A brief story of my Russian family. Grandparents #1.

My wife’s into building our family tree. I’m different. I never cared about my ancestors. For all my love of memoirs and curiosity about other people’s life journeys, I have this strange indifference about my predecessors. I wouldn’t be here without them, yet my curiosity level is very low.

I did do the 23 and me DNA test. Because my wife wanted me to, or maybe it was even a gift for my birthday several years ago.

It’s interesting to see the composition, but it’s nothing eye-opening, and like I said, I’m not overly fascinated.

Only my parents and grandparents contribute to my identity.

I’ll start with my grandmother (babushka Zoya) on my father’s side. She’s approaching ninety. She’s fragile but always positive and has the clearest of minds. She’s in Moscow now. This picture was taken about eleven years ago, a year before I left Russia. We were celebrating my father’s fiftieth birthday (he’s in the middle). I never returned to Russia and haven’t seen my grandmother since then, but we speak on the phone. I barely have to adjust my voice or what I talk about to accommodate her age. She’s curious and knowledgeable about the most improbable things. You can mention Jeff Bezos or Taylor Swift to her and she’d probably know about them from reading magazines. I hope I have her genes!