Point of Personal Privilege

As it happens, the wife of one of my cousins is from Ukraine.  In fact, her parents not only still live there, but just outside Kyiv, the main focus of the fighting right now.  I was talking to her yesterday, and she said how stressful it is, especially since the situation changes every day.  "It is difficult to comprehend the scale of this conflict," she explained.  Fortunately, she can talk with her parents on the phone, but bombs can be heard in the background.  Unfortunately, her parents couldn't be evacuated in time. "Now it is impossible."  However, she said her mother is very stubborn, so it's not likely that she'd have left anyway.

Her mother, it turns out, is part Russian.  And has always been very neutral.  But conditions have changed.

At the moment, they still have water and electricity, though there are some shortages in food, notably bread.  "But everyone is helping out," she says.

There's a related story to this.

My grandfather Morton Leviton (who was my mother's father) passed away long before I was born.  (He's also the grandfather of my cousin I mentioned above.)  Indeed, he passed away so long ago, my mother herself was just a young girl in Chicago, back in 1935.  Though I never met him, the stories from my mother were wonderful.  In fact, even late in her life, when she'd talk about her father, who passed away when she was only 12 years old, she would still often tear up.  So, I do think about him on occasion.  But most-especially now.

I bring this up because you'll note on the document below, in Line 12 where it says birthplace, I've circled "Odessa."  Which is in the south of Ukraine. 

Though it also lists Russia as the nation of birth, that's because -- as you may have read in the news -- Ukraine, which for centuries was an independent country, was eventually made part of the Russia Empire, until it finally again became an independent country in 1990.

I don't think I've ever thought of my mother as half-Ukrainian -- in large part perhaps because, as I said, I didn't know my grandfather who had passed away when my mother was 12, and I didn't know any relatives on her side, since they were still in Ukraine -- nor did I ever get the sense how much she did, she was quintessential Midwestern, born in Chicago, Lakeview High, University of Chicago, always visiting her relatives in Indiana, her mom born in Hammond, but then, I never asked -- but when one of your parents is from Ukraine, then that's exactly what you are.

​Back in the late 1970s, my folks took a trip to Russia, and they made sure to visit Odessa, because my mother wanted to see the city where her father was born.  (And that was always the only thing she talked about, how it related to her father.  Though, again, I never asked her further.)  I still have the postcard she sent me.  It was a picture of the main staircase of the Odessa opera house.

"Oh, yes, that's a very beautiful building," my cousin's wife said (side note: I told her I wouldn't use her name, not that she minded, which she didn't.)  "It's like very old European."

​It is indeed very beautiful.

What my mother wrote on the card, which I haven't read in many years, is especially touching.  You'll note the stamps, including one with Lenin on it.

She says that the opera house wasn't open when they were there, but they were still able to at least get into the lobby see the box office area, and, of course, walk around the building, and even hear a soprano rehearsing with a piano through an open window.  "Very exciting for me, since my father was a real opera-lover.  (Please save this.)"

That apartment building where it was sent has been torn down, and I've moved three times since then, but I've indeed saved the card.  And as for my grandfather being a "real opera-lover," that's not only something she talked about often, but as "proof" she was even named after one of his favorite opera singers, something that was always a bit of a family joke because my mother couldn't carry a tune if she had a big shovel.

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​(Totally separate of all of this, there's something else interesting about this document above, which is my grandfather's death certificate.  At the top it says the County Clerk is Richard J. Daley, and is signed by him at the bottom.  And yes, that's Richard J. Daley who was elected mayor in 1955.  However, since he didn't become City Clerk until 1950, serving for 21 years, I assume this document had to have been made when my grandmother or mother needed it after that date.)