I met my Russian relatives for the first time when I accompanied my father to Moscow in 1962. I was a senior at Harvard; he was a judge for cellists at the Tchaikovsky Music Competition. It was his first trip back to Russia since he escaped the Soviet Union in 1921. I was born in the United States, where I was raised by my French mother and Russian father.

Due to the cold war, I had never been to Russia before, however, I had been to France numerous times to visit my maternal relatives. I spoke English and French. When I suddenly was face to face with my Russian family – my paternal relatives – I felt like a stranger. Since they didn’t speak English or French, and I, unfortunately, didn’t speak Russian, we interacted by innovative gestures and an interpreter.

Despite this distance, my uncle Anatole gave me a row of plastic elephants symbolizing family unity. I was touched and have kept this Russian heirloom, shown here, for 58 years. That blood is thicker than water holds true, despite language, political and cultural differences. There’s a part of me that feels like one of these elephants. I write about this and more in my memoir, The Speed of Dark.