I thought I'd take a second to reply to the comments I've gotten regarding my posts on this blog. My intention was never to depress people - I haven't made up or thought up, nor have I exaggerated any of the things I've been writing. Actually, to be honest, I've left a lot out.
The kid with the doors is one of my dearest buddies - the only thing I changed was his name. The 'fly-on-the-wall' view of a Saturday is only one of a hundred Saturdays I've seen.
Vova's 1st day at boarding school is about another little buddy of mine - the only thing I changed was his name, as well. I had a question - why he was at boarding school at all. His grandma was (and is) a wonderful woman, who took wonderful care of him. She lived too far away to send him to school, though - at age 8, he still had no idea what letters were, and now, at age 10, he's just getting caught up to the other kids his age in reading, math, and other subjects. He's also adapted to life in the boarding school - and he doesn't cry.
I want you to read these stories and understand, that this is life for my kids. Good, bad, ugly, or otherwise, there's no changing it to make things sound better. The stories I read from other writers either paint a completely dismal picture with no hope anywhere, or a cleaned-up version that doesn't really give people an idea what things are truly like.
There is hope. The kids are amazing little people. They have a tough life, yeah. A really tough life, at times. But they themselves are tough. Life requires them to be tough. They learn it's okay to deceive someone, but you never cry. The most important lesson in 1st grade is to learn how to be a convincing liar.
So here's the question - why are we there? It's what most people would (and do) call an impossible task. But we're just crazy enough to believe that there's hope. There's hope for kids like Misha, and Vova, and all the rest. I want you to get a picture of what things are like now - so that someday, when I share about what amazing changes God has done, you'll truly be able to rejoice with me - having seen a bit of where they came from.
Also - a lot of you reading this have adopted, or are in the process of adopting kids from Russia. I want you to understand, why they are the way they are - where and what it is they've come from, and perhaps, hopefully, the things I have seen & have a chance to share with you, will help in the long run.
Anyways, there are good times. There are fun things. There are times we laugh so hard, our sides hurt. There was the day we all spend hours throwing water out the window and watching it freeze before it hit the ground - we had a blast!
There's a thousand memories and images in my head - some are good. Most, to be honest, though, are bad.
I'll keep writing - just understand that when I write this stuff, it's not to make people upset, particularly. it's to honestly give you a description of how our little friends live - how they think, what they experience, and what shapes them into who they will one day become in adulthood.
Thanks for commenting - even if the comments are negative, please, don't stop making them! I appreciate all of your honesty.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Vova's story - the 1st day in 1st grade (in a boarding school)
The 8-year-old boy had never lost his baby fat. It wasn't that he was overfed - far from it. Close inspection of the little tyke would show that the only place he really looked anything but skinny was his face - his chubby cheeks endeared him to his grandmother - she called them 'kissable'.
It was with no small amount of trepidation that Vova climbed the steps to the huge, brown building. Had he needed to open the door himself he would have found it too heavy, but thankfully the lady whom he'd met at the bus stop opened it for him and ushered him inside.
Always somewhat sensitive, he recoiled at the smells that overwhelmed his senses as the huge door slammed behind him. Momentarily disgusted, he stood unmoving in the entryway, not wanting to venture further. The woman was already halfway up the stairs, expecting that he'd followed her. When she realized he was still standing at the threshold, she addressed him.
"Vova! Come on! We haven't got all day!"
The edge in her voice urged him forward, though everything inside was begging him to take flight and run back home - back to his grandmother's kitchen, where undoubtedly she was baking bread and his kitten was sleeping near the fireplace.
He wordlessly mounted the stairs and approached the lady. What was her name again? She'd told him at the bus station, but he'd been rather overwhelmed by all the new sights and sounds (and smells), and had barely remembered to grab the bag of food his grandma had packed earlier that morning, let alone a strange new woman's name.
As soon as he was within arms' reach, she grabbed his upper arm and hauled him the rest of the way to the teacher's lounge, apparently unconvinced he could make it there on his own.
It wasn't the first time someone had handled him roughly, but Vova still took offense to her boldness, and resisted just enough to let her know he didn't appreciate this kind of treatment.
She didn't seem to notice.
Upon reaching the second floor, Vova saw, for the first time, a terrifying crowd of various-aged children - some alarmingly big ones, some just his age, some in-between. Boys and girls milled about, yelled, and two even seemed to be having some sort of shoving match. His eyes widened as he took in the scene - the noise made him forget completely his aversion to the smells he'd been affronted with upon entering the building - now, had his arm been free, he would have covered his ears with his hands to drown out the chaos.
