For a while, we found oranges underneath my sister’s pillow. “Why do you keep oranges under your pillow?” we asked. “Because I love oranges so much and worry that I may not have them tomorrow,” answered our sister. She had hard time believing that she was in America and could eat oranges whenever she wanted.

The two weeks passed, and we were ready to move into our own place. It had not been easy to find a space given that there were ten of us and little money. Finally, we found a two-bedroom apartment. It was challenging with one bathroom and a small space, but we were in America! God had blessed us!

At one point the principal of a school came to talk with my parents about my brother’s behavior. When he saw our tiny space and our lack of furniture, he left and came back in one hour with a truck full of used furniture, lamps and other items that would improve our life. We are still grateful for his kindness! It made a difference in our lives.

As I think of it today, I am so thankful to our Uncle Peter, for helping us immigrate to America. I am thankful to Uncle Vlad for letting us stay with his family in a foreign country, even though it wasn’t simple for seventeen people to live together. I also thank God for the good people who helped us, and for the welfare program, which gave us food stamps and cash for living. From the bottom of my heart, I thank this country for accepting us, the Immigrants!

…….

We were happy, excited and ready for a new start in America; then we started missing our old country. It was difficult to make friends. We missed our house and our native language which we understood. Most of Mom’s relatives lived in Vancouver. She seemed to be happy, being close to her family. But our Father missed his family in Ukraine. (He never saw his Mother again, as she died shortly after he left, but he saw his Father ten years later.) Our parents worried about how we were going to live in America. They did not have jobs and language was a barrier. Our Father stayed home with the younger children and received Social Security disability.

English was taught in my Mom’s school, but that had been twenty years before, therefore, she had limited English skills. It was difficult to function in America, and Mom understood that she would need to get a job requiring English. She constantly tried to learn the English language. I remember seeing her often fall asleep with an English/Russian dictionary in her hands.

My Father had learned German in the Ukrainian school as had the rest of the family, so we all had to start learning English. When shopping, Father carried a pencil and paper with him and drew a picture of what he needed. We, three older girls, were placed in ninth grade in the English as a Second Language (ESL) program. At our school many immigrants spoke Russian, so we did not feel lonely.

Our Mom became pregnant with her ninth child. We desperately needed a larger home. My parents looked at a few houses, but no one would rent to such a big family. One day they were buying a newspaper at a gas station and met a lady named Patricia.

“Come back in two hours. I will give you the key to my two-story, three-bedroom rental house,” Patricia said.

“Thank you so much. We see your kind act as help from God,” my Mom answered.

Our new house was in another part of Vancouver, therefore, we had to change schools. Because we knew very few students who spoke Russian, school became more challenging. I could not say in English what I wanted to say; if I said something wrong, I felt embarrassed. Most of the time I just remained quiet.