USA TODAY US Edition

I’m thankful yet wish friends were at home

If everyone had their wishes, Vlad and Vitalina wouldn’t be spending Thanksgivi­ng – a holiday that until recently they had never heard of – with us

- Laura Potts Media manager Laura Potts is news and media manager with the University of East Anglia in Norwich, United Kingdom.

Let’s face it: Many of us spend Thanksgivi­ng with people we would rather not sit through an entire meal with. We do it out of tradition or obligation, even guilt.

This year, our guests of honor don’t want to spend Thanksgivi­ng with us at all. In many ways, we don’t want them here, either.

It’s not because we don’t adore Vlad and Vitalina. As far as I’m aware, they’re fond of us, too.

But if everyone had their wishes, Vlad and Vitalina wouldn’t be spending Thanksgivi­ng – a holiday that until recently they had never heard of – with us. They would be home in eastern Ukraine, leading the ordinary lives of a teenage boy and his mother: going to school; going to work; coming home to a toasty warm apartment in their small city; tending to the plants – herbs, onions, geraniums – that bring a curtain of green to a sunroom that faces the street.

Despite the November chill, Vlad would still be going for bracing winter dips in one of his city’s enormous lakes, just as he did with friends in late February of this year.

War abruptly altered their lives

Until the bombs dropped.

Until air raids meant huddling in a bunker, trying to attend classes online or playing cards in the dim light as troops from neighborin­g Russia – just 30 miles away – rumbled into the city.

Until the family got out – with only one suitcase and their little cat. Alive, but not undamaged.

“In my body I am 14, but in my head I am much older since the war,” Vlad told me in the summer, a few weeks after they arrived to live with us in England.

In his eyes he was older, too. By contrast with my own 14-year-old son, Vlad’s wide-eyed stare spoke of months of being on high alert, trained for the first sign of danger.

The particular­s of this family’s sixmonth test of stamina are similar to those of millions of other Ukrainians who have fled their homes since the Russian invasion began Feb. 24. But every individual has their own losses, worries and wounds. Familiar items and pets left behind in the scramble to escape. Friends scattered to the far corners of Europe. Family members left behind to fight and struggle to survive. Loved ones who are no longer alive.

When he was smuggled from home, the driver instructed Vlad to wipe all the photos from his phone.

Why, I asked, you’re only 14? “Because if they stop us at checkpoint­s and see pictures of Ukrainian flag or symbols,” Vlad answered, not elaboratin­g.

For now he has memories shared with his best friend, who is staying with a host family in Belgium. And new memories with his girlfriend, another teenage refugee from an all-but-leveled city a few hours south of Vlad’s home, who is staying with a host family in the village next to ours.

She also will come to Thanksgivi­ng dinner and probably – like my sons – be annoyed that they’ll have high school in the morning, an ordinary November Friday in England.

Then again, ordinary isn’t so bad. Vitalina picks up a decorative pumpkin, smaller than a Granny Smith apple, giggles and wrinkles her nose. “We have these in Ukraine, too, but much bigger,” she says.

Yes, I tell her, the ones we eat are bigger, too. These are just for decoration.

“I do not like these to eat,” she says. In a wry expression our family has come to cherish, she narrows her eyes when I tell her that pumpkin pie is an important part of Thanksgivi­ng dinner. “Strange people,” Vitalina says, rolling her “r” and letting out peals of laughter.

So maybe this year we will add borscht or varenyky to our Thanksgivi­ng meal, just as the other guests will bring wine or cheese or some other contributi­on from their home country.

Refugees connect in new country

Thanksgivi­ng, British-style, is a hodgepodge of company and contributi­ons. From one year to the next invitation­s are as capricious as they are in demand. You might get the call because Thanksgivi­ng coincides with your birthday. You might have been cheeky enough to invite yourself and made such outstandin­g gravy that your family secured a place around the table ad infinitum.

Everyone is welcome as long as they aren’t too awkward to partake in the mandatory, post-dinner declaratio­n of something they’re thankful for.

This year we’ll be thankful for our Ukrainian friends, who have enriched our lives with their strength, courage, patience, grace and good humor.

For their sakes, we hope next Thanksgivi­ng they won’t have to be with us – or perhaps we will all start a new tradition:

Thanksgivi­ng in Ukraine.

 ?? PROVIDED BY LAURA POTTS ?? War refugees Vlad, 14, and his mother, Vitalina, reunite with their cat, Zephyrka (Ukrainian for marshmallo­w), at Laura Potts’ home in England. The three fled Ukraine together in March, then Zephyrka had to spend two months in quarantine in Holland.
PROVIDED BY LAURA POTTS War refugees Vlad, 14, and his mother, Vitalina, reunite with their cat, Zephyrka (Ukrainian for marshmallo­w), at Laura Potts’ home in England. The three fled Ukraine together in March, then Zephyrka had to spend two months in quarantine in Holland.
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