С 8 Марта, Мама
When I did a post on Racial Microagressions project, annutta_12 praised my mom for raising me so well.
"I don't know how much of it was me," she replied. "I'm learning so much from him."
Thing is,- I'm not sure I would've felt the same way if it weren't for her.
When I was little, we used to go out to the city of Staryi Petergov, which was close enough to the countryside that we'd be able to get fresh milk, straight from the cow. And my mom used to buy milk from the local villagers. One day, my mom went out to buy the milk from local Romani, and she took me with her. It's been so long that I don't remember the reason why I had to come along, but I remember that I was terrified. They were gypsies! They were evil and they ate little kids! Everybody on the playground knew that.
My mom wouldn't hear of it. We were going.
And I was shocked - absolutely shocked - to realize that the romani were ordinary people. Friendly people, even. And the milk they gave was pretty delicious.
Another time... I want to say it was around 1991 or 1992. While playing outside, I saw a family. Their skin was darker than what I was used to, and they spoke with strange accents. They were refugees, from Dagestan or somewhere else in Caucasus region (like I said, it's been a while. Details blur). But I do remember my mom telling me to treat them kindly. They fled their homes. They had nothing. And I remember feeling bad for being a bit afraid of them.
When I was a bit older, I asked my mom about why the word "goluboy" (a word for this shade of blue) was used as an insult. And my mom explained that there were men who liked other men, the way some men liked women. Looking back, one thing that strikes me as that there was no judgement. No implication that there was anything wrong. It was just the way people were. Over the next few years, I would hear a lot about how gay people were all perverts and pedophiles - but my mom said it was normal, and I would rather believe my mom than a bunch of strangers.
My views changed and shifted over time. They were shaped by my experiences in United States, my experiences in Chicago specifically, and by bits of Soviet propaganda. But it was my mom that helped to lay the foundation on which much of my worldview was built.
My mom isn't really that keen on International Women's Day. But, last year, I went on Twitter and Facebook honoring women in my life. I want to continue it. And this time, I wanted to start with the most important one.
Happy International Women's Day, mom.
