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My parents, brothers & sisters. I am the second one on the right.
I was fourteen years old and excited about going to America, but I didn’t know that being in a foreign country, unable to speak the native language, would be so challenging. The freedoms that we would enjoy in America, would allow our family religious, educational and economic opportunities. People who have always had those freedoms, cannot understand what it is like not to have them. We chose freedom.
We sold our house and car and used the money for our immigration. On January 22, 1992, we said good-bye to our family and friends. Our Father kissed the corner of our house, which he had built, knowing he would likely never see it again. We loaded our luggage on a private bus that we rented and drove 600 miles to Moscow International Airport. After thirteen hours of flight, we landed in New York. Six hour later, we boarded another airplane and flew to Portland, Oregon. Because some of our friends and relatives immigrated before us, they were there to greet us. We were excited to see each other.
The first two weeks we stayed with our Uncle Vlad’s family in Vancouver, Washington, in his three-bedroom house. One bedroom was for our uncle, his wife and their five children. The second bedroom was for our parents and their two youngest children, and the third bedroom was for us, four older girls. Our two brothers slept on couches in the living room. We slept during the day and were awake at night; it took a few days to adjust to the 12-hour time difference.
When Uncle Vlad drove us to the grocery store for the first time, I could not believe what I saw: ice cream in plastic buckets, and so many different fruits and vegetables! Our food selection in the Ukraine was not even close to what America had to offer. We were happy in Ukraine with what we had because we knew no better. In America, we thanked God for everything: food on the table, a place to live, and warm clothes.
For a while, we found oranges underneath my sister’s pillow. “Why do you keep oranges under your pillow?” we asked. “Because I love oranges so much and worry that I may not have them tomorrow,” answered our sister. She had hard time believing that she was in America and could eat oranges whenever she wanted.
The two weeks passed, and we were ready to move into our own place. It had not been easy to find a space given that there were ten of us and little money. Finally, we found a two-bedroom apartment. It was challenging with one bathroom and a small space, but we were in America! God had blessed us!
At one point the principal of a school came to talk with my parents about my brother’s behavior. When he saw our tiny space and our lack of furniture, he left and came back in one hour with a truck full of used furniture, lamps and other items that would improve our life. We are still grateful for his kindness! It made a difference in our lives.
As I think of it today, I am so thankful to our Uncle Peter, for helping us immigrate to America. I am thankful to Uncle Vlad for letting us stay with his family in a foreign country, even though it wasn’t simple for seventeen people to live together. I also thank God for the good people who helped us, and for the welfare program, which gave us food stamps and cash for living. From the bottom of my heart, I thank this country for accepting us, the Immigrants!
…….
We were happy, excited and ready for a new start in America; then we started missing our old country. It was difficult to make friends. We missed our house and our native language which we understood. Most of Mom’s relatives lived in Vancouver. She seemed to be happy, being close to her family. But our Father missed his family in Ukraine. (He never saw his Mother again, as she died shortly after he left, but he saw his Father ten years later.) Our parents worried about how we were going to live in America. They did not have jobs and language was a barrier. Our Father stayed home with the younger children and received Social Security disability.
English was taught in my Mom’s school, but that had been twenty years before, therefore, she had limited English skills. It was difficult to function in America, and Mom understood that she would need to get a job requiring English. She constantly tried to learn the English language. I remember seeing her often fall asleep with an English/Russian dictionary in her hands.
My Father had learned German in the Ukrainian school as had the rest of the family, so we all had to start learning English. When shopping, Father carried a pencil and paper with him and drew a picture of what he needed. We, three older girls, were placed in ninth grade in the English as a Second Language (ESL) program. At our school many immigrants spoke Russian, so we did not feel lonely.
Our Mom became pregnant with her ninth child. We desperately needed a larger home. My parents looked at a few houses, but no one would rent to such a big family. One day they were buying a newspaper at a gas station and met a lady named Patricia.
“Come back in two hours. I will give you the key to my two-story, three-bedroom rental house,” Patricia said.
“Thank you so much. We see your kind act as help from God,” my Mom answered.
