As a young child, about five years old, I took notice of four high school graduation photographs of my father and his siblings. They were displayed on the television cabinet in my grandparents’ living room. My dad identified himself, his sister Aunt Rose, and my two uncles. I knew my Uncle George but had never met my Uncle Tom. When I asked about him, my father said, “He doesn’t live here now. He lives far away. Someday he will be back and you will meet him.”
This was sufficient for a child, but each time I would visit my grandparents, I was drawn to Uncle Tom’s photo. I would think to myself, “Boy, he is a very good-looking man.” And then wonder where he was and why he hadn’t come home. Eventually there was little talk of my Uncle Tom, but his photograph remained on display with the others.
Several years later, when I was about nine, my mother announced that Uncle Tom was coming home. I would finally get to meet my mysterious uncle.
When I was growing up it was generally accepted that children were to be seen but not heard. However, when first meeting Uncle Tom, he asked me questions that showed a sincere interest about me, school, sports, things I liked to do. He listened to what I had to say. I was very excited about this new uncle.
During my early teens I had questions I wanted to ask Uncle Tom about the Soviet Union and his life behind the Iron Curtain. By this time, I had learned that while in the Soviet Union he was unable to escape or return to America. I failed to comprehend the magnitude of his life tragedy. Instead, I thought of it as an interesting and intriguing mystery. Although I asked some questions, Uncle Tom’s general response would be, “I can’t tell you now, but someday I will write a book so you will know everything.”
As my interests broadened and I began my own family, I had less time to spend with my parents and uncles and aunts. Any time we were at a family function, Uncle Tom and I continued meaningful conversations, discussing current events, politics, often controversial topics, but always coming back to how was I doing, how was my family.
As I began reading The Repatriate: Love, Basketball, and the KGB, I was overwhelmed with sadness for my uncle. I tried to comprehend how dramatically his life was changed and the fear he felt when he stepped on Soviet soil and during the 13 years he spent there. As I read, I was drawn into his trauma, wondering what I would have done given his circumstances. Would I have made the same decisions that he did? It is difficult for me not to tear up when thinking about him and what he went through. I miss him and love him dearly. I always wish we had talked more.
– Robert