July 14, 1995

We landed in Pittsburgh in the middle of a historic heat wave. It was the first time flying for all of us, even Mama. We were too nervous to sleep, even during the ten-hour flight from Moscow to JFK. The connecting flight from JFK to Pittsburgh, which only took two hours.

We got out of the plane and there, standing right at the gate, was Papa. I recognized him right away, though he wasn’t big and strong. Nor did he look like a superhero I’d imagined. Papa’s height was average, and so was his built. He had a receding hairline and his eyes were small and shifty. And when he reached to kiss Mama, I noticed he had a paunch.

“Rodion.” Papa said gravely. I’d imagined this moment so many times, and now it happened in real life. I immediately hid behind Mama’s back.

“He’s just shy.” Mama kissed me on the cheek. “He needs a bit of time.”

“Of course, of course.” Papa’s voice was a deep baritone.

“Sergei, say hi.” Mama said, and turned to my older brother. Sergei grunted something akin to a greeting.

“Hey there, sport!” Papa slapped Sergei hand.

“My boys. All of you together.” Mama mouthed, awe-struck and teary-eyed.

“Welcome to America!” Papa led us to collect our luggage.

“In America, you have to think of everything. If you don’t, life gets expensive. Boris lent me his car, because I knew you’d have lots of luggage.” Papa wiped beads of sweat off his forehead, pushing the cart loaded with our belongings.

Outside, the heat slapped us. It was nothing like I’d ever experienced before. The air felt thick and moist.

“Do you wanna see your new house?” Papa turned to me. I was still too shy to speak, but nodded in agreement, peeking out from behind Mama.

On the drive from the airport, I fell asleep and only woke up to Mama, shaking me and whispering into my ear:

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“Rodion, sweetheart, we’re here.”

I stepped out of the car and saw a two-story house with steep stairs. “Go on, Rodion, walk up the steps.” Mama urged, as Papa got the suitcases out of the car. Sergei helped while I watched in silence.

***

The following morning, we went to the supermarket. Sergei was still sleeping, so we it was just the three of us. Mama, Papa and I. It turned out food shopping in America was done in a supermarket, and ours was called the ‘Giant Eagle’.

“An American supermarket is like nothing you’ve seen in Russia.” Papa gushed as we turned the corner onto Greenfield avenue. We walked into a large, gray building that occupied almost an entire block. As we entered, I felt a blast of cold air and I shivered.

“This is incredible! So many options!” Mama gasped.

“Welcome to the land of plenty!” Papa chuckled. “But In America, people save. This store has coupons, so every week, you gotta check what’s on sale first. You don’t just buy things, you check for the coupons.” He took a bright paper with colorful photos of packages and stuck it under Mama’s nose. “See? That’s how shopping is done in America. You gotta be careful with spending, Lydia.” He gave Mama a careful stare.

“Of course, honey.” Mama’s cheeks turned pink.

“I’m not a rich man, you see. I’m just getting settled here.” Papa said, looking around the supermarket as if seeking approval from the other customers. “Of course, we could have waited a few more years, but you were in a rush because of Sergei. And I understand, he’s fifteen, and you don’t want him to deal with the army.” Papa took several onions and put them in our cart. “I know, I know the army is scary, but if he had shown more academic promise, that wouldn’t have been an issue. So, here we are. I’m just two years into my job, and in America they can fire you like that.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s not like back home, not like that at all. It’s cut-throat here.” Papa moved his hand across his neck and I noticed that it had loose skin. I’d never looked closely at a man’s neck before and kept staring in fascination. Papa took my expression for admiration and his eyes lit up. “Good, good, I can see at least my son is paying attention.”

“Of course he is, honey. Rodion is very bright.” Mama took me by the hand. We were now in the dairy aisle.

“Oh, so, what’s important is the type of food that you buy. Coupons, of course, but also, here is some cheese, for example.” Papa took a package with bright orange slices and handed it to Mama.

“What’s this, honey?” She asked, flipping it in her hands.

“That’s cheese. Special American cheese. It’s not what we’re used to, but that’s what Americans eat. So I want the kids to get used to it. I don’t want them being like all those immigrants, hanging on to what’s familiar. We gotta get the kids Americanized, and quickly.”

“Of course, honey.” Mama nodded and gave me a doubtful look. I clutched her hand. She obediently put the cheese in the cart.