My heritage is 50% Russian, which made elementary school during the Cold War an uncomfortable time to discuss where our ancestors called home. Over the years I have been able to embrace my background more fully, and without looking over my shoulder! My Grandfather, Artemi, came to the US in the very early 1900s to work for the Standard Steel Car Company (later known as the Pullman Standard Car Company) in Lyndora PA. Because neither his English nor my Russian was very suitable for conversation, and because my family permanently splintered during the 1960s, I don't know much about his life as a young man, his decision to emigrate, and how he chose Pennsylvania. And although I believe he had no siblings in this country, I don't know that for a fact. But a few facts were known and became part of my oral family history.

Tata (or Tut), as he was known, came from Moscow, Russia. Upon arriving in Lyndora, he lived in a company rowhouse across the road from the factory, and diligently saved his earnings. When he had amassed a princely sum, he sent the funds to his family with a note: "Pick me a wife." Now I have to admit that this method of choosing a mate appalls me. But it seemed to work for them . . . as far as I could decipher. His family chose Helen, from Kiev. Whether this was a family friend I do not know. As the story was told to me, they used Artemi's funds to pay for Helen's passage to Lyndora, PA, USA, and the rest is (family) history.

I wish my family had remained intact enough for me to learn more about my grandparents. My memories are that they spoke exclusively Russian in my presence, and I don't even know if they spoke English at all. And after years of Saturdays spent at the Orthodox Church studying words composed from letters of the undecipherable Cyrillic alphabet, I couldn't speak Russian to save my life! And so my family history lessons were delivered by parents so embroiled in their own miseries that they could rarely speak civilly about anyone, let alone their in-laws. I am left to wonder: Did Artemi and Helen know each other prior to that fateful pick-me-a-wife note? Or was my grandmother's fear at crossing the Atlantic to an unknown country compounded by her fear of a stranger with whom she was expected to share her life? I can only observe that, although they were always together at our infrequent family gatherings and during our few visits to their home, I never once observed them smiling or laughing. Not even a chuckle. Maybe my view of life would be too frivolous for their comprehension. And the Russians appear to be a dour people at best. Perhaps the infusion of French and English on my mother's side balanced my worldview.

Over the years I have befriended international students involved in arranged marriages, and they speak highly of the practice. The best discussion I have had on this subject opened my eyes to the fact that my friend's parents knew him better than anyone else and only wanted his happiness. He trusted their judgment totally, and was sure that he had a better chance of a happy life with a wife whom his parents believed shared the family's beliefs and traditions than with someone he chanced to meet halfway around the world, perhaps in a bar. Wise words! I know that my marriage, as most unions, was certainly not based on an understanding of each other's history and how well our future paths would mesh.

Nonetheless, I have allowed my children to locate their own mates. Happily, when my oldest daughter married a fine young man, I was able to say that if I had gone out to find her a husband, I couldn't have done any better! Six years later, I can say the same for my second daughter's marriage! And I'm glad to be relieved of assuring their future happiness.