by Irina Howell
i.
When I turned eight I joined the “Oktyabronok” league in my elementary school. It is an honor to be a part of this group. The kids wear little red star badges made of metal, a portrait of Lenin carved in the middle. The most intelligent and well-behaved children are among the first to be admitted to the ranks. We are proud. Special extra-curricular activities with music, songs, stories about the little Volodya, as we dearly call Lenin, are organized for us. We are taught to be honest, kind, considerate, along with other well-meant principles. The badges shine brightly against our black aproned uniforms.
My dad is coming back from a trip to Moscow today. I haven’t seen him for weeks. We are very close. In the clean minimalistic kitchen of our apartment my father gives me a present, a new “Oktyabronok” badge, which he brought for me from his trip. It is superior to the one I already own. The red star is made of shiny clear red plastic; the portrait in the middle is an actual photo of the leader. I am simply thrilled with my gift and proudly wear it to school.
A few days later, my mother is going away: she takes university classes in a distant city, so I am left with my dad. It is not a problem, as I love them both dearly. I patiently await my father’s arrival home late in the evenings after work. My homework is usually finished. I manage to make food on my own. Parents are not worried to leave their children by themselves in our happy idealistic state.
My father is particularly excited and happy today. It is Friday, and I don’t have school the next day, nor does he have to go to work. He tells me that he has a great surprise in store for me, and we are going to take a bus trip this late at night. It is winter; New Year’s was here not long ago. Holiday trees are still decorated; the buildings are ornamented with lights. I feel mature next to my father, taking this strange evening expedition. I am also curious. “Why and where precisely are we going?” I keep on asking him.
“There is somebody very special I want you to meet. It is a great secret though, and you shouldn’t tell it to anyone,” he says to me to my delight.
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About the author: Irina Howell was raised in Soviet Russia with a fighter pilot for a father. She later moved to Belarus, where she completed a BA in English. She immigrated to the U.S. in her early twenties and earned a Masters from Columbia. Irina’s life was affected by the collapse of the Soviet Empire, Russia’s economic crisis, and novel ideas of capitalism. In this exquisitely detailed memoir, Howell examines her Soviet childhood—the boundaries crossed and secrets kept within her broken family.