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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЧЕРВЕНЬ 2011 19 A SIMPLE MAN My father was a very unique p erson, and when I was looking for subject matter for my BFA Photography Thesis, I suddenly realized that he would be the perfect subject. He was a man of many habits, rituals, beliefs, and ethics and did not “pose” when a camera was aimed at him. So I foll owed him around for a year, snapping photos. While doing this, I learned more about him than I had known before — I was, in a sense, capturing the hidden emotions and feelings of a “Familiar Stranger.” The thesis had to be worked up and presented as if it wa s a professional gallery show, and when the photographs were hung, it was a kick to see my father walking around the college “Gallery” and looking at the photos of himself. Even better was watching as visitors at the show recognized him and came up to talk to him. It surprised him that so many people found his images so interesting. I had known about some of the terrors my father and mother had faced during WW II from the snippets he was willing to share. And they were rare snippets because the events of th ose times still caused him great anguish. He was the third eldest of 7 children, born to a peasant family in Western Ukraine. Life was harsh, and he had only a grade school education. As a teenager, he had been taken as slave labor for the Russian armies, had endured beatings at the hands of cruel soldiers. He eventually returned home only to be taken again — this time, by the Nazis — to work as forced labor on German farms to feed the Third Reich. It was on that farm that he met my mother, herself a teenage or phan, who had watched her mother die of cancer that took two years to kill her. And Mom became my father’s soul mate, always his partner and friend. They were a lifelong team and inseparable. The farm where my father and my mother had been brought was run by a farmer who was more decent than most. My Uncle Peter, father’s younger brother, was not as lucky — the farmer who ran the farm where he had been taken was a harsh master. When the Nazis were defeated and areas of Europe were separated into zones, many Ukrainian people displaced by the Nazis discovered they were in the Russian zone. By now Stalin had already caused the Great Famine i n Ukraine. Knowing this, my parents and uncle made the heartbreaking decision not to return home. Instead, they fled on bi cycles to the English Zone and then to a displaced persons camp. Eventually, they were allowed to emigrate to England and start a new life. A life of freedom for the first time! But it did not come without a price — Uncle Peter suffered a mental breakdown a nd was institutionalized for the rest of his life. This haunted my father as his mother’s last request to him was to watch out for Peter. He wrote letters home to Ukraine, but his siblings never forgave him for not coming back. Even when he sent packages t o them, he would still get berating letters in reply. Only his mother understood, and not being able to see her again before she died hurt him very deeply. Often, he would sit and look through his pictures and letters from home and think about his family a nd feel sorrow. Encouraged by his aunt and sponsored by a cousin to come to America, he and my mother were determined not to be a burden to her. Within several days, both had jobs; within weeks, we had a house to live in. After five long years of waiting. one of our proudest days was when we all became citizens of the United States. And even though I was only a child, I remember the judge administering the oath and my mother swearing for me. And even then, I knew what it meant to them . . . they were finally and truly free! And my father carried the knowledge and sentiment of this freedom for the rest of his life. When he and my mother achieved their highest dream, a new home built just for them, my father made sure there was a flagpole off the porch and would proudly display the American flag, carefully attaching and removing it daily so that it never touched the ground. Being a simple man, he did not have any great interests. He worked long hours at being a butcher, but loved the job and was good at it and good with customers. When not working, he kept busy with the duties of home ownership — painting, cleaning, raking, mowing, ca r maintenance, etc., often working to the point of exhaustion. His home was truly his castle and he had no desire to travel or leave it. He would only travel every few years to England to see his brother. And because we were members of the Ukrainian dia spora, we attended many functions at Soyuzivka, the Ukrainian National Association resort in nearby Kerhonkson, New York, attending mass at Holy Trinity Church.
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