Fortunately the woman whisked him into the teacher's lounge and slammed the door behind - the slamming of the door made him jump, but it did put a barrier between him and the noise. Now he found himself being analyzed by no less than 5 women. It was really a rather frightening experience - they stood around, arms folded, some with hands on their hips, and discussed him.
"this is the new 1st grader? How old is he?"
"Goodness, would you look at that hair! We'll have to get Lena to shave his head, he's probably crawling with lice."
"Is that bag all he brought with him? I thought the director made it clear boarders had to bring their own rubber boots and winter coat."
"Wonder when the last time he bathed was?"
Vova could have answered all of these questions, had they actually been directed at him. The ladies didn't seem to care what his opinion was, though, and continued conversing as though he didn't understand Russian.
"Did anyone bring sheets over for his bed?"
"Yeah, I had the boys get some yesterday. He'll have to make it himself, though - they just left them sitting on the desk."
"Oh, that's alright - he's a big strong boy. Aren't you Vova? You can make your bed yourself, can't you?"
They'd been talking about him for so long, Vova didn't realize someone had personally addressed him until the woman who'd met him at the bus station snapped her fingers.
"Vova! Marina Timurovna asked you a question! Are you deaf? This isn't a school for deaf children. Dumb children can't live here, either - you aren't deaf, are you? Maybe you're dumb. Are you dumb?"
Vova's ears burned at her words, and he could barely find his tongue. All he wanted was to escape these awful women, this loud, smelly building, and all of their stinging comments. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to go home, and he suddenly realized he needed to use the bathroom.
"N-no, I'm not dumb." It came out stuttered - which made his ears burn even more.
"Well, then, at least we know that much - he's not deaf, and he's not dumb."
The woman who'd asked him about the bed repeated her question - this time a bit harsher.
"You do know how to make a bed, don't you?"
He couldn't find his tongue, so Vova just nodded.
Thankfully, she seemed satisfied. "Well, then, what are you standing around in here for? I'll show you your new room, and you can put your things away and make your bed. It's almost time for breakfast, so you need to hurry."She opened the door and, not wanting to be dragged by the arm again, Vova fell into step right on her heels.
"Right. You'll be in a room with the other 1st and 2nd grade boys. We expect things to be tidy and neat - you're not allowed to be sloppy here. Put your things away, and you'll take your turn sweeping and mopping the floors, probably later this week, when you're more adjusted. Bed's aren't for sitting on, they're for sleeping in. Don't sit on your bed. Do you have soap and a toothbrush with you?"
Again, Vova had a hard time keeping up with her train of thought - he was still processing her instructions, and had completely missed her question.
"Do I have what?"
"Soap, you know, to wash with. And a toothbrush. You've probably never brushed your teeth before."
In spite of himself, Vova glared at her. "I do too brush my teeth! I brush them every day!"
She raised an eyebrow as though she didn't believe him, but then turned and opened a bedroom door.
"Here - you'll live in here. This little shelf is for your soap, and toothbrush."
3 boys were playing on the rug in the middle of the room. It struck Vova as strange that they didn't even look up when he entered with the lady - they continued playing as though nothing had happened.
"That bed near the window, the one with no sheets, is yours. Make your bed and put your things away. Sasha, Roma, this is Vova. He's new and he'll be in your class."
For the first time, the other boys looked up from their game. Two of them only stared at him, the third gave him a little wave, but without smiling.
Vova wanted to cry, and he had to use the bathroom even worse now, but the lady just gave him a gentle shove towards his bed and then left abruptly.
He was alone with the 3 boys now, and for some reason, this unnerved him terribly. He made his way to the bed he'd been assigned and, after carefully laying his plastic bag of belongings on the bedstand, began to make it. He'd nearly finished, when the door was thrown open and a boy of about 14 entered.
"Where's the new kid?" The three on the floor all pointed to where Vova stood, pillow in one hand and pillowcase in the other, and the big boy met his eyes with what Vova could only perceive as an evil grin. It seemed like only a second later the boy was standing so close Vova involuntarily arched backwards to put some distance between their faces.
"So, where's your stuff, new boy?"
