Incredibly Proud to Be Ukrainian

I tell everyone I know that I am Ukrainian and very proud of it.  I love my rich heritage.

The reason that I am incredibly proud to be Ukrainian is that for a long time, I wasn't proud.  In fact, for a long time, not only didn't I celebrate that I was Ukrainian, I denied my heritage.  It was easy to do.  After all, my surname is Ireland.  Not very Ukrainian.

The reason I wasn't proud to be Ukrainian is that I grew up in Dauphin which is predominantly Ukrainian.  You think that would make me proud, but, it didn't.  Dauphin was not only the home of Canada's National Ukrainian Festival, it was the capital of Ukrainian jokes.

Most ethnic groups have jokes about themselves that you have to be a member of that culture to tell that joke.  Ukrainian jokes always seemed to involve Johnny and Metro getting into an uncomfortable situation.  Many of the jokes I heard growing up, I have now heard as an adult, only with another ethnic group being identified.   The jokes always seemed to make fun of Ukrainians and imply that they were stupid.  I didn't find the jokes funny.  I found them very disconcerting.  My mother, who had a great sense of humour, would tell me most of the jokes.  She was Ukrainian and very proud of it.  Growing up, I denied that I was Ukrainian because I didn't want anyone to think that I was stupid.  Also, Ukrainians throughout history have been persecuted and have had a very harsh life.  This continues to the present.  Ukraine is a country that is not rich in natural resources, yet, for some reason, it is very important to Putin.  There has always been something about the Ukraine that has been very important to the Russians and they have always wanted to control us. 

My father wold smile at my mother's jokes, but he would never repeat them.  He wasn't Ukrainian so he didn't have the moral authority to tell them.  I didn't find the jokes funny.  Mostly because my favorite Ukrainian, my grandpa, was not stupid.  He was among the smartest men I had ever met.  He never had any schooling and then as a young adult immigrated to Canada.  He was self-conscious about not ever going to school and he valued education.  He taught himself to read and write.  He could do three digit multiplication in his head.  He was very smart.  I just didn't like that Ukrainians were stereo-typed of not being very smart. 

As I matured I learned the ability to laugh at myself and to laugh with people and not because of them.  I also knew that stereotyping was just that, a stereotype and not necessarily accurate.  I also learned that life is difficult and laughter is essential in life.  Laughter makes you healthier overall and strengthens your immune system.  I started taking all opportunities to laugh. 

And, in reality, the real reason that I didn't like stupid Ukrainian jokes is because it was a bad memory in my childhood.  My father was English.  That is probably not a surprise because our family name was Ireland.  Whenever my parents would have words, my mother would inevitably call my father a "filthy Englishman".  My father didn't have much pride in the English culture, so it wasn't the hurtful insult that my mother intended.  However, one time he made a mistake and responded.  "Well, atleast I am not a stupid Ukrainian."  You could have heard a pin drop.  My father realized what he had done and apologized immediately. and over and over.  It didn't matter the damage had been done.  My mother was completely indignant.  "How dare you", she said and then didn't talk to my father for  three days.  My father kept trying to apologize over and over.  I thought this was going to lead to their end and I was very sad.  As it happened, I was 9 at the time and it was close to their 10 year anniversary.  My dad bought my mother a beautiful ring to commemorate the occasion and also wrote my mom a love letter.  She forgave my dad.  All was good again. 

However, every time my mother would have a couple of drinks, she would tell me about the time that "your father called me a stupid Ukrainian." 

I think even holding on to that was hurting my mother but she just couldn't let it go, even though she really wanted to.  My father was not perfect, but he was perfect for my mom.  She loved him with all of her heart.  It really bothered her that she still had this unresolved hostility because of one comment. 

Fast forward to 1992.  My father was dying.  He was going to spend his final days at St. Boniface Hospital.  He was there for the last three months in 1992.  He received the finest care available and I have nothing but good memories of his time there. After the first week of staying in a hotel, my mom found a furnished apartment at Holiday Towers to stay as long as she needed.  My father was so proud of my mom for finding this herself and negotiating a month to month lease, etc.  He just loved hearing about this apartment. 

Starting to December, my dad used to beg his doctors.  I just want to see that apartment and I just want to spend one night there and I want to hold my wife all night long and tell her how much I love her.  Every day, he would tell his doctors this.  I think the doctors realized that they could not do anything more for him medically, but they could grant him his last wish. 

My father came by stretcher service to the apartment at about 10 pm in late December.  My dad saw the apartment and he got to sleep next to his beloved wife for one night and tell her over and over how much he loved her. 

The next morning, home care came to assess what services would be needed.  The Nurse met with my father in the bedroom to do the intake.  My mother stayed in the kitchen.  After the Nurse was done, she chatted with my mother about what services would be happening and when.  As she was leaving, she said to my mom, "by the way, how is your husband Ukrainian with a last name of Ireland."  My mother said he wasn't Ukrainian.  The Nurse said when she asked my dad about his ethnic background that he said he was a very proud Ukrainian Canadian. 

That meant the world to my mother.  Any residual upset was gone forever.  My father said he was Ukrainian and not only Ukrainian but a proud Ukrainian.  It was probably the best gift he could give her. 

Later that evening, my father was having trouble breathing and was taken back to St. Boniface hospital by ambulance.  He died the next day.  My mother lasted another 22 years and died from a number of diagnosis but in reality, she died of a broken heart.  But, for 22 years, she could tell everyone but their remarkable love story.  And, she never had a caveat. 

So, that is how a family with the last name of Ireland became incredibly proud of be Ukrainians.  I also learned what is the true essence of being Ukrainian.  The essence of that is the ability to love completely and selflessly.

And, not all Ukrainian jokes paint Ukrainians as stupid.  Here is one that I remember from my childhood. 

Metro went to an auction.  He found a beautiful table and he bought it on impulse.  Unfortunately, he paid more than he intended and he had no way to bring it back home because he drove their by car.  He thought he would send a telegram to his neighbour Johnny to bring his pick-up truck,  He went to the telegram office with his last dollar.  He was told that telegrams cost $1/word so he could only send one word.  That didn't deter Metro.  He sent his one word telegram and Johnny came with his truck.  The telegram read:

COMFORTABLE