I owe Russia

She has opened my eyes to much. The first time we met was November 1991; I was 17 and had never crossed the Atlantic. I’ll never forget the principle of a school telling us that the students had been forgoing lunches for several weeks in order to serve us meat on our visit. I remember my first breakfast back in the United States, mom made pancakes, eggs, two kids of sausage and bacon, fruit salad, toast, coffee and juice, the table was heaped with food. I wept, the thought of having so much while others had so little was overpowering. Read more.