Our new house was in another part of Vancouver, therefore, we had to change schools. Because we knew very few students who spoke Russian, school became more challenging. I could not say in English what I wanted to say; if I said something wrong, I felt embarrassed. Most of the time I just remained quiet.
Making friends was difficult. I prayed to God to send me a good friend. Soon I met Katya, a new immigrant, who also did not speak English. We became friends. That day, I remember, I shared the news with Katya,
“My baby sister was born today. Her name is Vera. She is ninth in our family!”
Since then we are the best friends with Katya until today. It has been 25 years!
The first two years in High School I took English as a Second Language class. As a Junior, I took ninth grade’s Standard English and received my first “A”. I was so proud of myself! Those hard days with the dictionary in my hands finally paid off. During my last year in High School, I completed a Legal/Medical Office Applications program at Clark County Skills Center. After graduating from high school, I started college.
Our school provided us with summer jobs. My first summer in America, I was fournteen and working at a day care center for $4.25 per hour. With my earnings I could buy what I needed and give any extra money to my Father for the family. As children and now as adults, we have always had a great relationship with our parents. They were generous with us and we all shared our resources.
At age sixteen, I completed a traffic safety program at my high school and received my driver’s license! It was not an easy accomplishment for me, but I managed to pass the test. Having a driver’s license enabled me to help my Mom, as she did not drive at that time.
After four years in America, our Mom had her tenth child, our beautiful baby sister, Anna. Parents were praying to God to help them buy a small, affordable house. One day, they just drove around Vancouver and saw a “For Sale” sign on an old and inexpensive house on one acre of land. They had no credit history, no English language, and could only afford a small payment. They met with the owner.
“God tells me to sell this house to this man,” the owner proclaimed pointing at my Father.
“Thank you so much for selling the house to us without even checking our credit history or income. We feel God’s love to us through your action,” my Father responded gratefully.
My parents bought the house and felt so lucky. The payment was low; once more God took care of us. At this time, man’s word and a handshake was his bond. We remodeled the house and our Mom opened a child care business in it. We all helped her.
…….
My husband’s parents, Sergey and Olga Anischenko, lived in Sukhumi, in the country of Georgia, where Oleg was born. Within a year, they moved 6,300 miles to Nakhodka, Russia, by the Japanese Sea, to be closer to his Mother’s family. Oleg was the second son in the family of five sons and one daughter. Both of his parents worked as tailors at a sewing company, and his Father had a second job, as a stoker at a coal company. They lived in their own house and had enough land to grow fruits, vegetables and berries. They worked hard to make a living.
The Christians in Russia and all the satellite countries were persecuted. In 1976, many Christian families sought to immigrate to America for religious reasons. Oleg’s Father was persecuted and arrested for his religious, human rights work. When the iron curtain finally collapsed, Oleg’s family was allowed to emigrate in 1988.
On a train, they rode 100 miles to Vladivostok. Then they flew 6,000 miles to Moscow, to get their immigration papers. Two weeks later they were able to board the train to Austria. Their family had purchased train tickets for a coupe wagon with beds, which is like a small room for the family. When Oleg’s Father tried to enter the train, he was pushed out by a military commander.
“Go to the back of the train and ride with soldiers,” – the commander said.
“But we have small children and bought the tickets for the coupe,” – Oleg’s Father objected.
“You will ride with soldiers today,” – the commander answered rudely.
Oleg’s family rushed to the back of the train, pushing their luggage on a metal cart. Oleg’s younger brother was running in front of the cart. He tripped, fell and his leg was deeply cut by the cart. The family had no time to stop. They simply picked him up and rushed to the train, where two nice ladies helped them aboard and assisted in binding the wound.
Oleg’s parents, brothers & sister. Oleg is the second tallest in the back.
