Chapter 45: Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Wheels Resort Dining Area

2:38pm, Saturday, March 10, 1979

It wasn’t hard to believe that all of us students, coaches and parents were completely mesmerized by Viktoriya Kharlamov’s stories about growing up in the Ukraine. Not a single person mentioned heading off to play tennis or mini-golf as we originally planned. Instead, we commandeered a small corner of the Resort’s cafeteria and were regaled by the amazing tales we heard.

Toxic and her mother had moved to a small town, Ivankiv about fifty miles or eighty ‘key-lom-meters’, accordingly to Ms. Kharlamov’s pronunciation, northwest of the Ukraine capital, Kiev. Ms. Kharlamov said that Angelika-Kalena’s father died in a fishing accident when Toxic was three-years-old. They were living in the coastal city of Odessa on the Black Sea coast at the time. Tox explained that her mother retook her maiden name, Kharlamov after her father’s death, because she was from a well-known family in northern Ukraine, and that name would help them upon their return there.

Everyone enjoyed hearing their tales of shopping, and going to the fabulous opera or symphony houses in Kiev, a beautiful, historic city. Ms. Kharlamov was the lead violinist in the Kiev national symphony orchestra for four and a half years. As I sat listening to Toxic and her mother, something about the name, Kharlamov, was bouncing around between my ears, but I just couldn’t make heads or tails of it, right then.

“I know you told me about your experiences as a gymnast in the Ukraine, Tox, but why don’t you tell everybody about how you became the best under ten-year-old gymnast in the Soviet Union,” Jennifer asked with her right foot propped up on the table with an ice pack wrapped around her ankle. I could tell that Jennifer was still ‘jacked’ from the awards ceremony because she still toyed with all the medals she won at today’s championship.

“There’s not much to tell, really,” Toxic replied as she lowered her head. After listening to Ms. Kharlamov ‘poo-poo’ her own status as a lead violinist in a National Symphony, and seeing Angelika-Kalena’s actions, I figured it wasn’t culturally acceptable in the Ukraine to talk about your own prowess or skill level.

“You were the TOP young gymnast in the Soviet Union, and there’s not much to tell! BS, Toxic! Come on,” Lynette exclaimed as she nearly slipped off her chair at hearing Jennifer and Toxic’s words.

Toxic’s mother then said, “Speak, Вода-Дитина. You friends wish to know, yes?” She was obviously granting her daughter permission to talk about her elite status, training and skill development.

Angelika-Kalena barely nodded her head in deference to her mother and then sat upright in her chair. Toxic’s beautiful face lit up as she said, “I was identified early as a potential elite athlete, at age four, correct, Momma?”

Viktoriya quickly nodded ‘yes’ and added, “Being Kharlamov, I knew sport people come look at you.”

Toxic continued with, “The Soviet Sports’ Academy people in Kiev came and put me through many tests. I started with general sport training program, and began to focus primarily on gymnastics when I was seven. I quickly advanced up in rank in the Soviet youth gymnasts’ program. The main training center for under-ten-year-old athletes from the southern Soviet Union was in Chernobyl, about fifty kilometers (30 miles) from our home in Ivankiv.”

Angelika-Kalena paused then as a couple of tears slowly appeared at the corner of her brownish-green eyes. Her mother, seeing the stressed look on Toxic’s face then picked up on her daughter’s story. “After six months of forced living in Sports’ Academy barracks in Chernobyl, my Water-Baby begged me come get her. She was very good and loved gymnastics, but she no like Soviet strict training methods, and how you say ... she miss her Momma. I so hate for her to be miserable.”

“And that was the beginning of your plan to get Angelika-Kalena away from that harsh training environment, wasn’t it, Victoriya?” Mrs. Hobbs softly asked.

