I knocked on the door of a stranger. I’ve traveled halfway around the world to meet him. My father. I was seven years old when I last saw him. As the Soviet Union collapsed, so did my family. I remember my father and I dancing together in our tiny apartment in Moscow and him giving me my first doll. I also remember him leaving. Sometimes he would be gone for months at a time and then unexpectedly be back. Until, one day, it was our turn to leave.
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