Oleg’s family lived in Austria for two months and then immigrated to Italy. In Italy, they waited for another two months for a sponsor and documents, allowing them to enter the United States. Finally, they were able to take a plane to New York, and then to San Francisco. Due to a long flight and the time change, they were exhausted. On the flight to San Francisco, Oleg’s sister went through the checkpoint, boarded the plane into the first-class seating, and fell asleep without her family knowing where she had gone. Oleg’s fourteen-year-old brother, trying to be helpful, went to look for her with one of the airport security staff. Her parents found her sleeping inside the plane, but the older brother failed to make the flight. Thus, another flight for the brother had to be arranged by the sponsor. You can only imagine the stress Oleg’s parents went through while immigrating to America.
In San Francisco, earlier Russian immigrants from the church of Alexander A. Shevchenko, who came to America during 1940s, helped them. Oleg’s family lived in their church for two months before renting a small apartment. At the school they attended, Oleg and his siblings were the only white students. The other students consisted of African Americans, Hispanics and Phillippinos. This was very different than Russia. As their cultural knowledge grew and their language skills improved, America became less foreign.
After two years, Oleg’s family moved into the smaller, quieter and more affordable city of Modesto, California. Together, Oleg’s parents sewed for themselves and for others. More Russian people immigrated to Modesto and established a Russian church there. Oleg’s Mother taught Russian and Bible school, and led a children’s choir. She is a very positive and knowledgeable person. Oleg’s Father was kind and had high expectations for his sons. Unfortunately, diabetes disabled him at the age of 35 and his health was weak.
…….
3
Marriage is for life and divorce is a sin. If you
have problems, you work them out.
Some of my cousins lived in Modesto. In time, my extended family became friends with Oleg’s family. A year later, our cousins moved to live in Vancouver and Oleg came to visit them. The first time he saw me, he shared with my cousins that he liked me very much. They did not hesitate to report that news immediately to me. I was only fifteen years old and thought I was too young for love.
Two years later, one of my cousins opened an Auto Body shop in Vancouver. He knew that Oleg was responsible, so he invited him to come and work in his shop. Oleg thought this would be a great learning opportunity to improve his automotive skills. Plus, as he told me later, he could not wait to see me again. With the blessing of his parents, he moved to Vancouver to live and work. However, he had also promised his Father that he would return to Modesto after a year.
At this time, Oleg was nineteen years old and I was seventeen. We often saw each other in church and sometimes at my cousin’s home. Soon, Oleg started calling me. The third time I talked to him on the phone, he shared his feelings about me.
“Olga, I really like you. I am serious about this and, with time, I would like to marry you. Would you like to be my girlfriend?”
Oleg’s words really scared me. I barely knew him and wasn’t ready for a relationship, much less marriage, so I kept answering, “I don’t know.”
“Olga, do you know anything?” Oleg asked, impatiently.
“Oleg, I just started college. Give me time to concentrate on my education. If you are very serious, call me back in a year,” I answered politely.
That year hadn’t been easy for both of us. For some reason, I could easily talk to other youth in church, but not to Oleg. I avoided him and did unkind things to him. For example, he would quietly wait in the hallway to speak to me after the service, but I would intentionally pass by without looking at him or greeting him. It was if he did not exist. I knew that Christians should not do this. Maybe I had those feelings of love for him inside me, but I did not want to recognize it.
During the year, Oleg had returned to Modesto, as he promised to his parents. Exactly one year after I asked Oleg to call me back in a year, he called me and said,
“Olga, the year has passed, but I still love you so much. Would you consider being my girlfriend?”
I was so shocked. During the year we had communicated very little. I was happy to hear his voice.
“I was not nice to you, Oleg. Would you ever forgive me?” I asked.
“I love you so much, Olga. I forgive you and would like to spend the rest of my life with you,” Oleg said with a calming voice. “Would you consider dating me, please?”
“Give me a day to think and pray about this,” I asked.
Oleg promised to call me the next day. With blond hair, blue eyes and a big beautiful smile, Oleg was the nicest young man I had ever met. He was always friendly and polite. I liked him, and my parents liked him too. I knew if I entered a relationship with him, it was a serious step and promising basically to date him exclusively. Was I ready to do this? Did I want to do this? After much praying and asking for God’s blessing, I agreed to enter into a friendship with Oleg. That relationship has grown into a great love.