“Yes,” Angelika-Kalena’s mother meekly said. “I first ask sport leaders if Kalena can stop living in barracks. I say I drive her each day, if allowed. Was told, ‘nyet’ by sports’ leader. He say that not possible, hurt overall disceepline. I then ask my younger brother, Valeri, if he can talk to main Soviet sports’ leaders about helping my Kalena. Even with brother’s help, was told, ‘nyet, not possible’. The niece of Valeri Kharlamov was going to be next Olga Korbut. They say, ‘Kalena Kharlamov no stop training ‘till she wins gymnastics’ gold medal for Soviet Union like Valeri Kharlamov, my younger brother, do in hockey.’”

Paul snapped to attention, as I did, when we heard Ms. Kharlamov put the name of her brother, Valeri, Valeri Kharlamov, together with ‘gold medal in hockey’. Both of us were huge Canada-Soviet hockey fans and hearing Valeri Kharlamov’s name in this context definitely got our full attention.

Before either of us could ask either Toxic or Ms. Kharlamov if this was ‘THE’ Valeri Kharlamov, the amazingly skilled forward on the Soviet’s Red Army hockey team, Viktoriya added, “So ... I start to make plans to take Kalena away, next time she come home from Sports Academy because I know how ... how bad it be for her ... like it was for Valeri, when he taken from our momma at young age to play hockey.”

“Your brother is Valeri Kharlamov, the superstar winger on the Red Army hockey team?” Paul asked as he looked like he was going to climb up on the cafeteria table to touch Viktoriya Kharlamov.

A smile crossed Ms. Kharlamov’s face as she turned to my friend and said, “Yes, little Val is baby brother. You know Soviet hockey players?”

“Just what we’ve seen on TV!” Paul exclaimed. “Valeri Kharlamov, YOUR BROTHER almost single handedly won the ‘72 Canada-Soviet Summit series for the Russians. He’s an amazing player, and, uh, Mike or I would often pretend to be him when we’d recreate some of those great hockey games.”

“Yeah, if, uh, Bobby Clarke didn’t slash Valeri on his ankle in the sixth game, the Soviets probably would have won the series instead of Canada,” I quickly added to my friends’ hockey rant.

“Oh, I hated that guy for breaking my uncle’s ankle like that,” Toxic fumed as she pretended to slash her own ankle with her non-ice wrapped hand and wrist. “Uncle Valeri told us he thinks the Canadian coaches told Clarke to hurt him.”

“I kinda thought that, too,” Mr. St. Georges said as he lightly shook his head in disgust.

“Although, I didn’t like the hit that Uncle Val took in the game between the Philly Flyers and CSKA Moscow in January, 1976,” Toxic added with a smile. She then slapped the table with her good hand as she said, “I was so happy to see Philadelphia and Bobby Clarke beat up on that Russian team. God, I hope the Red Army, the Soviets never win another game or medal, as long as I’m alive!”

I had to stifle a laugh as I recalled the outcome of the upcoming 1980 winter Olympics involving the juggernaut Soviet, Red Army hockey team. In Lake Placid, NY, the underdog American team would pull off the upset of all upsets in the Miracle on Ice game, beating the Soviets by a 4-3 score. The International Ice Hockey Federation would later name this upset as the top international hockey story of the century.

“Cuda, isn’t Bobby Clarke your favorite hockey player?” Lynette asked with a mischievous smile, knowing full well she was putting me on the spot with both Toxic and her mother, Viktoriya.

“Uh, yes, Lynette ... and thanks sooo much for pointing that out, right now,” I replied and gave her a playful two-handed squeeze around her neck.

“I think Bobby Clarke is great player, too,” Ms. Kharlamov said as everyone chuckled at my choking attics with Lynette. When everyone settled back down, she added, “No like his slash Valeri with stick, but Clarke is best all-round hockey player I see play. Valeri, too, said, he would score many more goals, if Bobby Clarke is his center player.”

“I’m not a fan of his dirty stick work, either,” I said to Ms. Kharlamov. “But, when I’m playing hockey or basketball, I’ve always patterned my game after his ... without the nastiness. ‘Clarkie’ never stops playing hard, and he’ll do whatever is needed to win the game, which is what I want people to think about me.”

