I was recently told in a debate by feminists that all my male descendants were “slave owners” and that all my female descendants were “oppressed”. I don’t believe that.
My Grandmother was sixteen when the Nazis came to our country and she volunteered to carry ammunition and food for soldiers in the front. She was almost killed several times. Later she served as a communications officer for anti-aircraft. After the war she went back to college and finished her studies to become a psychologist doctor. She worked in various hospitals during the 50’s and 60’s treating the mental trauma of soldiers from the war.
She cared deeply for the suffering of our young soldiers and told us stories of them right into her old age. She met her husband, a medical doctor and they finally set up a practice together in my home city Rostov on Don. My Grandfather was also a war veteran, a tank-man who lost his foot in the offensive before Berlin. He was a brave and gentle man who we adored as kids. He taught me and my brothers to fish and sail and play the violin. My Grandmother taught us piano and French and a love for literature. They lived a long happy life together and raised three children including my Father.
When we were kids and my parents were still both working, we would go after school to our Grandparents house to wait for my parents. They would feed us dinner and Grandpa would tell us exciting stories about the war in which he usually ended up defeating the Nazis single handed! He would point his walking stick like a gun at us and order us to surrender. We would do nasty faces and pretend to be Nazis. My Grandmother would finally come in and say, Yes and I’m Marshal Zhuckov and I say I need some help in the kitchen.
She was a wonderful smart, brave talented woman who was loved by the whole family. She was a fountain of knowledge and teaching and quiet strength. She was worth a thousand vulgar whining feminists.
When I hear feminists, with no knowledge of history saying that women like her were “oppressed” and that my Grandfather was a “slave owner”; when they insult these wonderful people who helped to raise me and all the other Grandmothers and Grandfathers all over the world, it makes my blood cold. Do they also insult their own Grandparents? How dare they? What is wrong with them?
Anyway sorry for rambling but I am feeling strongly about this right now because I have just returned two weeks ago from her funeral in Rostov.
I hope to have my own children soon and if I am to have a son I will name him Sergei like his Grandfather, if a daughter I will name her Nadezhda for my Grandmother. I hope their Irish Grandparents will be as kind to them as my Russian ones were to me, and you know I think they will.