I had an older, fiesty, Romanian patient this week. He's lived in Canada since the 1960s but still carries a strong accent, and strong eastern european personality! After having him as my patient for 3 days, and knowing only my first name, he asked me, in his delightful Romanian accent (Note to reader: incorrect grammar intended)"Where from your family in europe? Where your father and mother come from?" I giggled at his question, knowing he had recognized some of my treasured slavic traits, and said "Well, my dad's parents are from the Ukraine/Poland area..." "AHA!" he exclaimed. And circling his face with his hand, he said "I could tell...I can see it!" Not to forget my british heritage that I hold dear, I interjected "Ah, but my mom was born in England!" "No matter!" he said. "It's always you are who your father is. Generation after generation - it comes from the father." I told him my last name was Michalski, and he then listed the names of his doctors: Bozinovski (which he pronounced "Bozonovski") and Novak...somehow pleased for his medical team of eastern european heritage all the way over here in Victoria, BC Canada.
It had me wondering, wondering about my real heritage. I know little of where my family came from, only tidbits really. And it's a treasured heritage, because it's mine. It's the heritage that has me greeting my Ukrainian patients with the few short Ukrainian phrases that I know (translated they are: "How are you?" "Very Good" "Praise God!" "I want to eat" "I want to sing"...and then I tell them that my grandpa was a pastor of a Ukrainian church...and it all comes together!). It's is the heritage that has me telling my proper English patients that my mom was born in England, or my grandma was born in Wimbledon, and was a war bride...and instantly we have bonded over a love for a good cuppa', reverence for the monarchy or appreciation of English countryside.
If only I knew more...
I think I'm going to call my grandparents now, or maybe write them a letter, and see if they might tell me of their heritage...of my heritage.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The Summer I Was Adopted
It's ridiculously hot out. 36 degrees celsius...and I'm sure my apartment is about 3 degrees hotter...no exaggeration. oy. To cool down I decided to head to the beach today, figuring the breeze off the cool ocean waters would do me some good...and the sun might help me even out my tan! So to Willow's Beach I went with my towel, latest Real Simple issue, iPod, book and water bottle in tow. Sporting my latest purchase from Coombs - a sun hat that makes me feel like I belong in the Hampton's, I settled into my chosen sandy spot, with a piece of drift wood as my backrest. Sigh. Sweet, west coast beach.
As I settled in for my 20 minute pre-sunscreen bask, my mind was flooded with memories of the summer I was adopted. If you know me well, you may find yourself raising a quizzical eyebrow at this statement...but bear with me.
It was the summer I was 12 years old. The daughter of two working parents, and sister to a 17 year old brother only interested in anything to do with his girlfriend, I was set to have a summer of trying to entertain myself. How was it that those 8 weeks felt like an eternity? 8 weeks of endless possibility. Until I realized it was a little tricky trying to get anywhere on my own as a 12 year old. I remember watching a lot of Matlock during those summer mornings of carefree adolescent laziness...until my summer days were rescued by my adoptive family - The Blackstocks.
The Blackstocks were having a bit of a family reunion that summer, with aunts, uncles and cousins from all over BC coming to play hard on the Island...and fortunately for me, I got to be a Blackstock for the summer. Everyday was a new beach to be discovered, a new park to take captive, and new games to play. Breaking mid-day we would dive into the feast prepared by Mrs. Blackstock - only to run back into the water, with no thought of waiting one hour for our food to settle. Sitting on buoyant drift wood in the freezing ocean waters, unaware that we had lost the feeling to our lower limbs - we had found true summer happiness. Every evening I would run home rigaling my parents with the adventures of the day.
I don't know how long their family was in town, but I do know that I will often equate summer beach time in Victoria with the summer I was adopted by the Blackstocks. There is a photograph somewhere of Kirsten and I sitting on a log, backs to the camera, faces towards the ocean, daydreaming, I'm sure, of the rest of our summer plans and adventures...as sisters might do. It was the perfect summer.
As I settled in for my 20 minute pre-sunscreen bask, my mind was flooded with memories of the summer I was adopted. If you know me well, you may find yourself raising a quizzical eyebrow at this statement...but bear with me.
It was the summer I was 12 years old. The daughter of two working parents, and sister to a 17 year old brother only interested in anything to do with his girlfriend, I was set to have a summer of trying to entertain myself. How was it that those 8 weeks felt like an eternity? 8 weeks of endless possibility. Until I realized it was a little tricky trying to get anywhere on my own as a 12 year old. I remember watching a lot of Matlock during those summer mornings of carefree adolescent laziness...until my summer days were rescued by my adoptive family - The Blackstocks.
The Blackstocks were having a bit of a family reunion that summer, with aunts, uncles and cousins from all over BC coming to play hard on the Island...and fortunately for me, I got to be a Blackstock for the summer. Everyday was a new beach to be discovered, a new park to take captive, and new games to play. Breaking mid-day we would dive into the feast prepared by Mrs. Blackstock - only to run back into the water, with no thought of waiting one hour for our food to settle. Sitting on buoyant drift wood in the freezing ocean waters, unaware that we had lost the feeling to our lower limbs - we had found true summer happiness. Every evening I would run home rigaling my parents with the adventures of the day.
I don't know how long their family was in town, but I do know that I will often equate summer beach time in Victoria with the summer I was adopted by the Blackstocks. There is a photograph somewhere of Kirsten and I sitting on a log, backs to the camera, faces towards the ocean, daydreaming, I'm sure, of the rest of our summer plans and adventures...as sisters might do. It was the perfect summer.
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