I have two adopted sons: One Russian, one Ukrainian
As I watch tragic scenes in Ukraine, I cannot help reflecting on the light they throw on my family. I am the father of two adopted boys, one from Russia and the other from Ukraine.
Young men now, they still carry a strong sense of their origins, although Alyosha less so than Anton. Where Alyosha regards Russia almost academically, Anton’s feelings for Ukraine run deep.
Why We Wrote This
There is no natural enmity between peoples at war. My sons are proof of that.
When the war began, elder brother Alyosha reached out to Anton. They spoke on the phone for a good hour. Afterward, Anton seemed less beset, more collected after the brotherly embrace.
I’m grateful that the war has not altered my sons’ fraternal sensibilities. I am grateful they are here with me in a land at peace.
I shudder when I consider that my sons might be fighting each other, had they stayed. But they’re not. They are here, and they’re safe.
In this age, when it is easy to take sides, events have instead pushed my sons closer together. Alyosha and Anton talk like the brothers they are. I am not looking at a Russian and a Ukrainian; I am looking at two people who love each other.
As I watch the tragic scenes in Ukraine unfold, day by day, I cannot help being mindful of the light this has thrown on my unique family situation. You see, I am the father of two adopted boys, one from Russia and the other from Ukraine.
Young men now, each making his way in life, they still carry a strong sense of their origins, although Alyosha less so than Anton. Where Alyosha regards Russia almost academically, and does not often think about the land of his birth, Anton’s feelings for Ukraine run deep: When Russia invaded Crimea in 2014, Anton was 17. He wrapped himself in a Ukrainian flag and trudged to school through the snow.
When the current conflagration began, Alyosha, as the older brother, reached out to Anton. They spoke on the phone for a good hour. I don’t know what exactly was said, but when Anton came away from the call, he seemed less beset, more collected from the brotherly embrace. Whatever Alyosha said, his words had tempered Anton’s emotions.
Why We Wrote This
There is no natural enmity between peoples at war. My sons are proof of that.
I am grateful. I’m grateful that the war has not altered my sons’ fraternal sensibilities, and that they behave as though their bond is one of blood, rather than circumstance. And not least, I am grateful that they are here with me in a land at peace, where they can step outside with every expectation of making it through the day unharmed.
These are not small graces, and if I have learned anything lately, it is to not take these things for granted.
But beyond gratitude, another word comes to mind: absence. Let me explain.
I recall, when Alyosha was 10, watching the TV news with him. It was the height of the war in Chechnya, and the scenes of devastation were heartbreaking. Alyosha was old enough to understand the situation. As we watched, he drew close to me and said, “Dad, I’m so happy you got me out of there.”
Alyosha isn’t from Chechnya, but he was making a broader statement about his sense of security and well-being: I am not there, I’m here, and I am safe.
I see dense gatherings of Ukrainian mothers and children, huddled in dark, vulnerable spaces on the news now. But my boys aren’t there. They’re here.
I see children crying as they cling to fathers who must separate themselves to defend their soil. But my sons are here, and I am available to them.
Most chillingly, when I see Russian and Ukrainian soldiers doing battle, I shudder when I consider that, had my sons stayed in their birth countries, they might be fighting each other. But they’re not. They are here, and they’re safe.
My sons’ well-being, their good fortune, was not entirely my doing. I owe a great deal to my family and friends, who supported my adoption efforts, as well as the many dear Russians and Ukrainians who labored so enthusiastically, competently, and empathetically on my behalf, so that I could take two little boys across a vast expanse of ocean and give them their hearts’ desire: a family.
And so, in these troubled times, when it is easy to draw battle lines and take sides, events have, instead, pushed my sons closer together. I hear Alyosha and Anton talking like the brothers they are, showing concern for each other, and I realize that I am not looking at a Russian and a Ukrainian; I am looking at two people who so love each other that doing the other harm is unthinkable.
From what I see of the news, there are many others like them, striving, in Abraham Lincoln’s hallowed words, to honor the better angels of their nature.
