I Have A Very Strong Connection To Ukraine...

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I always side with "freedom" and that's why I have a real problem understanding those who choose not to. I've been very fortunate to have been born with a sharp tongue in a free country and I've always been able to voice my opinions without fear of retaliation by my government. Those living in Russia who speak the truth in direct opposition to the propaganda Vladimir Putin spews, risk imprisonment, or worse…

I side with Ukraine because it's a free and independent sovereign country that did nothing to escalate war, despite anything Putin might say. The Russian dictator embraces expansionism and is literally attempting to return Russian borders back to something resembling what they were in the time of the USSR. But, he's not just invading Ukraine, he's destroying the country's infrastructure and killing innocent civilians, a violation of International Human Rights Law and the Geneva Convention.

"International humanitarian law, or the laws of war, provides protections to civilians and other noncombatants from the hazards of armed conflict". Putin is acting with blatant disregard for those laws and should be tried as a War Criminal.

My connection to Ukraine goes back to my grandmother, Jenny Letichevskya, who left Kyiv in 1913 at the age of 16, to escape religious persecution. She traveled alone on a cargo ship to America in search of freedom and a better life. Most of her family remained in Kyiv and many perished at the hands of the communist regime in power.

Jenny settled in Boston where she had family who took her in. She met her husband, Arthur Henry Baker there and after they got married they lived in communities in and around Boston. They had three children, two girls and a boy. My mother was their youngest daughter and their son was my favorite Uncle.

At one time, Arthur ran his own painting business that employed several painting crews, but during the Great Depression he lost his business and took a job working for the city as a "street cleaner". The stories I heard over the years suggest that although he had always been good-natured, after losing his business he became angry and a heavy drinker. He died young (heart attack) and my grandmother never remarried. European women were fiercely loyal and Jenny could never bring herself to love another man, something she later admitted to me, was a mistake. "I lived my life in mourning for Pa", she would say…

At a mere 4 foot 10, Jenny would've been the 4th doll from the right…

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For many years Jenny Baker worked as a home health care assistant, visiting people at their homes and helping them in their daily lives. She moved in with us in the mid-1960s and she loved to bake, which offset a lot of the other things she did, like leaving her dentures on the bathroom sink. She watched Jack Lalanne, aka The Godfather of Fitness, on TV every day and did all the exercises along with him while sitting in a chair directly in front of our black 'n white TV. Her favorite was The Lawrence Welk Show, and I sometimes sat with her and watched as she skillfully carved an apple in her hands and then ate the slices while she smiled and sang along. 

She was always very excited when the mailman arrived and she got a letter from family still living in Russia. The air mail envelopes and the paper the letters were written on were light blue and everything was in Russian. She would sit in the quiet of the living room and read the letters, pausing at times to look at me while shaking her head in agreement or disagreement. She never told me what was in the letters, she kept everything about Russia private…

My parents took her to one of my Pop Warner football games and brought a lawn chair for her to sit on. Once the game started and my mother told her my jersey number, she only watched me. The first time I got hit she jumped off her chair, began yelling my name and ran onto the field in an attempt to protect me. My father stopped her and explained football enough that she settled down and stayed off the field for the remainder of the game. She didn't like seeing her grandson getting hit and she never went to another football game…

After my parents moved to Connecticut, Jenny remained in the house, living there with my father's mother and father. I lived there with my three grandparents for a while, and when I got ready for football practice, it was Jenny who pulled my football jersey on over my shoulder pads, not an easy task for a woman in her late seventies who was only 4 foot 10. I became very close with her then.

Years later, while I was living in Boston and attending Northeastern University, I would call her, and other times she would call me. During one particular call she made to me, she was crying. She was living in senior housing and spent a lot of time alone. She would get depressed and then reflect on her life, focusing on the death of her husband…

That night I'd been drinking and smoking, like most college kids in the '70s, and the gravity of her grief was overwhelming… Despite my condition, I had no choice but to take control of the call, reminding her that because of her bravery; a small, sixteen-year-old Russian girl escaping persecution and traveling alone by boat to America, an entire family was created and that without her none of us would've been born. I reiterated, that it was her courage that had inspired me and everyone in our family, to succeed in life…

She stopped crying for a moment and asked with sincerity, "Did I really do that?" I told her that she had and that we all loved her so much. I remember that night very well because when I hung up the phone, I couldn't stop crying… 

She lived in Winthrop and the last time I saw her she had invited me and my wife for dinner. We were late, as usual, but she kept the food warm in the oven. She was well into her eighties at the time and shrinking. I used to joke that "pretty soon when she leaves the house all she'll need to put on is a pair of shoes and a hat". She wore black Russian tie shoes, which looked like a combination of thick high heels and a work boot, very industrial looking, especially for women's shoes. I don't remember her ever wearing anything else.

Jenny Baker died not long after she cooked us that delicious meal. It was the first time in my life that I felt a deep sense of loss. Years later, my mother told me "Bubbe" (buh-bee), as we affectionately called her, said I was her "favorite"…

I have many reasons to root for Ukraine's triumph over Vladimir Putin. I've seen the bravery and courage of the Ukrainian people on TV and it looks not too unlike what I saw in my Russian grandmother, Jenny Letichevskya Baker…

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LONG LIVE FREE UKRAINE!