“That good attitude to play with,” Viktoriya Kharlamov said with a smile. She then refocused the conversation back onto her daughter’s life in the Ukraine by saying, “I think my Kalena have that attitude, too, when young. But Sports Academy in Chernobyl start to ruin sport in my little Water-Baby. So, I act to save her and her core spirit.”

“I didn’t really understand it then...” Angelika-Kalena picked up on her mother’s transition, “ ... but my Momma risked her life to get me away from the Soviet Sports’ Academy people. Momma took me, when I was nine-years-old and drove to Odessa, my Poppa’s hometown. Momma hid me with my Omaw and Opaw, and told them and me to say that I was cousin’s daughter, Angelika Tolsik. I was scared, but safe there with my grandparents. That, though, was the last time I saw my Momma... ‘till today.”

“How did you end up in an orphanage and get adopted by the Hobbs?” Mariam asked her younger teammate.

“Both of my grandparents were killed in a car accident, about seven months after I started to live with them.”

“Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry to hear that,” Sammy uttered to Toxic and her mother.

“Why didn’t you ask about returning to Iva ... Ivankiv, to your mother, Tox?” Jamie then asked her gymnastics’ teammate.

“My grandparents told me again and again, never to mention my real name or Momma’s name to anyone in authority, because Momma was most likely on a government list of criminals for taking me from that Sports’ Academy center. My Omaw and Opaw also said that if my true name was found out, they’d either take me back to a Sports’ Academy, or possibly send me to prison for running away.”

“That is such an amazing story, Angelika, or should we start calling you, Kalena?” her club coach, Ms. Kitely said to her young gymnast and to her mother.

Angelika-Kalena just shrugged her shoulders and gave her club coach a smile at that unexpected question. After taking a deep breath, our cute as a bug, Ukrainian classmate said, “So, that is how I went from an elite gymnast in Chernobyl and Soviet Union to an orphanage outside of Odessa.”

Toxic then hugged her mother, who proudly exclaimed, “And how my Water-Baby became known as Angelika Tolsik instead of...”

“Kalena Kharlamov!” Lynette, Cathy, Jennifer, Kathy, Jamie, Mariam and Sammy all excitedly said in unison.

“How do they time things like that?” Paul asked to no one in particular as he grinned in amazement.

“Talent, oh younger brother, pure ... talent,” Cathy fired off with a grin before getting and giving a high-five to each of girls, plus Angelika-Kalena in our area.

As I listened to the Kharlamov’s heart-wrenching story, I really, really had to bite my tongue whenever Viktoriya or Toxic talked about making trips to or being held captive in Chernobyl. Each time they mentioned that name, it instantly triggered my memories about the horrific nuclear accident on the outskirts of that Ukrainian town, in the spring of 1986.

To get my mind focused away from that God-awful catastrophe, which I knew the Energists would prevent me from sharing with anyone, I asked, “So, Ms. Kharlamov, how were you able to get out of the Soviet’s prison system, and how did you make it here to London?”

My question immediately brought a smile back to Viktoriya’s face. She then hugged her daughter and said, “Several factors help. Being Kharlamov kept me from worst prisons. Also, being very good violinist, my prison Commandant in Donetsk liked for me to do small music recital for his friends. Then, after four, maybe five years in prison, the concert maestro for Odessa’s symphony hear me play. Mr. Riktov was good friend with Commandant Titova, and I was given release to play in Odessa’s symphony. It was blessing, I thought ... because I might sneak and see my Water-Baby at Opaw’s, there.”

Ms. Kharlamov’s sunny expression quickly became sullen as she paused to compose herself. She then continued, “But no, I hear of Kalena’s Omaw and Opaw accident, and that my girl, my Kalena, she sent to orphanage near Kherson.” Viktoriya suddenly looked exhausted after relating her nightmarish experience to us.

