An Article with Some Swear Words
Last Friday, my younger son’s teacher sent me an email. Here’s what it said:
“Hello. We’d like to invite you to a meeting with Platon’s teachers. Uliana’s mother and a translator from Ukrainian to Polish will also be present. We’ll discuss some organizational matters.”
Sh*t...
Uliana is Platon’s classmate. She’s also from Ukraine. Let me repeat that. The email came on Friday, and the meeting was scheduled for Tuesday. What are these teachers thinking? - screamed my mind.
Every room in my consciousness unanimously hung up “Bring It On!” signs on their doors. Since our arrival in Poland, my forehead has been flashing only three emojis: despair, rage, and ugh (rolling eyes). And now the "despair" indicator was blinking red like crazy.
Platon, what did you do at school? Platosha, did you have a fight with Uliana?
... well... a little.
What happened?
I found an iPad pen, and Uliana wanted to take it. We fought, and her jacket got torn.
Platon, I’ve been called to the school on Tuesday. Can you please explain in detail why this happened and how it ended?
Let me provide some context: Platon is an extremely charming young man who’s been adored by girls since kindergarten. And Uliana, mind you, is two years older. Unfortunately, there were no spots in third grade in our Polish school, so they placed her in our first grade.
Uliana, a 9-year-old lady with raven-black braids, light-blue eyes, and the striking confidence of someone born to conquer the world, has a magnetic charisma and killer Ukrainian energy. When I see her on the school stairs, I realize we’re not just undergoing a transformation as a country and a nation. Ukraine is the future of the world of freedom.
Because there are no children like ours anywhere else.
Our children, scattered across the globe today, are philosophical stones. And when touched, they don’t produce gold. They spark the spirit of freedom, etched into their genes for generations to come. Carved out by the sweat of those who walked 30 kilometers to the border, the tears of those who lost loved ones or their homes — or both — and the blood of innocent civilians in our bright, naive, and far-too-kind country.
Who else, tell me, has such genes, energy, and power — both spiritual and physical?
Today someone asked me, “Will I become kinder if I attend your events?” Keeping a poker face, I replied politely: “You’ll get all the necessary techniques and opportunities to apply them. How you use them is up to you.” But I really wanted to ask: “Why?” Why should we be kinder or more merciful today? As we say in Ukrainian: Not the time!
For too many years, we’ve been unreasonably kind, empathetic, and tolerant.
There can be no tolerance for abuse. And that’s exactly where our strength lies today.
That’s the daily work of every parent who took their children away from war and is trying to create a semblance of normal life despite broken hearts, severed roots, and shattered plans. But shattered plans don’t mean shattered lives.
Over the weekend, amidst children’s screams and fights, visits to a digital illusions museum and the royal castle, some alcohol, and yet another attempt to watch “our favorite movie” (supposedly to distract ourselves), I reflected on all of this.
On Tuesday, between work meetings, I summoned all my Ukrainian spirit and composure to step into the school, bracing myself to hear all the unpleasant things about my son’s behavior.
Uliana’s mother came too. I immediately started apologizing, but she waved me off:
- Please, don’t. They’re just kids. These things happen.
Holy sh*t, I thought, crossing myself mentally. Thank you, God, for watching over me. If I’d had to argue with Uliana’s mom, my nerves wouldn’t have survived. Still, I cautiously offered to buy Uliana a new jacket, backpack, Barbie, or even a car — whatever it took for forgiveness.
My Soviet-raised consciousness couldn’t quite grasp the real reason for the meeting, which had nothing to do with Platon’s behavior (hello, narcissism).
The teachers just wanted to check in on our kids’ emotional state.
“Because it’s so hard for them.”
They asked questions like:
How is Platon feeling?
He didn’t like the afterschool program at first, but now it seems better, doesn’t it?
We’ve invited a translator for the afterschool program to make it easier for Platon to communicate with other kids. What else can we do for you?
Could he stay at the afterschool program longer than an hour? That would really help us.
Your son is very smart. He solves the problems I give him faster than anyone else. (I mean, yes, I know there’s hardly anything better than Ukraine’s Intellect program.)
I left the school crying like a lunatic. I cried because I’d thought poorly of my son. I cried because I’d thought poorly of the Poles. And because, out of habit, I’d bared my teeth, ready to defend myself.
That’s just how we Ukrainians are. We’ll carry Bayraktars in our holsters for a long time. But isn’t it breathtakingly beautiful…
No, it’s not getting better. Some things don’t transform over time.
*For some reason, this song resonated deeply with me throughout my entire stay in Poland. I listened to it on repeat, and it helped me slowly slide down the walls of my anxiety-ridden consciousness, full of total uncertainty about what was next for us.
April 29, 2022.