For the next nine months, Oleg would drive to Vancouver once a month, twelve hours each way, to see me. While staying in Vancouver for three to four days, he would also pick up a job at my cousin’s shop. On the first evening, Oleg came to see me with a huge bouquet of flowers. Our love was growing stronger every day. While he was in California, we would talk on the phone and write each other letters.
I believed that marriage is for life and divorce is a sin. If you have problems, you work them out. Things were becoming serious and I knew if Oleg asked me to marry him, it was for life, if I said “Yes”.
During one of his visits, Oleg took me out to a beautiful park besides the river and proposed to me on bended knee.
“Olga, would you marry me, please?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed with joy, and then continued, “Oleg, please get, up. You are embarrassing me on your bended knee. People are watching us!”
We were so happy together! I loved Oleg so much and he loved me. Shortly after this visit, Oleg, his parents, his pastor, and his relatives came to meet my parents and me. We celebrated our engagement. Oleg’s parents brought a huge sweet Russian bread, called “Karavai”, which they had made and decorated beautifully with dough flowers and a braid on top. Traditionally, a young man brings this bread to the girl he loves when he asks her to marry him. They eat this bread together. Oleg’s family was wonderful. I felt their love towards me from the first day. It was a beautiful day and it just happened to be my 19th birthday.
Five months later, on April 5
, 1997, Oleg and I were happily married. We promised each other to be faithful in happiness and sorrow, in richest and the poor, and stay together until death separates us. We felt deep love for each other and felt God’s blessing upon us. One day I learned that Oleg's name meant “Holy and Faithful”. To know that his name was connected with God only lifted up my heart more.
Our first year of marriage was a beautiful year of adjustments. We loved each other dearly, but had to find how to compromise on our different points of view. My values taught me to respect my husband and to listen to him as the head of the household, yet, we didn’t always agree on what to do or how to do it. As the years pass, we have learned that we can have a difference of opinion and to respect that difference. The more freedom we give each other, the more our love and our respect for each other grows.
…….
Oleg worked at an Auto Body shop, where he was a highly-skilled technician. I continued with college. A year after we were married, I completed my Associate Degree in Business Administration/Accounting. It took me three years to complete a two-year program because of my limited English skills. I was so proud of myself, being the first in my family to graduate from High School and college in America! After college, I took a job at the bank, but continued to look for a job where I could use my education.
Soon, I became pregnant. We were blessed with our first son, David, whose name means “Beloved by God”. We loved being a young family, ready to assume greater responsibilities. Oleg and I came from large families and had helped our Mothers many times with child care. However, there is a process of growing into a mature parent, that nothing can teach you, except being a parent. I recognized how important it is to have parents who love you, help you, and are willing to share what they know. My parents already had three Granddaughters. David was the first Grandson for both sets of Grandparents, which gave him that special place in their hearts.
Eighteen months later, our beautiful daughter arrived. We named her Kristina, which means “Anointed, Follower of Christ”. Oleg’s Mother flew in from California to help us for two weeks. She was wonderful, letting me rest, recover and care for Kristina, while she took care of David, prepared meals and maintained the laundry. My Mom helped as much as she could but was limited because she was operating her business as a full-time child care provider.
When Oleg’s Mom flew back to California, it was my first day alone with two children. I remember sitting on a couch with a crying Kristina and David. I felt like they wanted to show me who could cry louder, each wanting my attention. As a young mother, I didn’t know which child to take care of first, so I also started crying. Yes, it helped, and after couple of minutes, we all calmed down and understood that we were a team and needed to be nice to each other.
Most of the time, David was nice to Kristina, but sometimes he was jealous and didn’t want to share his Mommy. In the mornings, when they woke up and saw each other, they were so happy, jumping on the bed and hugging each other. It was such a great blessing, seeing our children that God had given us.
Two months before Kristina was born, we bought our first house, thus Oleg worked more hours to provide additional money for our family. After work, he returned home tired and in need of rest, but the minute he saw David and Kristina, excited to see him, Oleg’s tiredness disappeared. He picked up the children and played with them. Our love as a family and as a couple continued to grow.
