Originally an Op-Ed for Voices of Ukraine
18.05. 2016
I’m very fond of my grandfather. His story is one of a classic self-made man, who walked the route from a stonemason to a company founder, while all the while remaining one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. There’s a chance that had it not been for his generosity, I’d have grown up into a golden child with a trust fund. The way it is, I grew up into a writer who took her grandfather’s first name (Stanislav) as her alias. I’m okay with this.
Back in the late 1970’s, my grandfather was one of the foremen at the construction of the then Lenin’s Museum, now the Ukrainian House. For his work on the project, he received a free trip to a health resort, as was customary in the Soviet Union. He met my grandmother at that resort, and they would marry ten years later, and move to Kyiv, where my mother would also meet my dad and have me.
And here I am, decades later, standing outside the very same Ukrainian House that I’ve always pointed out to people with pride (“My grandpa built that!”), waiting in line to attend Kyiv’s second ever Comic Con.
I came to the con from the UK. Was it worth the trip? You could say that. You could also say that the universe is kind of old. Read more>>
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