Mrs. Hobbs then told everyone, “It was through Viktoriya’s endless determination that she made it here to see her daughter, Kalena ... our adopted daughter, Angelika. A person we barely knew from the Kherson orphanage made secret inquiries with our church’s national missionary board to find out where Viktoriya’s daughter was taken. Then, last January, when the Odessa Symphony was performing at the Madrid Opera House, in Spain...”

“I see Canadian Embassy from bus,” Viktoriya suddenly perked back up, “and instantly decide to defect ... after I play violin on first night in Madrid. I was so scared ... I sneak out of hotel window at three in morning in nightclothes, and bring only small purse and violin with me. I quickly make way to Canadian Embassy, and cry when inside gates because I so cold, and because I ... I-I know I never see my Momma or baby brother, Valeri, again. But, I cry joyful, today, when I see that my Kalena is well ... with GREAT family and GREAT friends, in London, Canada.”

“Good Lord, Ms. Kharlamov, that is both a sad, yet powerful story about the selfless love you showed to get your daughter, our awesome girl, Angelika out of that terrible situation,” Mr. St. Georges said, which captured everyone’s sentiments after listening to their story.

“Uh, do you know what’s going to happen, now ... with Toxic?” Jamie had the courage to ask what had to be the million dollar question on everyone’s mind.

“We, our family plus Viktoriya will get together with the appropriate people and figure out what is best for both Angelika and Viktoriya, now that they’re back together,” Mr. Hobbs said as he put his hand over Viktoriya’s hands.

“God, I love you, Tox, and sure hope you’re going to s-stay with us,” Ivannah uttered through her quivering lips before she lunged at her older, adopted sister.

That twelve-year-old’s honest statement earned a sharp, “Ivannah, enough!” from her own mother.

However, Ms. Kharlamov quickly said, “Ivannah, you speak truth. I see my Water-Baby smiling and loving gymnastics again here, with great people ... people who love her like me. I don’t come to end or take away this wonderful life here in London, Canada from her. I, uh, hope to find job ... maybe I play violin on street corner, if need, so I can find place near wonderful Hobbs’ family, and OUR shared beautiful daughter, yes.”

“Viktoriya, finding a job and place to live should be the last of your concerns,” Mr. St. Georges replied. “I’m sure we’ll be able to help you find a good job in no time. So, until you are fully back on solid ground, I don’t want you or Angelika ... Kalena to worry about anything. The adults connected with Medway High School all know someone or have connections with someone who would be happy to help you. We...” and he waved his hand in everyone’s direction, “ ... are just so glad to have you here, back with your daughter.”

“Thank you, thank you all for taking care of my Kalena, and for thinking of me, a poor Ukrainian woman.”

“Hey, weren’t you kids planning on playing some putt-putt, followed by a dip in the hot-tub?” Mrs. Dietrich asked as a means of changing the focus of our large group’s discussion.

“It’s a quarter past three, Mom.” Jamie said.

“I’m not up for playing putt-putt,” Jennifer said as she leaned into her boyfriend’s shoulder. They made a terrific pair, with both of their injured right legs propped up either on the table in Jenn’s case, or on a chair with Andy’s leg.

“Is anyone still up for a hot-tub, then?” Cathy asked as she stretched her arms up over her head, obviously hoping some of us would jump in on that suggestion.

When nobody seemed all that enthused about getting in the hot-tub, I said towards Sammy, “I told Jason we’d be ready to leave about four, but do you think he’d be out front, now?”

“I would think he’d be back in the parking lot. Why?”

“I bet you want to grab your guitar, right?” Lynette said as she squeezed my right arm.

“You guitar play?” Ms. Kharlamov asked.

“He sure does, Momma,” Toxic said with the first spark of fire in eyes I’d seen since the gymnastics’ meet concluded this afternoon. “Mike, Paul, Cathy, Jennifer, Lynette, and Samantha are in an amazing rock band,” she added as she pointed out each of us for her mother.

