I know how to say, “thank you” and “please” in English. My parents have coached me in preparation for this special day, the first day of school. I am thrilled that I am going to school, senior kindergarten at Howard Park Public School. I only speak Estonian with my parents. I only read books in Estonian, listen to children’s records in Estonian. Ema and Isa have decided that this is the only language in our house. Rather than teach me faulty English, we will be unilingual. Our thoroughly Estonian household includes our food, our clothes, our friends, and the ever- present shadow of the refugee past. The shadow of the past hangs heavily between my parents. A framed photo of the city of Tallinn and a tabletop Estonian flag are the symbols of the lives they have left behind, their apartment in Tallinn which was bombed, the relatives who did not escape.
I know better than to ask too many questions. Ema gets vey sad and says only that there was war. That heavy, hanging cloud of the past is exactly what I want to escape from. Kindergarten promises to open a world that is different. Yet, today, on the first day of school I have mixed feelings. Excitement is tinged with anxiety. Are my three words of English enough? And more worrisome, will I fit in? Will the other children like me? My excitement mixes with a little fear. This is a first departure from the safe but sad cocoon of my immigrant household.
Become a subscriber to continue reading!
Every week we bring you news from the community and exclusive columns. We're relying on your support to keep going and invite you to subscribe.
Starting from $2.30 per week.
