English assignment...

I'm inflicting my homework on youse guys cos I can. Not like anyone reads this anyway. So really who am I torturing? And where's the fun in that???

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An old faded edition of Newsweek sat open on Kelly’s lap. She had trouble reading some of the big words so I looked over her shoulder and tried to help her out. Strands of strawberry blonde hair grazed her finger as she traced under each word. The caption under the photo she pointed at said, “Tsar Nikolai Romanov and family before the revolution.” The girls wore pretty white dresses. Another photograph was of an older woman. The caption there read, “Anna Anderson.” I had straight A’s in reading and spelling so I helped Kelly with some of the hard words: revolution, massacre, psychiatric hospital. Suddenly I saw my name in a list of names: “The Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Marie, Anastasia, and the young heir to the throne, Alexei.” Anastasia! There it was. I didn’t know anyone who had my name. Anastasia. I used to lie about it. I was ashamed of it. I told people my name was Staci or Anna. I never mentioned my given name. I thought my mother must have hated me to give me a huge name that everyone made fun of.

My mother told me how she named me after Ingrid Bergman’s portrayal of Anastasia in the film. She thought it was so exquisitely tragic. Well, who the hell cared about a stupid old black and white film when there were color cartoons of Scooby Doo to be had? My name was always like a hat that didn’t quite fit, too big and slipping down into my eyes. Not to mention, Tommy Hill couldn’t get enough of calling me “anesthesia,” “anesthetic,” and “antiseptic.” Hell my own grandmother couldn’t even pronounce it. And then there it was, in a real magazine. My name. I felt special in a way but curiosity overtook the rest of my senses.

That day I asked my mother about the article. She related a story of an enchanted princess who had lived her life in a palace far far away. She and her sisters and brother lived in a magical land called Russia and their daddy was the king. She told me about the snow and beautiful sleds pulled by three horses called troikas. She omited the fact that one day the little princess and her family were taken away and later shot to death so it was perplexing for me. How could this have been the same girl who woke up in a foreign land and had forgotten herself? Most of the story sounded like some far out fairy tale but I never forgot it.

Over the years I continued to read anything and everything I could on Anna Anderson, the Romanovs, Russian art, native literature and the October Revolution. During middle school and high school we learned where Russia was and a little about what the October Revolution was. These were the eighties so the “Russian bear” was painted as a commie red threat to be stamped out or prevented against. We learned about the evils of communism and how the “Reds” were the greatest threat to McDonalds french fries, parachute pants, rock n’ roll, and a free-market economy. As I grew up, I came to understand the strange controversy surrounding the life and struggle of Anna Anderson to reclaim her name.

When it came time to be an adult and shun the things of childhood I chose to be a Russian linguist. I joined the Air Force to help guard against the Red Horde (as my father put it). The choice of language was decided long before it was ever put in front of me. Newsweek magazine’s article about Anna Anderson had the most profound effect on me and my path was obvious. I spent a year learning Anastasia’s native language and then another 15 years teaching others what I had learned.

I never forgot that day when Kelly haltingly read of Anna although I’m sure she would have no idea what I was talking about if I mentioned it. She helped shape who I am and reading that one article came to have an impact on me and, indirectly, hundreds of others.