Growing up, I was often embarrassed by my Russian heritage. On school picture-days, I would always arrive in a traditional Russian school uniform -- frilly shirts, lacy hair-poofs and all -- while the other kids would show up sporting the cool light up sneakers I was never allowed to own. I would bring borscht for school lunches: the other kids would edge away from me and my ‘blood soup’. It took a very long time for me to realize that the one thing I was most ashamed of actually made me a much more interesting person, and I eventually became grateful to have had such an intimate relationship with my cultural roots growing up -- most American children never have that chance. It was through my heritage that I was granted the opportunity to visit