He blinked, not understanding. The older boy snatched up the bag he'd brought from home, and Vova suddenly realized what was happening. His hand shot out to stop it, but the older boy just took a step backwards.
"Easy fatso, just keep making your bed." Vova watched warily as the boy rummaged thru the bag, then angrily as he pocketed the home-made cabbage pies his grandmother had packed for later.
"Those are mine!" Vova finally found his voice, and the statement came out in a squeak.
"Not anymore. You better figure things out quick, Fatso. You got things we want, we take 'em, and you don't say anything." He pocketed Vova's only pen, his comb, and the small stuffed dog he'd been given for his 5th birthday.
Vova felt tears stinging his eyes. Those were his things!
The older boy dropped the bag, now containing only the new boys' clean shirt and underwear, and stepped close once again. He grabbed Vova by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the floor.
"Now look, fatso. You don't tell anyone anything, ever - you got that? If you do, I'll make you sorry you ever came here."
As the boy suddenly released his grip, Vova fell to the floor, and, unprepared, his knees gave out from under him. As he went down, Vova's head connected with the edge of his nightstand, and brought instant tears to his eyes.
The older boy turned to leave and, as he was closing the door, smirked and said "what a cry-baby."
The 3 other boys left in the room fixed their eyes on him.
"Yeah, you are a cry-baby. What's the matter with you? Stop crying."
This was spoken by a skinny, blonde-haired boy with ears that stuck out on either side of his head.
Vova buried his face in his hands and sat down on the edge of his bed. The morning had proved too much for his 8-year-old constitution - first the early-morning bus ride away from the only place he wanted to be, then the long walk to the boarding school, the ordeal in the teacher's room, and now this. In a matter of 4 hours his world had been turned upside-down, and he didn't like it one bit.
Long before he was ready, the lady from before burst into the room, announcing it was time for breakfast. The other three scrambled to pull on their rubber boots and light jackets, which had been hanging on hooks on the wall.
"What are you doing over there, Vova? I thought I told you not to sit on the bed!"
The woman marched over to where Vova was and he quickly stood, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve and sniffing loudly as he did.
"And don't wipe your nose on your sleeve, haven't you had any upbringing at all? Goodness. You didn't even finish making your bed, and now we're going to be late! What are you crying for? Stop this minute, and get your coat on!"
Vova's crying started up once again, and she fixed at him with an exasperated look.
"What is it?"
Vova stuttered, but he managed to get out his latest crisis.
"I...I d-don't have a coat!"
The woman sighed deeply and grabbed him by the arm.
"Well, we'll have to get you one later from the store-room. Will you just look at that face? Go to the washroom and get washed up - we'll wait for you by the front door. But hurry!"
Vova still desperately needed to use the bathroom, and anxiously looked thru his tears at the lady.
"where's the toilet? I need to go!"
She gave him a little shove and released his arm, then addressed one of the boys standing near the door, waiting to go to breakfast.
"Roma, show him where the bathroom is, and hurry - we're going to be late to breakfast!"
Roma was the one who'd waved to him earlier. He barely waited for Vova before heading down the hallway towards the teacher's room Vova had been in before. They walked thru a terrifying crowd past that room, to another. Roma pounded on the locked door, then yelled in an amazingly loud voice "open up! The new kid's gonna wet his pants!"
The door was flung open after a moment, and two teenage girls exited, one of them shoving Roma as she walked past. "You're such a pest!" He didn't seem to notice this, and turned to address Vova for the first time.
"Hurry up and go, and wash your face, you don't want everyone knowing you're a cry-baby right away."
Somehow, though his words were harsh, Roma's tone was the warmest Vova had heard since leaving home, and it gave him a spark of hope.
Two minutes later Vova opened the door of the bathroom, and alarmingly realized that the building, only moments ago so loud he couldn't think, was now strangely silent. His heart began to race - though he couldn't understand why, for some reason this was even scarier than the noise had been. Being alone in this big, new place was a terrifying thought.
He raced down the stairs, then threw himself against the big, heavy door. Thru sheer willpower Vova managed to open it, and found himself face-to-face with the 3 boys who'd been in his bedroom.
"You took long enough! Hurry up! Now we're gonna be late!"
It had been an emotionally overwhelming morning, and as Vova hurried to keep up with the hungry 3 boys, his tears threatened to return. He never asked to come to school - he'd been happy at home with his grandmother. Who needed school, anyway? He was overwhelmed, and angry that his things had been stolen, and he hated walking as fast as these boys were forcing him to.
