by Donna Swagerty Shreve
I received a rare phone call last evening from my daughter-in-law. She has just returned from a three week visit to Russia where she was with her son visiting friends and family. She tends to call me from her car using her Bluetooth. It is a long drive from Novato home to Rohnert Park and a phone call helps the time go quicker.
Rita wanted to share a particular story from their trip because she thought I would enjoy it. Rita makes sure to expose her son Misha, our grandson, to as much Russian culture as she can during her yearly visits. On this trip, Rita, with some of her former classmates, was touring a famous cathedral of the Russian Orthodox Church in Saint Petersburg. There are eleven main cathedrals in St. Petersburg and if I heard her correctly, they were in St. Isaac’s Cathedral, which is the largest in the city and the life work of French-born architect Auguste Montferrand. The inside is quite lavish and there are many beautiful stained glass windows and elaborate paintings on the walls. The main altar’s gate was open and there was a bigger than life depiction of Jesus reaching out to church members and beckoning all to follow him.
Misha was captivated by this image and, in a very loud voice, asked if that was Thor, Jeus, or Jupiter. Misha’s bedtime stories have included a series of Norse, Greek and Roman mythology lately. The cathedral was busy with many local tourists. Misha is equally fluent in English or Russian and, of course, asked in Russian. Rita leaned over grabbed her knees and had a good embarrassed laugh. Her good friend Kesenia was laughing with her and then reminded Rita of a family story I had told about Aaron.
When Aaron was six and Brad was three, John was playing with a brass quintet. The guys knew each other from college and each week practiced various musical selections. They were friends and it was a rare men’s group where more was discussed than just music. One of the members decided they were good enough to be heard and set up a concert at his church, The First Presbyterian church in Stockton. The guys were having a rehearsal in the church and wives and children joined them for a potluck dinner before the practice.
The various families started entering the formal sanctuary to sit and listen to the band’s dress rehearsal. Aaron gave away our family’s religious practices when he, in a very loud voice, wanted some answers to several questions.
“Where are we?” Who lives here?” “Why are there all of these benches?” Then pointing up to a painting of Jesus asked, “Who is that?”
I was mortified as was John. There were stunned looks from several in the group directed at us. The boys bedtime stories were now going to include children bible stories so the poor heathens could have a more complete cultural background.
Kesenia, Rita’s friend, visits Rita and her family every other year and spends time with all of us. She remembered the story I had told of Aaron’s first visit to a church and reminded Rita when they recovered from their laughter and Rita’s embarrassment. The similarities between father and son don’t end there.
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