…….
When Kristina turned one, I decided to look for work. I was lucky. With my first application and first interview, I got a full-time job with the Women, Infants and Children (WIC) program. This became an important and rewarding endeavor in my life. The first four years I worked as a bi-lingual clerk at the front desk. I knew that with my degree I could have found a better job, but I was happy due to four elements: a good team, good pay, good benefits, and close to home. I learned job skills and more. I learned how to handle working relationships with the clients and co-workers, how to be patient, to respect each individual for who they are, and not to impose my personal judgments on others. Experience is a great teacher.
My Mom watched our children while Oleg and I worked. Often, when I came from work to pick up our children, she gave me freshly prepared food to take home. You just don’t go home as a wife. You have a family to care for, you have a husband and children, and you have to prepare a meal.
One time, I came to Mom’s house to pick up our children after work. She had just cooked vegetables for the potato salad. It only needed to be cut in pieces and mixed with a dressing. She gave it to me.
“Take it home and make salad for your family,” she insisted.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I can cook more vegetables,” Mom stated emphatically.
I thanked Mom, got into my car and cried. My Mom, who worked since nearly six o’clock in the morning, has given me her dinner, so I would not have to work as hard. I felt ashamed that I was not ready yet to do what she did. Thank you, Mom, for your loving heart!
…….
The children were growing and were so different. With curly hair and dimples on his cheeks, David looked a lot like my Dad. With blond curly hair and big blue eyes Kristina looked more like Oleg. David was neat and liked to play alone. But Kristina was the happiest and bravest child on earth and needed company. When they were growing up, they were such funny children.
One time my Mom was crying. David came up to her and said, “Grandma, don’t cry. I will buy you some ice cream.”
One evening, Kristina and I sat on a swing. She saw the moon and asked, “Mom, what is it?” “The moon,” I said. “Can I take it home?” Kristina asked. She thought she could reach the moon.
Kristina loved ripping flowers and giving them to me. She would rip flowers in our garden, in our neighbor’s garden, by the church, and I had to teach her where she could rip flowers and where she could not.
Oleg’s birthday was coming up. “What present should we buy for Daddy?” I asked. “Chips and Pepsi!” Kristina said excited. “No, our Dad loves coffee!” David said seriously.
One evening Oleg came home late from work. David was already sleeping. Then I realized – it was too quiet, which meant that Kristina was creating trouble. Quietly I walked to the kitchen and saw her with scissors in her hands. Her beautiful curly blond hair was already cut off and on the floor. I didn’t know how to react – to cry or to scream at her? With a wide-opened mouth I was speechless… I hugged her, put her to bed and took her to a hair dresser the next morning. Those beautiful curls are still in Kristina’s baby book.
Our firstborn, David Our daughter, Kristina
…….
When Kristina was four years old, I became pregnant for the third time. After my ultrasound, I received a phone call from my doctor, while I was at work.
“I don’t like your ultrasound results, Olga,” the doctor announced. “It shows that your baby boy could have Down’s syndrome, Trisomy 18 or Spinal Bifida. Olga, your child may be born very ill, not able to walk, and not even look like a normal person. Come in to do more testing.”
After I hung up the phone, my hands were sweaty and shaky, and tears covered my eyes. Good thing no one saw my pale face. I couldn’t concentrate or tell anyone the terrible news. How could I? “I will have an ill child? It can’t happen to me.”
After few minutes, I calmed dawn, walked to my supervisor’s office and asked for permission to leave work and see the doctor. She let me. It isn’t safe to drive, when you are scared and can’t concentrate, but I drove to the doctor’s office.
“Olga, we can do an amniocentesis test to make sure the ultrasound results are correct,” the doctor said.
“How do you perform this test?” I asked.
“With a needle we will poke your stomach and will take a small amount of amniotic fluid to check for genetic abnormalities. We don’t have to do it today. You can talk to your husband and let us know of your decision.”
The doctor gave me a brochure with this information. I spoke with Oleg at home. He was calm, but I worried.
“Our child is healthy. Everything will be okay,” he said.