"Hey, new boy, you aren't gonna get any breakfast - you're too slow. We're gonna eat all your food."
The shove from behind was unexpected and Vova nearly tripped, only catching himself at the last second. A dark-eyed boy in a red hat and dirty green jacket glared at him and ran ahead.
For Vova, it was the last straw, and for the third time that day, tears spilled down his cheeks. By the time they reached the dining hall, his vision was blurred and he couldn't even see where he was going. Roma turned around and, staring at him for a moment, came over and put his hands on both of the new boys' shoulders.
"Hey, new kid, listen up. You can't cry here - nobody cries. If you cry it'll be worse. You get it? Stop crying, right now. I'm telling you, it won't get you no sympathy in this place. Don't cry anymore - ever again. Never cry. Life will be better that way."
It was with no small amount of trepidation that Vova climbed the steps to the huge, brown building. Had he needed to open the door himself he would have found it too heavy, but thankfully the lady whom he'd met at the bus stop opened it for him and ushered him inside.
Always somewhat sensitive, he recoiled at the smells that overwhelmed his senses as the huge door slammed behind him. Momentarily disgusted, he stood unmoving in the entryway, not wanting to venture further. The woman was already halfway up the stairs, expecting that he'd followed her. When she realized he was still standing at the threshold, she addressed him.
"Vova! Come on! We haven't got all day!"
The edge in her voice urged him forward, though everything inside was begging him to take flight and run back home - back to his grandmother's kitchen, where undoubtedly she was baking bread and his kitten was sleeping near the fireplace.
He wordlessly mounted the stairs and approached the lady. What was her name again? She'd told him at the bus station, but he'd been rather overwhelmed by all the new sights and sounds (and smells), and had barely remembered to grab the bag of food his grandma had packed earlier that morning, let alone a strange new woman's name.
As soon as he was within arms' reach, she grabbed his upper arm and hauled him the rest of the way to the teacher's lounge, apparently unconvinced he could make it there on his own.
It wasn't the first time someone had handled him roughly, but Vova still took offense to her boldness, and resisted just enough to let her know he didn't appreciate this kind of treatment.
She didn't seem to notice.
Upon reaching the second floor, Vova saw, for the first time, a terrifying crowd of various-aged children - some alarmingly big ones, some just his age, some in-between. Boys and girls milled about, yelled, and two even seemed to be having some sort of shoving match. His eyes widened as he took in the scene - the noise made him forget completely his aversion to the smells he'd been affronted with upon entering the building - now, had his arm been free, he would have covered his ears with his hands to drown out the chaos.
Fortunately the woman whisked him into the teacher's lounge and slammed the door behind - the slamming of the door made him jump, but it did put a barrier between him and the noise. Now he found himself being analyzed by no less than 5 women. It was really a rather frightening experience - they stood around, arms folded, some with hands on their hips, and discussed him.
"this is the new 1st grader? How old is he?"
"Goodness, would you look at that hair! We'll have to get Lena to shave his head, he's probably crawling with lice."
"Is that bag all he brought with him? I thought the director made it clear boarders had to bring their own rubber boots and winter coat."
"Wonder when the last time he bathed was?"
Vova could have answered all of these questions, had they actually been directed at him. The ladies didn't seem to care what his opinion was, though, and continued conversing as though he didn't understand Russian.
"Did anyone bring sheets over for his bed?"
"Yeah, I had the boys get some yesterday. He'll have to make it himself, though - they just left them sitting on the desk."
"Oh, that's alright - he's a big strong boy. Aren't you Vova? You can make your bed yourself, can't you?"
They'd been talking about him for so long, Vova didn't realize someone had personally addressed him until the woman who'd met him at the bus station snapped her fingers.
"Vova! Marina Timurovna asked you a question! Are you deaf? This isn't a school for deaf children. Dumb children can't live here, either - you aren't deaf, are you? Maybe you're dumb. Are you dumb?"
Vova's ears burned at her words, and he could barely find his tongue. All he wanted was to escape these awful women, this loud, smelly building, and all of their stinging comments. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to go home, and he suddenly realized he needed to use the bathroom.
"N-no, I'm not dumb." It came out stuttered - which made his ears burn even more.
"Well, then, at least we know that much - he's not deaf, and he's not dumb."
