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CHILDHOOD MEMORIES FROM RUSSIA…WITH LOVE?
I was born in 1950, at Cook County Hospital. I was the younger of two boys, by three years. Growing up, my family was not very different than most in our suburban Chicago neighborhood. Dad worked, mom was home most days (when she wasn’t volunteering at the local Parish). My brother and I generally got along.
When I got out of high school and ventured off to college, I realized we were far from the television version of our family, the Cleavers (though I don’t know how “average” they were, either). When I recounted moments of childhood, my friends would elbow each other and snicker, and I’d be met with indignant stares.
What was so wrong with turning our cellar into a bomb shelter for fear of the Russian bombs? Was it because Dad also bought Russian vodka to mix with his Ginger Ale?
echoes from the silence 