Ms. Kharlamov’s smile grew exponentially before she asked, “You have instruments here? Can you get guitar? I so love to hear rock and roll. Not hear much rock music in Donetsk prison.”

“Come on, Paul. Let’s see if Jason is out there, and we’ll bring in a few instruments,” I said to my best friend as I pushed back from the table.

“Want me... ?” “ ... Or me?” “ ... To come, help you guys?” Lynette, then Sammy, then Cathy sequentially asked as Paul and I made are way to the Resort’s front entrance.

“Uh, Cath, why don’t you give us a hand, please? Thanks,” I replied and waited for Paul’s sister to catch up to us.

As we got to the sliding glass doors, Cathy turned to me and asked, “So, why did you ask me to come with you, instead of Lynette or Sammy?”

I chuckled lightly at Cathy’s perceptive question before I said, “Because I hope there are a few new toys waiting in the limo’s trunk, which I want them to see in front of everyone.”

“Ah, you’re a sneaky barracuda, Cuda,” Paul chuckled as we walked outside.

“Perfect, there’s the limousine,” I said as I spotted the long black vehicle exactly where Jason told me he’d be parked. Just as I was about to wave at him, I saw the limo’s headlights flash at us.

“He sees us,” Cathy replied as we stopped under the Resort’s front awning.

“So, what new toys did you get?” Paul asked as Jason slowly pulled the limousine towards us.

“I, uh, got three new string instruments, and I got a new keytar for Lynette,” I said with a smile.

“What type of strings?” Paul followed up on my vague answer.

“You got Lynette a keytar? No way! That’s so sweet,” Cathy fired off right behind her brother’s question.

“Yes way. And you’ll see, when I bring two of the new strings inside along with our three guitars already in the trunk,” I replied to the McGregory twins.

“Afternoon, Boss-man,” Jason said with a smile after he stepped out of the limo. “Ready to go, already?”

“No, Jason,” I replied as I grinned back at him for his boss-man reference. “We’d like to snag a couple of the instruments from the trunk, if you don’t mind?”

“No problem, Boss-man,” he said as he leaned back into the driver’s area and popped the trunk latch.

“I take it you didn’t have any problems picking up the new instruments at Frank’s?” I asked as the four of us walked to the rear of the limo.

“I’ll, uh ... no, Mike, there weren’t any problems getting these new things,” Jason stammered before he quickly found his natural voice.

When I looked at him, our limousine driver mouthed, ‘Tell you later, ‘kay?‘ He then asked, “Which of these beauts are you looking for?”

“I want the keytar, the new two acoustic instruments and our three guitars, please and thanks,” I replied.

“Here is the keytar and the soprano,” Jason called out as he handed them to me. “Here is the new baritone, and Samantha’s twelve-string...” Jason handed them off to Cathy, and “ ... here are Jennifer’s and Mike’s guitars,” he finished saying as Paul took hold of the last two guitar cases.

“Is that a tri-set of bongos?” Cathy uttered as Jason stepped back from the limo’s trunk.

“Uh, it sure looks like a tri-set,” Jason replied in a faux-amazed voice. Jason then reached into the trunk and lifted them out. As he was doing this, he said, “If I remembered correctly from our adventure down to Sarnia, a certain jet-black haired girl said something about playing the bongos on said black-haired girl and her twin brother’s killer version of Wish You Were Here.”

“You got them for me? Oh, thank you, thank you, Jason,” Cathy squealed as she hopped up and down in front of Jason. “I’d give you a big hug and kiss, but...” Cathy raised her instrument filled arms to show Jason he was currently out of luck for a hug and kiss.

“Slip them under my arm, Jason,” I said as I created a carrying space between my right arm and torso, as I held the smaller soprano case in that hand.

After I had Cathy’s new set of bongos safely secured under my arm, Jason asked, “Are you still thinking a four to four-thirty departure time will work, Boss-man?”