The woman who'd asked him about the bed repeated her question - this time a bit harsher.
"You do know how to make a bed, don't you?"
He couldn't find his tongue, so Vova just nodded.
Thankfully, she seemed satisfied. "Well, then, what are you standing around in here for? I'll show you your new room, and you can put your things away and make your bed. It's almost time for breakfast, so you need to hurry."She opened the door and, not wanting to be dragged by the arm again, Vova fell into step right on her heels.
"Right. You'll be in a room with the other 1st and 2nd grade boys. We expect things to be tidy and neat - you're not allowed to be sloppy here. Put your things away, and you'll take your turn sweeping and mopping the floors, probably later this week, when you're more adjusted. Bed's aren't for sitting on, they're for sleeping in. Don't sit on your bed. Do you have soap and a toothbrush with you?"
Again, Vova had a hard time keeping up with her train of thought - he was still processing her instructions, and had completely missed her question.
"Do I have what?"
"Soap, you know, to wash with. And a toothbrush. You've probably never brushed your teeth before."
In spite of himself, Vova glared at her. "I do too brush my teeth! I brush them every day!"
She raised an eyebrow as though she didn't believe him, but then turned and opened a bedroom door.
"Here - you'll live in here. This little shelf is for your soap, and toothbrush."
3 boys were playing on the rug in the middle of the room. It struck Vova as strange that they didn't even look up when he entered with the lady - they continued playing as though nothing had happened.
"That bed near the window, the one with no sheets, is yours. Make your bed and put your things away. Sasha, Roma, this is Vova. He's new and he'll be in your class."
For the first time, the other boys looked up from their game. Two of them only stared at him, the third gave him a little wave, but without smiling.
Vova wanted to cry, and he had to use the bathroom even worse now, but the lady just gave him a gentle shove towards his bed and then left abruptly.
He was alone with the 3 boys now, and for some reason, this unnerved him terribly. He made his way to the bed he'd been assigned and, after carefully laying his plastic bag of belongings on the bedstand, began to make it. He'd nearly finished, when the door was thrown open and a boy of about 14 entered.
"Where's the new kid?" The three on the floor all pointed to where Vova stood, pillow in one hand and pillowcase in the other, and the big boy met his eyes with what Vova could only perceive as an evil grin. It seemed like only a second later the boy was standing so close Vova involuntarily arched backwards to put some distance between their faces.
"So, where's your stuff, new boy?"
He blinked, not understanding. The older boy snatched up the bag he'd brought from home, and Vova suddenly realized what was happening. His hand shot out to stop it, but the older boy just took a step backwards.
"Easy fatso, just keep making your bed." Vova watched warily as the boy rummaged thru the bag, then angrily as he pocketed the home-made cabbage pies his grandmother had packed for later.
"Those are mine!" Vova finally found his voice, and the statement came out in a squeak.
"Not anymore. You better figure things out quick, Fatso. You got things we want, we take 'em, and you don't say anything." He pocketed Vova's only pen, his comb, and the small stuffed dog he'd been given for his 5th birthday.
Vova felt tears stinging his eyes. Those were his things!
The older boy dropped the bag, now containing only the new boys' clean shirt and underwear, and stepped close once again. He grabbed Vova by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the floor.
"Now look, fatso. You don't tell anyone anything, ever - you got that? If you do, I'll make you sorry you ever came here."
As the boy suddenly released his grip, Vova fell to the floor, and, unprepared, his knees gave out from under him. As he went down, Vova's head connected with the edge of his nightstand, and brought instant tears to his eyes.
The older boy turned to leave and, as he was closing the door, smirked and said "what a cry-baby."
The 3 other boys left in the room fixed their eyes on him.
"Yeah, you are a cry-baby. What's the matter with you? Stop crying."
This was spoken by a skinny, blonde-haired boy with ears that stuck out on either side of his head.
Vova buried his face in his hands and sat down on the edge of his bed. The morning had proved too much for his 8-year-old constitution - first the early-morning bus ride away from the only place he wanted to be, then the long walk to the boarding school, the ordeal in the teacher's room, and now this. In a matter of 4 hours his world had been turned upside-down, and he didn't like it one bit.
Long before he was ready, the lady from before burst into the room, announcing it was time for breakfast. The other three scrambled to pull on their rubber boots and light jackets, which had been hanging on hooks on the wall.
"What are you doing over there, Vova? I thought I told you not to sit on the bed!"
