Stitched from the Heart

December 1994 Maria: I hugged my cardigan tightly over my body, covering my vyshyvanka* as I slouched into my seat. I wasn't sure if I should put my coat on or not, but I didn't want to look like a bulky snowman around the others. If it wasn't bad enough that my traditional embroidered blouse wouldn't be visible because of my need for warmth in this freezing room, there were only 3 others who chose to wear it in the room of 100! I gazed around the wooden auditorium, observing the parents and siblings dressed up in warm sweaters of red and green, colors that have been popping up around every neighborhood since the end of November. I noticed a girl about Taras's age wearing a pink knitted sweater with a variety of small blue reindeer and snowflakes peppered throughout. The boy next to her was wearing a green sweater featuring an image of Did Moroz* on his sleigh pulling a group of reindeer. The adults in the room were also wearing these sweaters and part of me wondered if there was a dress code that I was not informed of. Why are none of the people wearing traditional embroidered shirts during a Ukrainian holiday? As I debated this issue, the lights started to dim and a spotlight shined on the stage as a 10-year-old boy in a white shirt with embroidered blue diamonds walked onto the stage with a cartoonishly large book. I made a note to myself to try and embroider him a festive shirt with some snowflakes, golden stars or Christmas trees. Something nice enough that he could wear to fit in with the other kids without being laughed at during the holidays, but still traditional enough to showcase elements of his culture. Besides, I needed to practice my vyshytya* and maybe send some new designs back home to Baba* Tanya so that she could sell them at the bazar*. My grandma needed something that could help her stand out from the other ladies selling their embroidered designs, something hip enough that could drive in some younger kids and teens. Maybe it would even drive in tourists who were curious enough to buy something from our culture but too scared to try something completely new and unfamiliar. The boy began to look out into the audience and smiled when his eyes landed on mine. Despite my shyness around the other parents, I decided to sit as close as possible to the stage to get a good look at my little brother's performance. "It's an honor for a Ukrainian child to be praised for and showcase his or her perfect poetic diction on the stage," was what my parents and baba always said, forcing me to read a variety of Ukrainian novels every evening in addition to the homework I was assigned at school. I didn't understand why they kept pushing me to practice a language that we only used at home or at church until I was 17. 1991 was the year when our school books were switched out from Russian to Ukrainian, our teachers expecting us to just switch off years of daily Russian and speak in a language we had only used for an hour a week, 50 hours if you used it at home with your parents. Finally, I understood why I had those extra practice sessions at home, why I had to read faded yellow books with hard beige spines. They were preparing me for a future when I would need it. So why did they choose to just drop that future and force me to move to a new country? A country that was deemed as such a threat that the boys in my class were expected to go to a military training camp for a month every semester from grades 9 to 11. "Expected" isn't the right word I'd use, obviously. More like, "threatened with expulsion and sent to a Siberian work camp with the rest of your family." I can't say I was completely blindsided by my parents' news that we were moving to America. After all, my university had started offering English courses at the beginning of the winter semester in 1992. It was almost as though they knew that a lot of us would be leaving the country after years of strict passport regulations because of the Iron Curtain. Even though my teaching degree didn't require that I take English to graduate, I still chose to take it. After all, It did help me and baba sell more vyshyvanky as I spoke to tourists from countries like Britain and Germany, mostly young men curious enough to see if the rumors that Ukrainian women were as beautiful as they had heard. Baba didn't trust those men though. After all, that was what she'd heard a lot of the Russian and German soldiers say to girls in her village before- I shake off that thought before my mood gets ruined. I came here to watch my brother perform in his St. Nicholas play, not sit around thinking about dark times and "what ifs". The next two hours have to be focused on enjoying the moment, a reminder of the home I had left behind in Kyiv. I watch as Taras begins to narrate the events of the story, as each class starts to go on stage in cute animal costumes and perform a traditional Ukrainian dance number to the best of their ability. It was such a cute performance of "The Mitten" and I wished that my brother could do both the dancing and the narrating. He would have looked adorable dressed as a hedgehog along with the other boys in his class. But, I guess the main lead sometimes has to go solo in order to be the lead. As the story wrapped up, one of the female counselors walked up to the stage, took the microphone from Taras and gently ushered him to walk down the large stairs placed at the center of the stage so he could join his class. "Slava Isusu Hrystu*!" her cheery voice echoed throughout the room as she continued speaking in her accented Ukrainian, “I know all of you have been patiently waiting for Svyatiy Mykolay to come up onto the stage and give you all presents. But, for that to happen, we all need to stand up and loudly sing “Oy Khto Khto Mykolaya Lubit*!” Can you all do that for him? “Tak!” shout all the kids in agreement as they start to go into song. I join in with the rest of the adults as a group of 14 year old girls enter wearing fluffy white robes and angel wings, followed by a tall young man with a curly white beard, a golden scepter, bishop’s hat, and robes. “Glory be to Jesus Christ!” shouts the bearded man as he gets to the stage. He waits for a response from the rest of the audience and asks in a deeper voice than he had used before, “Have you all been good children this year?” “Yes!” “Have you all written me letters about what presents you want?” I swear his voice is getting deeper and deeper each time. It’s not necessary since none of these kids will care to figure out his real identity behind the beard anyway, but he can’t take chances I guess. The children again yell that they have followed his instructions and he continues. “Since you all have been such good children, my angels and I will start handing out presents to each and every one of you. Please walk, don’t run, up to the stage and say hello to me!” he adds. The angels begin to pass the presents from one to the other to Svyatiy Mykolay in a conveyor belt formation as he begins to read off the names of each and every child. I’m glad that one of the parents mentioned it last Saturday as we were walking out of the building dropping off the kids for shodyny. It’s not like the youth organization called or sent a message through mail to let us know. If they did, my parents must have thrown it out by accident or something. I breathe a sigh of relief when Taras’s name is called because we can start heading out. He squeals with joy as he walks up the stairs, shaking hands with Svyatiy Mykolay as though he were meeting the president, and takes the gift bag from his hands. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Glossary: Vyshyvanka - traditional Ukrainian embroidered shirt Did Moroz - the Ukrainian translation of Dyed Moroz Vyshytya - traditional Ukrainian embroidery including towels, headscarves, shirts, dresses, etc. Baba - grandmother in Ukrainian Bazar - a marketplace "Slava Isusu Hrystu!" - a traditional Ukrainian religious greeting which means "Glory Be to Jesus Christ!" People usually respond with "Slava Na Viky" ("Glory be forever"). "Oy Khto Khto Mykolaya Lubit" - A traditional Ukrainian song that is sung during the Feast of St. Nicholas, translating to "Oh Who, Who Loves St. Nicholas." Tak - "yes" in Ukrainain Shodyny - a term used to describe Ukrainian Youth Organization meetings