Survivor of Stalin and Hitler
Unspoken horrors
Buried behind intense eyes
Lucky to be alive
Ship of freedom
Called his name
Little education
Hard work his destiny
Man of few words
Man who rarely smiled
Father who carried me through life
Father I barely knew
*(Yes, that’s me with my older brother and mother. There was only one other sibling to come after this photo. Don’t have a clue why everyone is dressed so fancy. )
V. J.’s Challenge: Things My Father Said
He was a very handsome man
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Thanks, Elaine. Yes, he was. That photo was taken in 1954. His face is very grainy, but I’m glad that I was able to edit out some other distracting imperfections. 🙂
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Is that you as a baby ?
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Yes it is. 🙂
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Cute baby 😊
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Thanks, Elaine. 🙂
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What a survivor your father was – cannot imagine what he went through. Love the old photograph.
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Thanks, V.J. He never wanted to talk about his past to us children. My mother was the talker. When searching for an early photo, I realized that there were very few taken of my dad.
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Was he always behind the camera?
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Never thought of that. Actually my mother was the photographer all the time in later years.
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Your poor father, there’s a lot of pain in those eyes. So little was known or acknowledged in those days about PTSD, it may have been difficult for him to express the joy you and your siblings brought him 💜
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You’re absolutely right, Xenia. Thank-you for the wise words.
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🙂💖🙋♀️ xxx
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This is a wonderful tribute, and I am happy to have found your blog again. That WP glitch has lost many to the void, so I have followed you once more
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Thank-you for that. I was wondering where the rose went. 🙂
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So beautifully transparent! ❤
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Thank-you, Deborah. I think being of a certain age allows one to have more transparency in perspective about one’s roots.
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My father would never talk about the war and what he saw. An entire generation was shaped by it in ways we will never understand. But they never whined or asked you to feel sorry for them…hard to believe given today’s climate. (K)
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We share a similar history with our fathers. He also didn’t speak of the war nor the family he left behind. I did get to meet two of my mother’s sisters though. One immigrated to England and the other my mom brought over from Ukraine for a short visit. When people speak of knowing their grandparents, no such thing for me.
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It’s sad to have that connection broken.
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Beautifully written. Your words are poignant and reminds me why several of my loved ones do not (or cannot) talk about the war (or the past). ❤️🦋🌀
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Thank-you Sheila for sharing your connection. Yes, PTSD wasn’t well known in those days. Only now, with adult eyes, I understand.
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