The woman marched over to where Vova was and he quickly stood, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve and sniffing loudly as he did.
"And don't wipe your nose on your sleeve, haven't you had any upbringing at all? Goodness. You didn't even finish making your bed, and now we're going to be late! What are you crying for? Stop this minute, and get your coat on!"
Vova's crying started up once again, and she fixed at him with an exasperated look.
"What is it?"
Vova stuttered, but he managed to get out his latest crisis.
"I...I d-don't have a coat!"
The woman sighed deeply and grabbed him by the arm.
"Well, we'll have to get you one later from the store-room. Will you just look at that face? Go to the washroom and get washed up - we'll wait for you by the front door. But hurry!"
Vova still desperately needed to use the bathroom, and anxiously looked thru his tears at the lady.
"where's the toilet? I need to go!"
She gave him a little shove and released his arm, then addressed one of the boys standing near the door, waiting to go to breakfast.
"Roma, show him where the bathroom is, and hurry - we're going to be late to breakfast!"
Roma was the one who'd waved to him earlier. He barely waited for Vova before heading down the hallway towards the teacher's room Vova had been in before. They walked thru a terrifying crowd past that room, to another. Roma pounded on the locked door, then yelled in an amazingly loud voice "open up! The new kid's gonna wet his pants!"
The door was flung open after a moment, and two teenage girls exited, one of them shoving Roma as she walked past. "You're such a pest!" He didn't seem to notice this, and turned to address Vova for the first time.
"Hurry up and go, and wash your face, you don't want everyone knowing you're a cry-baby right away."
Somehow, though his words were harsh, Roma's tone was the warmest Vova had heard since leaving home, and it gave him a spark of hope.
Two minutes later Vova opened the door of the bathroom, and alarmingly realized that the building, only moments ago so loud he couldn't think, was now strangely silent. His heart began to race - though he couldn't understand why, for some reason this was even scarier than the noise had been. Being alone in this big, new place was a terrifying thought.
He raced down the stairs, then threw himself against the big, heavy door. Thru sheer willpower Vova managed to open it, and found himself face-to-face with the 3 boys who'd been in his bedroom.
"You took long enough! Hurry up! Now we're gonna be late!"
It had been an emotionally overwhelming morning, and as Vova hurried to keep up with the hungry 3 boys, his tears threatened to return. He never asked to come to school - he'd been happy at home with his grandmother. Who needed school, anyway? He was overwhelmed, and angry that his things had been stolen, and he hated walking as fast as these boys were forcing him to.
"Hey, new boy, you aren't gonna get any breakfast - you're too slow. We're gonna eat all your food."
The shove from behind was unexpected and Vova nearly tripped, only catching himself at the last second. A dark-eyed boy in a red hat and dirty green jacket glared at him and ran ahead.
For Vova, it was the last straw, and for the third time that day, tears spilled down his cheeks. By the time they reached the dining hall, his vision was blurred and he couldn't even see where he was going. Roma turned around and, staring at him for a moment, came over and put his hands on both of the new boys' shoulders.
"Hey, new kid, listen up. You can't cry here - nobody cries. If you cry it'll be worse. You get it? Stop crying, right now. I'm telling you, it won't get you no sympathy in this place. Don't cry anymore - ever again. Never cry. Life will be better that way."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Cigarettes & Mickey Mouse
The shout rang out across the open, snow-covered yard - out to the other side of the woodshed, where four boys stood lazily taking in the late-afternoon sunset and sharing a cigarette. Kids raised with 96 others learn quickly that to be heard above the din, one must learn to make his voice carry far distances. Sasha had learned this trick well, and now he shouted with all his lung power one of the only words in the Russian language that could bring all kids, regardless of age, running from all directions. Even before he had time to slam the door shut to keep out the cold air, the four smokers had abandoned their cigarette and were hurriedly returning to the big three-story building they called home. Stomping their boots & shaking the light dusting of snow off their coats onto the wood floor (it wasn't any of their turns to mop on Saturdays, so who cared if they left puddles?), they half-jokingly shoved each other as they raced up the stairs, past the teacher's lounge, and into the TV room, where already a formidable sized group had gathered, seated on the low, green-painted wooden benches, around the much prized, blaring television. One of the new arrivals, his voice nearly cracking as he yelled over the noise of the tv, yelled for an explanation. "What's on? Sasha said cartoons. What cartoons?" He confidently made his way to the best seat in the house, bench closest to the television, front and center, which was at the moment occupied by a very excited 3rd grader. Vacating the seat was no challenge to Timur, and with a smooth, practiced motion he wordlessly lifted the 3rd grader by his coat, gave him a small shove to the side, and occupied the space himself. Yuri the 3rd grader never blinked - he first tried to seat himself on the bench behind Timur, but was met with a growl from another of the new arrivals, Dennis, who's menacing whisper was clear even though the noise in the room was close to chaotic, and Yuri moved to the side of the room, contenting himself with a standing position near the radiators that lined the wall. At least it was warm, standing that close to the only source of heat in the building.
