To Sing Frogs Chapter 33a

Stass and Anya with gifts we brought from the States

Chapter 33

 

Some of Them Make It, Most Never Will

 

The inside of the brown brick building was as unassuming as the outside. It was an office that Marina-Grigorievna shared with several other government workers. Desks and chairs were mismatched though adequate. So was the rest of the office furniture including bookcases and file cabinets of various shapes, sizes, and styles. I wondered where the secret door to Amérika was concealed.

The social worker jumped from her chair and shook my hand. “Marina-Grigorievna says welcome to Partizansk,” Anya translated. Stass was rounding up chairs for us to sit on.

I pulled the kind woman in by her hand and hugged her. It was unnatural to not embrace one like Marina-Grigorievna, Russia or not. “Thank you for my daughters,” I said. I squeezed her tighter and she returned the embrace as Anya translated. When I pulled back a large smile covered the social worker’s face.

“She says you are very welcome.”

Dyehdushka Bill settled for a handshake and soon the four of us were seated along with the dark haired woman near her desk.

“She asks how the three little ones are doing,” Anya translated.

“They are doing well. The family grew a lot in a short time. It’s a busy time for us and there are good days and bad days. All-in-all, we’re doing fine.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small photo book.

Marina-Grigorievna went through every one of the twenty-four photos and had me explain them. After we were finished she reached out to give them back to me. I held up my hand indicating that they were for her. The social worker’s face lit up the room.

She wanted to know every detail about how the children were doing. I left out the part about Sarah’s psychological difficulties and filled her in on the rest. We continued to visit for quite a while. At some point it began to feel like Marina-Grigorievna was stalling. If I wanted more information on the other siblings I would have to ask.

“Marina-Grigorievna, what can you tell me about my daughters’ sisters?”

She looked at me and hesitated while interlocking her fingers like chain-links in a fence. Then she looked at Stass. He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course I helped Stass and Anya find them. There are three left in orphanages.”

“Right. And I can visit them?”

“I am told you want to meet them to get information for your daughters. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all?”

“Why do you ask?”

The social worker looked intently at Stass, who shrugged again. “Are you thinking about adopting the others?”

“Why do you ask?”

More awkward glances. “These girls are not under my jurisdiction. There’s another social worker in a different office that handles their cases. I can get you a letter allowing you to visit these girls. That’s all I can do.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your help. Hypothetically, if I was considering adoption how would it be handled?”

“Sorry, what’s hypothetically?” Stass asked.

“Right. Sorry. Even if I’m not planning on adoption, how would we proceed if I was?”

“Marina-Grigorievna says these girls are too old to be adopted,” Stass translated.

“Too old to be ‘legally’ adopted? Or just ‘too old’ in general?”

The social worker sighed. “Technically it’s legal for them to be adopted. In practicality, they’re too old.”

“Can’t teenagers be adopted?”

“It’s very difficult.”

“Difficult like going to the moon? Or difficult like swallowing aspirins without water?”

 

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