuffing-a-bulletin-in-your-purse-with-a-child’s-name-printed action – by parents.  The “You did so well!  Let’s celebrate at Sonic!” offer - from parents.

C’mon now, everybody sing along….

After all that activity….what better than following it up with change of clothes and a trip to McDonalds?!   Guanna-to-be-Julia impressed the heck out of us by remembering how to get there and no, she hadn’t returned since her first trip to Mikhail D’s with us in February.  She also remembered the building was yellow, and marched right up to the counter when we entered.  We asked our Buckner worker (Masha) to tell her she didn’t have to eat everything offered – but – she ate all but two bites of her Happy Meal cheeseburger, all of her fries and juice (“sock”) and two of Masha’s chicken nuggets.

We had to stop by a nearby playground on the way back (natch!).  When I tried to give her a boost or a helping hand, Masha quickly informed me that she was saying, “I can do it myself.”  And she could.  The child has upper body strength to spare.

She loves the “high places” – the top of the Jungle Gym, the jerk of the see saw, the arc of the swing and being held by Keith.  Walking back into Children’s Home #47, she thrust up her arms to Keith and said, “Papa, I can’t walk” – LOL!  But with two split flights of uneven stairs featuring many broken spots in the concrete, Keith wisely declined to transport her back to the common area for her afternoon nap.

Through Masha, Guanna-to-be-Julia invited us back “as soon as possible.”  I believe that’s tomorrow, after the Victory Parade.    I got a kiss on the cheek – my first.  She doesn’t seem to know how to hug, though she does not stiffen or pull away when given one.  She is more than willing to be held by either of us, a good thing in a car with no seat belts jerking around in major metro traffic.

We talked a bit about our trip home.  She is fascinated by the sound and blur of commuter trains.  We’re not sure she’s seen an airplane, though she’s seen pictures of them.  We told her she would get to ride on a train and an airplane to go home - she thinks she’ll like that.  We told her we were going to go swimming a lot this summer, because her new hometown is very hot.  She likes to swim (or at least play in water) and at some point, has visited the Baltic Sea.  She asked for the name of her sandwich; we told her “hamburger,” and that Papa made them often at home.  She’s excited about trying those.  She knows she has three sisters – she held up three fingers – and she wants to meet them.  We told her they were very anxious to meet her, too.

The last song in the children’s Victory Day program was entitled, “Everybody Wants Peace” – certainly a longed-for setiment in the midst of the shock and brutality of war.  But as they sang it, I thought:  Yes, everybody does want peace.  The emotional peace of knowing that someone loves you.  The shared peace of a family protecing each other.  The physical peace of enough to eat and enough to wear. And the spiritual peace of knowing not only about God, but  also knowing God.

Thursday night, hundreds of parents and guests will applaud the Bush MIddle School choir as they close their end-of-school performance with ”The Lord Bless You and Keep You.”  You remember the scripture, from Numbers 6?

24 “The LORD bless you
and keep you;

25 the LORD make his face shine upon you
and be gracious to you;

26 the LORD turn his face toward you
and give you peace.” ‘

All the middle schoolers will have had good dinners, and they’ll be clothed in their choir uniforms.  They will hear the boisterous clapping of and see the proud faces in the audience.  After the concert, they’ll hear plenty of compliments, and the lines at Sonic and Baskin-Robbins will be long ones.  And they will be at peace.

So, as my friend Konen tells me – “Peace be with you.”  And – today especially – my heart echoes, “And to all the kiddos in Children’s Home #47.”