“I think so, Jason ... and please, just Mike, okay?” I added with a slight negative head shake.

“Sure thing ... Just Mike,” Jason replied which caused my two next door neighbors to bust out in laughter.

“If you didn’t already have a cool nickname, Cuda, you would have just been christened, ‘Just Mike’ by Reverend Jason, our most holy limo driver,” Paul chuckled as we carried the instruments towards the Resort entrance.

“Hey, I would be good with that, Just Mike, name,” I replied as I walked behind Paul and Cathy on our way to the Resort’s cafeteria area.

One of Wheels‘ assistant managers saw us carrying our instrument cases across his lobby and asked, “And just what are you three kids thinking of doing?”

“Well, I, we were hoping to play a few, low keyed songs for our small group of family and friends in the cafeteria,” I said. At the same moment, I actively tried for the first time since returning as a teenager to project this thought, ‘If they keep it to a decent volume and it’s not disturbing our other customers, it will be fine to play your instruments, ‘ into the mid-thirty aged gentleman’s mind.

Since he didn’t originally seem all that thrilled at seeing us with our instruments, I wasn’t sure if my thought-projection would work with this person. However, when he gave the three of us another ‘once-over‘, he calmly said, “If you’re not disturbing our other customers here, and you promised to keep the volume at a decent level, it will be fine for you to play in the cafeteria area.”

“Thanks, uh ... Mr. Greenaway,” I said when I caught a clear view of his ID badge. “We’ll do our best to keep things at an acceptable level.”

As we walked towards the cafeteria entrance, Cathy said, “I thought we were done for, there. That guy...”

“He was just doing his job. I simply had to inform him that we weren’t going to go psycho with our instruments in his Resort,” I interjected as we angled towards our assembled group of folks.

When Lynette and Sammy saw us carrying in more than the expected three acoustic guitar cases, they jumped up and ran towards us. Lynette came straight towards me as she stared at the funky shaped carrying case, which contained her new instrument. “What’s ... what’s all this?” she excitedly asked as I let her take the tri-set of bongos from under my right arm.

“Patience, Cano, you’ll see in a minute,” I replied as we walked the remaining twenty feet to our group of Medway people.

“Um, two new smaller carrying cases, plus that unusual looking carrying case ... just what is going on here, Cuda?” Sammy said as she took the baritone ukulele case from Cathy’s hand.

“Patience, Flames,” Paul replied as he adjusted my prior words to Lynette. My friend even went so far as to act like he knew what was in the new carrying cases.

“You travel with several instruments, yes?” Ms. Kharlamov asked in her broken accent.

“I originally put Jennifer’s, Mike’s and my guitars in my dad’s car,” Samantha replied to Ms. Kharlamov. “However, I’m guessing that Mike, Paul and Cathy somehow arranged with our driver, Jason, to get a few new instruments.”

“Come on, Cuda, Paul, Cathy ... show us what got,” Jennifer excitedly said as she pulled the ice-bag from her right ankle and placed her leg down on the tiled floor.

“It’s all on Cuda,” Cathy finally said to clear herself and her brother of this instrument mystery.

“Okay, okay,” I said when everyone was staring at me. “I had Jason, Samantha’s dad’s limousine driver pick up a few new instruments for our band, while we were watching the gymnastics’ meet. In that small case, Jennifer, you’ll see a ... soprano ukulele.”

“It’s pretty, Cuda,” Jennifer said after she popped the latches and lifted it from its black case.

“A soprano ukulele?” Paul questioningly inquired.

“As I earlier said, ‘Patience, my man, patience.’” That seemed to settle a little of the uneasiness around our area. I then said to Sammy, “And you, Sammy, there’s a baritone ukulele in that slightly bigger case, in front of you.”

“Oh ... My ... Lord!” Sammy said as she picked up the chocolate colored vintage Gibson ukulele. “My dad loves a good ukulele, and this, Cuda...”

