Novgorod, Russia, July 6, 2006
It is my birthday today.
Out of the past four years, while in college, I have been home for only one birthday. And I never know how to break the news to those around me in such circumstances, where my peers have no way of previously knowing that this very ordinary day in July is actually some kind of minor holiday for the tall, blond kid standing before them. It is one of those things I try to be modest about—a trait I learned from my parents who downplay their birthdays as much as possible. But still, there is always that nagging desire to celebrate your birthday with those around you in some way. You figure that 364.25 days out of the year, you are not terribly special—is it asking too much for a little extra on July 6th?
So, I broke the news to my compatriots in the most educational and quasi-clandestine way I knew how—in Russian:
“What will I do on my birthday today,” I ask.
“It’s your birthday?” the responses quizzically chime in return.
Liza asks when we should celebrate, and it defaults until the following night. I do not know what we will do.
And I was wondering what my host family would do. Are birthdays even a big deal in Russia? How are they celebrated, if at all?
I had a sense of the big 18 in Russia, at least. Vanya showed me photos from his “party.” It entailed eating out and going to a club for dancing with all his friends. But that was for the birthday that is the biggest transition for Russian children. At 18, they can drive, buy alcohol (legally), request their own visas, vote, and for boys, of course—serve their compulsory term in the military. That last freedom is bittersweet—or rather, just plain bitter. Vanya is certainly not looking forward to it. I can’t imagine him as a soldier—I suppose it hardens Russia’s men, disciplines them. But I would hate to see Vanya suffer with his less than macho personality and stature.
I remember when I turned 18 and gained the “ability” to register with the draft board. In America, it’s illegal not to register. And while, I have heard promises of the draft never being instated—I had and have more than a few qualms about the idea of conscription, nevertheless, being primed. Are there no pacifists in Russia? Or, perhaps there are just those who are not “good” soldiers. In Germany, there are alternatives to the military; my friend Markus started college late—choosing to complete a service project first.
But besides worry about the soldiering life, what else do Russians do on their birthdays? Are presents involved? I found out that, yes, presents are involved, at least in my house. After I took a two-hour nap this evening and finished my homework, my host-mother brought me to the kitchen for dinner—this part is typical… If I wake up, come home, sit in one place to long, etc., I am offered food.
She made me eggs—she knows I like eggs. Then she busted out the peach preserves. I have been scarfing down their currant preserves and strawberry preserves all week. My Russian Language teacher Sasha said that Russians make a lot of preserves, which makes sense considering non-preserved food can be in short supply during the dark Russian winters.
So, I ate and drank my obligatory tea. Then, from the cabinets underneath the kitchen counter, my host-mother produced a tall, blue box and presented it to me as my birthday gift (podarok). It was a lovely gesture—a traditional tea pot in miniature. It was a wonderful and thoughtful present. I have noticed that Russian gifts are exceptionally practical. I went to the Volna Mall today with Stosh and he told me that tea—the kind my family already drinks—would be an excellent gift some time.
So now I have tasted a bit of holiday. Katya, the exchange student I met in Rochester, is supposed to take me to a club this weekend. That will surely prove to be a foreign experience in more than one way.
On a side note regarding foreign experience, I have been a little disappointed in the amount of food that I am being served that could pass as American. Perhaps this is because Galina (My host-mom) is concerned about my no-red-meat thing. However, I get the impression that my host family may just eat more western foods (only with extra dill added). I told my teacher today that I had cold cereal for breakfast.
“Really?” she asked, almost taken aback. “You should ask for Kasha.”
So that will be my birthday resolution. Try to eat more indigenous food. Yes, it’s true, I really want borscht.
Out of the past four years, while in college, I have been home for only one birthday. And I never know how to break the news to those around me in such circumstances, where my peers have no way of previously knowing that this very ordinary day in July is actually some kind of minor holiday for the tall, blond kid standing before them. It is one of those things I try to be modest about—a trait I learned from my parents who downplay their birthdays as much as possible. But still, there is always that nagging desire to celebrate your birthday with those around you in some way. You figure that 364.25 days out of the year, you are not terribly special—is it asking too much for a little extra on July 6th?
So, I broke the news to my compatriots in the most educational and quasi-clandestine way I knew how—in Russian:
“What will I do on my birthday today,” I ask.
“It’s your birthday?” the responses quizzically chime in return.
Liza asks when we should celebrate, and it defaults until the following night. I do not know what we will do.
And I was wondering what my host family would do. Are birthdays even a big deal in Russia? How are they celebrated, if at all?
I had a sense of the big 18 in Russia, at least. Vanya showed me photos from his “party.” It entailed eating out and going to a club for dancing with all his friends. But that was for the birthday that is the biggest transition for Russian children. At 18, they can drive, buy alcohol (legally), request their own visas, vote, and for boys, of course—serve their compulsory term in the military. That last freedom is bittersweet—or rather, just plain bitter. Vanya is certainly not looking forward to it. I can’t imagine him as a soldier—I suppose it hardens Russia’s men, disciplines them. But I would hate to see Vanya suffer with his less than macho personality and stature.
I remember when I turned 18 and gained the “ability” to register with the draft board. In America, it’s illegal not to register. And while, I have heard promises of the draft never being instated—I had and have more than a few qualms about the idea of conscription, nevertheless, being primed. Are there no pacifists in Russia? Or, perhaps there are just those who are not “good” soldiers. In Germany, there are alternatives to the military; my friend Markus started college late—choosing to complete a service project first.
But besides worry about the soldiering life, what else do Russians do on their birthdays? Are presents involved? I found out that, yes, presents are involved, at least in my house. After I took a two-hour nap this evening and finished my homework, my host-mother brought me to the kitchen for dinner—this part is typical… If I wake up, come home, sit in one place to long, etc., I am offered food.
She made me eggs—she knows I like eggs. Then she busted out the peach preserves. I have been scarfing down their currant preserves and strawberry preserves all week. My Russian Language teacher Sasha said that Russians make a lot of preserves, which makes sense considering non-preserved food can be in short supply during the dark Russian winters.
So, I ate and drank my obligatory tea. Then, from the cabinets underneath the kitchen counter, my host-mother produced a tall, blue box and presented it to me as my birthday gift (podarok). It was a lovely gesture—a traditional tea pot in miniature. It was a wonderful and thoughtful present. I have noticed that Russian gifts are exceptionally practical. I went to the Volna Mall today with Stosh and he told me that tea—the kind my family already drinks—would be an excellent gift some time.
So now I have tasted a bit of holiday. Katya, the exchange student I met in Rochester, is supposed to take me to a club this weekend. That will surely prove to be a foreign experience in more than one way.
On a side note regarding foreign experience, I have been a little disappointed in the amount of food that I am being served that could pass as American. Perhaps this is because Galina (My host-mom) is concerned about my no-red-meat thing. However, I get the impression that my host family may just eat more western foods (only with extra dill added). I told my teacher today that I had cold cereal for breakfast.
“Really?” she asked, almost taken aback. “You should ask for Kasha.”
So that will be my birthday resolution. Try to eat more indigenous food. Yes, it’s true, I really want borscht.
posted by Erhardt at 11:30 PM
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