"Mickey Mouse is on - everyone shut up, Mickey Mouse is on!" For 7 minutes, the room was as close as it ever got to quiet - with 24 sets of eyes happily glued to the cartoon images on the screen. Occasional bursts of childish laughter broke out, and for a moment, it was forgotten that these kids weren't just like every other child in the world.
Commercial breaks occur in Russia, as well as everywhere else, and as an ad for lemon-smelling dish soap came on, there was a scramble for the washrooms as nine boys and five girls, ranging in age from 10 to 15, crammed into the small room and lit up for a quick smoke. The somewhat-overweight weekend nanny heard the movement, and for a moment, her sense of duty as their caretaker surfaced. She followed her nose to the stench coming from the washroom, the thought never occuring to her that Yuri the 3rd grader was very obviously standing guard. He frantically pounded on the door and yelled 'hurry up, you guys!' - she missed his meaning and patted him on the head, assuring him that the big kids would be done washing their hands in a moment, and he'd get his turn at the sinks.
She was about to knock on the door when it was flung open and a crowd of coughing teenagers came barreling out.
She sniffed again, leaning close to one of the boys.
"Were you smoking in there?"
"Nope."
"Are you sure? I smell cigarette smoke."
"I wasn't smoking! We were just washing our hands!"
"Why does it smell like smoke in there?"
"I don't smoke!"
"Well, alright. Turn that TV down, you'll all go deaf!"
"Yeah, well, then we wouldn't have to listen to you anymore."
"Oh, you kids. Why do I even try? Turn it down I said!"
"NO! What's it matter to you, anyway? It's our ears, not yours."
The same boy who had called them in from outside yelled from the TV room that the cartoons were back, and the conversation with the nanny was abruptly brought to a close. Scrambling once again to find their places, after a short scrap over who had been sitting where, the room was once again as silent as one could ever find it.
Sighing that her job didn't pay enough, the nanny threw her hands up in the air in exasperation and returned to the teacher's lounge, where the blaring of the kids' TV nearly drowned out her own. Turning on the electric teapot, she settled back down to continue watching the poorly-translated Brazilian soap opera she'd come to depend upon for entertainment. Something - anything to distract her from the monotony of her chosen profession. Not that she'd particularly chosen this profession - who would? It almost paid the bills, though, and didn't require any real skills.
All too soon the cartoons were over, to the chagrin and verbally uttered disappointment of most in the room. They were followed by a feature film, one which was not new to our group of bored viewers. Shouts rang out as the crowd decided whether to watch this film again, or switch to the other channel.
"We've seen this one - it's the one where the guy kills that other guy."
"Yeah, so? It's a good movie. And there's the part where the car blows up. Keep it on."
"No, I hate this movie, it's stupid."
"Nobody asked you! I wanna watch it! Leave it on."
"There's something better on the other channel, change it!"
"NO! I said leave it on! Touch that button and I'll kill you!"
"Shut up, everyone! Just watch the stupid movie!"
The interruption for dinner was welcome, but untimely. Wanting to miss as little as possible, the older kids finished in 7 minutes flat and raced back. Completely immersed in the plot of a murderous betrayal, they were quite annoyed when the nanny once again invaded their lives, flicking the light on and demanding their attention.
"I told you to turn that volume down! You'll all go deaf!"
"Quiet! We're trying to watch a movie!"
"Turn it down!"
"Fine, fine, we'll turn it down. Just go away, we're missing the best part."
"Yuri, you're sitting too close - move back."
"Quiet!"
"You know, kids, cartoons are on channel 2 right now."
"What?! Cartoons? Which ones?"
"Looney Tunes, I think."
"Right now?"
"Yes, it started 5 minutes ago."