“May I see, please?” Ms. Kharlamov excitedly interjected as she stood up from her seat. “You correct saying, ‘Oh my Lord’, Samantha. This gorgeous instrument is nineteen-sixty-two, ah ... no, it sixty-three Gibson Ukulele. In right hands, this will sing like...” Viktoriya’s words faded as she gingerly turned that ukulele in her small hands.

“You have a superb eye and keen knowledge about that instrument,” I said to Ms. Kharlamov. “That is a 1963 Gibson BU-1 Mah baritone ukulele. Maybe you could play something on it for us, shortly.”

“I ... I no play this...” Viktoriya struggled to say before her daughter, Kalena added, “Momma!” in a semi-scolding tone, “Just tell everyone who you really are.”

“We see, yes,” was all Viktoriya said as she passed the Gibson ukulele back to Samantha.

“We’d love to hear you play some, Viktoriya,” Mrs. Hobbs replied as she rested her right hand on the Ukraine lady’s shoulder. Viktoriya simply smiled and made a small nod back towards her daughter’s adopted mother.

“Momma!” Kalena said with more passion in her voice than previously. “You need to tell everyone who you are, so they, these adults can help you ... please.”

“Ms. Kharlamov?” Mr. St. Georges softly asked as he quickly curled the fingers on his right hand like we’d seen him do a thousand times before at school. He did this when he knew we had more information or knowledge to share with him than we were letting on.

“It isn’t Ms. Kharlamov, but Dr. Kharlamov,” Viktoriya said as she lowered her head. “I have doctoral degree in Music from Taras Shevchenko National University of Kiev.”

“If an instrument has strings, my momma can play it!” Angelika-Kalena proudly stated as she put her left arm around her mother’s shoulders.

“What is your specialty area, Doctor Kharlamov?” I asked knowing that Toxic’s mother had a more focused area study than just basic ‘music’.

“I study sound quality that various string instruments produce. Also, how to improve sound or wave dynamic in bow-played versus pluck, uh, strumming of string instruments.”

“That’s so cool!” Paul replied. “As a bass player, I get to either pluck or bow our standup bass ... depending on the song or the type of sound needed.”

“I bet Mr. Feelt or Ballows would know somebody at Western or nearby, who could help Ms., uh, Dr. Kharlamov with a job,” Samantha succinctly stated.

“What about that music professor we talked with at, uh... ?” Cathy chimed.

“At The Little Beaver,” Lynette shouted. “Oh, snap! What was that guy’s name?”

“Hold on, I’ve got his...” I said as I shifted the weight off my right rear butt cheek and pulled my wallet from my back pocket. “ ... Business card. Doctor ... Harrison Younger. Dr. Younger’s a Music Education professor at Althouse College. I’m sure if I, or Mr. Feelt or Ballows were to get in touch with him; he’d know or would know someone who could help you, Dr. Kharlamov.”

“But I ... I no have proper documents. No able to show education degrees,” Dr. Kharlamov replied in a less than chirpier tone.

“But if you explain your situation to the local university people, and show them any of your published works, or explained your research to them, I’d have no doubt that they would understand your lack of official transcripts.” A light-bulb then went off in my head and I asked her, “Has Canada’s government looked into your past ... after you requested asylum?”

When she nodded affirmatively to that query, I then said, “Then, I would think a government official would also vouch for, backup your outstanding educational and performance record.”

“Oh, Momma! It would be Великий to see you back with a university,” Kalena emphatically stated.

“What did you just say, Tox?” Mariam asked. Several adults and students quickly nodded their heads after Mariam’s simple inquiry.

“Oh, sorry. Великий means great or awesome. I think it would be simply Великий to see Momma working again ... especially if it was at the University of Western Ontario,” Kalena replied.

“I agree, Kalena,” Mr. St. Georges said.

“Thank you all, Дякую, Дякую!” Dr. Kharlamov said as she held the chocolate colored Gibson Ukulele in her hands and slowly strummed on its four strings.