Personal Narrative: My Dysfunctional Russian Family

Throughout life I’ve experienced a rather unpleasant childhood with the absence of my guiding figures: my parents. Seeing them rush in and out of the house to go to the hospital with my younger brother shaped me in a way nothing else could have. It made me who I am today, as well as aspired me towards what I want to be one day.

Pierce took her diary entries and letters and created the book: Trapped in “Black Russia” , explains the side of the war about being American in the Soviet Union during the months of June to November of 1915. Pierce explained her horrors of seeing the death in the streets, the Jewish detention camp, and seeing the Governor of Kiev send his things away before his people, in the rush to get away from the advancing German lines. Peter, who was a significant other in Pierce's life, helped her during her time of her arrest. Pierce managed to keep her humanity, feeling sympathy to all no matter their religion or race, as her time in Kiev grew longer. When on the train going away fro Kiev, Pierce did not feel relief or joy, just contemp, knowing her

This past May, my Grandpa went home to the Lord. Right after the funeral, Grandma received a mail addressed to her. It was a surprise stuffed dog (Homer) from the Habitat for Humanity where Grandpa donated to them. Since then, Grandma have been looking for the exact same one. Today, I introduce the newest member of the Sochacki family--Charlie (tentative name), 8 weeks old, and he is a Cavachon. Already a bundle of joy to all the family!

“Hold it!” I screeched. I rose the rifle, pressing the stock against my shoulder. His ripped uniform was deep, blood red. The patch on his shoulder flashed the marking of the Soviet Union, sworn enemies to the Fourth Reich. I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes. “State your name!” I demanded. His head was bowed with his hands held up in surrender. My finger stiffened against the trigger. One shot in his skull would end his pathetic life and make my country safer without another Soviet soldier.

mother, I had been forced to stay home while my parents went out to a

I hated that stupid rock. I couldn’t move it, climb over it, or swim through the river around it. That wouldn’t count. Part of me hoped that the rock would tip over and fall into the water so I could laugh as it tumbled away, but I knew I couldn’t be that lucky. I wanted to kick it halfway across the globe or punch it up until it was nothing but rubble. I couldn’t though, because it’s a rock, I’m a human and human-rock relations just don’t work that way. Maybe I would get lucky and someone from Romania would randomly decide to make a display of gigantic stones from around the world. I wondered if the rock would pity me and move out of the way if I cried. But it’s a rock, rocks don’t seem to have emotions.

To the Dad, at your age, no it wouldn't be a good idea to have a 27 year old drug addict grandson stay with you. This is one of those things that has to fix itself. For one, your daughter has to evict her son and stop enabling him, if he won't get help for his drug addiction. My In-laws kicked out a drug addict daughter with kids, because a social worker said it would be the only way for her to get clean, was to stop the support. She got arrested a couple of months later, her kids went in Foster Care. She was given a year sentence, she got off drugs and finished her GED in jail. When she got out she did AA meetings and got a job and eventually got her kids back. My In-Laws kept her at arms length for the rest of their lives due to her behavior

I spoke to Laura, my mom’s friend, over Skype on Wednesday. She moved to Caucuses a few years before the collapse of the soviet union. We discussed how life was like in the last years before the collapse of the Soviet Union.

We were anxiously making our way to the terminal at JFK airport. Just the night before, we heard that there were three orphans arriving from Eastern Ukraine with no family to meet them. It sounds like a crazy thing to do on such short notice, but we were taking them in. We’re an Ukrainian-American family who is closely following the war with Russia and involved in keeping our heritage alive; I play a 55-stringed traditional instrument called the Bandura, my siblings folk dance, and my father watches Ukrainian news at every opportunity. We saw helping these kids as a real way of supporting Ukraine and her people in their struggles.

As my parents grew further apart, my siblings and I grew closer together. Having grown up in a rural community, my father was greatly supported emotionally, as our family and friends could see how the pressures of being the sole-provider weighed on him.

Nearly four years ago, when I was only twenty, I spent six months volunteering in Moscow as a Hebrew teacher and dorm counselor. I went for practical, hands-on experience and for an opportunity to give back to the Jewish community. The charity school where I worked had both dorm and orphanage students from all over Russia, the dorm students came from troubled or broken homes, while orphans were bussed in daily from the orphanage. Having just finished three years in rabbinical school I was fluent in Hebrew, and with my Russian heritage, and my training and heart to serve, this was the perfect opportunity.

The smell went from brand new to cherries, smoke, McDonald’s french fries, sweaty kids, and love with lots of work. It may seem like the worst combination; but trust me, it’s the best smell. The brand new white suburban was a part of the Braaten family the spring of 2003. My dad had brought it home as a present for my mom after delivering her third and final baby. The innocent white car had no idea what it was in for.

I am new to this concept, but I would like to try and continue writing my life experiences in this journal. As you know, I work for an international company, today, I was given a raise and promotion. That’s great, right? Well, it comes with a catch, the promotion I received isn’t at the facility I work at in Lithuania, it’s based in the U.S. I am extremely scared because Lithuania has been my home for my entire life. However, I have taken the bold move to start a new chapter in my life with a higher paying job. In just 10 short days, I will be boarding a plane with my husband and child to start our new life in Wisconsin. The change from Lithuania to America won’t be too hard on us. Lithuanian customs like being Catholic is also a custom that

Growing up in Russia I would always see my mom smoking and drinking and I did not think much of it I just thought that's what all the adults did for fun. During all the Russian holidays our home would be filled with people I didn't even know or ever seen before and they would all be smoking and drinking; people always tried to give me their drinks to drink but I would never drink them because I was only six and thought that it smelled atrocious. I had no clue how bad alcohol or smoking was at the time because in the Russian school systems they did not educate us on those types of things because in Russia everyone was okay with it. I could tell it was not good for you though because my mom would act all funny when she drinks and I hated the smell of cigarettes so I thought those two things where no good. I would constantly beg my mom to quit and she would say okay but I always saw her sneak out to the balcony to smoke or drink. I would confront her about this but all it would lead to is fighting between the two of us; I eventually learned to accept her life choices even though I did not

Having been the youngest one in a middle class family, I came across a lot of challenges and opportunities as well. The challenges were to excel beyond the standards set by my elder siblings and get acknowledgment based on my own achievements without being compared to others. Along with them, there was a great amount of resistance for creative thoughts and approaches because of many abortive attempts by my elders. And of course, there