"Turn the channel! Hey - cartoons are on the other channel! Change it!"
"But...we were watching the movie!"
"we've already seen that stupid movie. The guy dies and the murderer falls off a building and then his car blows up. Now TURN THE CHANNEL!"
Once again, happiest watching cartoons, our kids sit glued to the screen.
It's been a typical Saturday in our orphanage.
"Mickey Mouse is on - everyone shut up, Mickey Mouse is on!" For 7 minutes, the room was as close as it ever got to quiet - with 24 sets of eyes happily glued to the cartoon images on the screen. Occasional bursts of childish laughter broke out, and for a moment, it was forgotten that these kids weren't just like every other child in the world.
Commercial breaks occur in Russia, as well as everywhere else, and as an ad for lemon-smelling dish soap came on, there was a scramble for the washrooms as nine boys and five girls, ranging in age from 10 to 15, crammed into the small room and lit up for a quick smoke. The somewhat-overweight weekend nanny heard the movement, and for a moment, her sense of duty as their caretaker surfaced. She followed her nose to the stench coming from the washroom, the thought never occuring to her that Yuri the 3rd grader was very obviously standing guard. He frantically pounded on the door and yelled 'hurry up, you guys!' - she missed his meaning and patted him on the head, assuring him that the big kids would be done washing their hands in a moment, and he'd get his turn at the sinks.
She was about to knock on the door when it was flung open and a crowd of coughing teenagers came barreling out.
She sniffed again, leaning close to one of the boys.
"Were you smoking in there?"
"Nope."
"Are you sure? I smell cigarette smoke."
"I wasn't smoking! We were just washing our hands!"
"Why does it smell like smoke in there?"
"I don't smoke!"
"Well, alright. Turn that TV down, you'll all go deaf!"
"Yeah, well, then we wouldn't have to listen to you anymore."
"Oh, you kids. Why do I even try? Turn it down I said!"
"NO! What's it matter to you, anyway? It's our ears, not yours."
The same boy who had called them in from outside yelled from the TV room that the cartoons were back, and the conversation with the nanny was abruptly brought to a close. Scrambling once again to find their places, after a short scrap over who had been sitting where, the room was once again as silent as one could ever find it.
Sighing that her job didn't pay enough, the nanny threw her hands up in the air in exasperation and returned to the teacher's lounge, where the blaring of the kids' TV nearly drowned out her own. Turning on the electric teapot, she settled back down to continue watching the poorly-translated Brazilian soap opera she'd come to depend upon for entertainment. Something - anything to distract her from the monotony of her chosen profession. Not that she'd particularly chosen this profession - who would? It almost paid the bills, though, and didn't require any real skills.
All too soon the cartoons were over, to the chagrin and verbally uttered disappointment of most in the room. They were followed by a feature film, one which was not new to our group of bored viewers. Shouts rang out as the crowd decided whether to watch this film again, or switch to the other channel.
"We've seen this one - it's the one where the guy kills that other guy."
"Yeah, so? It's a good movie. And there's the part where the car blows up. Keep it on."
"No, I hate this movie, it's stupid."
"Nobody asked you! I wanna watch it! Leave it on."
"There's something better on the other channel, change it!"
"NO! I said leave it on! Touch that button and I'll kill you!"
"Shut up, everyone! Just watch the stupid movie!"
The interruption for dinner was welcome, but untimely. Wanting to miss as little as possible, the older kids finished in 7 minutes flat and raced back. Completely immersed in the plot of a murderous betrayal, they were quite annoyed when the nanny once again invaded their lives, flicking the light on and demanding their attention.
"I told you to turn that volume down! You'll all go deaf!"
"Quiet! We're trying to watch a movie!"
"Turn it down!"
"Fine, fine, we'll turn it down. Just go away, we're missing the best part."
"Yuri, you're sitting too close - move back."
"Quiet!"
"You know, kids, cartoons are on channel 2 right now."
"What?! Cartoons? Which ones?"
"Looney Tunes, I think."
"Right now?"
"Yes, it started 5 minutes ago."
"Turn the channel! Hey - cartoons are on the other channel! Change it!"
"But...we were watching the movie!"
"we've already seen that stupid movie. The guy dies and the murderer falls off a building and then his car blows up. Now TURN THE CHANNEL!"
Once again, happiest watching cartoons, our kids sit glued to the screen.
It's been a typical Saturday in our orphanage.
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