Dana L. Yeoman, DDS

Dentures and Implants

The Power of a Smile to Transcend Borders Part 30

Birthday parties were a regular part of my childhood.  My mother was a dedicated birthday party thrower, and as early as I can remember my classmates were all invited for cake and ice cream.  If I was lucky, she got a pinata.  Mom always had hysterical games with wonderful prizes.  The backyard became a Birthday Heaven once a year. Even before the last child went home, I was already dreaming up a new party theme for the next year.

What could be more fun than throwing a birthday party for a bunch of darling children at the Kiev street orphanage?  It was a brilliant plan.  Making several trips to the store, walking ten city blocks each way, William (known as Willy-yam to the kids) had to hand carry all the cakes and juice back to the orphanage while the rest of us were deep into our dentistry.

In the evening we assembled the children into their dining hall with a surprise.  Willy-yam made the announcement through the translator, “Since we can’t be here with you for each of your birthdays, we are going to celebrate everyone’s birthday all at once.”  The children were completely unresponsive.  He tried again.  “This means we decided to throw everyone a birthday party tonight.”  The children remained silent with a look of non-comprehension.  Utterly flustered, Willy-yam burst out, “We have cake!”  Ahhh, now that struck a serious chord with the kids.  They had never heard of a birthday party, but they knew cake.

So we served cake, and they were excited.  Natasha made me sit next to her while we were munching away on our slices.  Since she had a different kind of cake than me (I think mine was tiramisu, but hers was something green), she wanted to share hers with me.  Being a bit of a germ freak, I politely turned her down.  Obviously my gestures did not translate because the next thing I knew, she had plopped her whipped cream frosting in a big heap right in the center of my plate.  My stomach turned, as I tried to forget every germ, virus, and parasite I had ever studied in school.  Hardening up my resolve and determined not to insult such a generous child, I ate it.  All.  I have to admit, it was pretty tasty.

Since birthday parties involve gifts, each child received a colorful fleece blanket for their bed.  We also brought out balloons and toys, and had an all-out silly party.  

As the evening went on, we discovered something that surprised us.  None of these children had ever had a birthday party before.  Along with this bit of information, we discovered something just plain disconcerting.  Hardly any of these beautiful children knew either day or year they were born.  They didn’t just have no concept of a birthday party, they had no concept of their own birthday.

The orphanage kept photos on the walls documenting where the children were found living before they were convinced to come to the orphanage.  A hallway wall was decorated with “before and after” photos, showing little children living under industrial buildings, in makeshift tents in the woods, drain pipes, you name it.  They were little survivors, but their conditions were harsh and cold.  The point of the photos was to remind the children of where they had come from, just in case they ever got the hankering to go back.  Some had left the orphanage,  but the rules were they would not be taken in a second time.  

Beautiful, vivacious “Queen” Natasha had been found living alone in the woods of a Chernobyl hot-zone at the age of five.  She looked nearly dead with a broken spirit.  She chose not to talk for two years after she was rescued - the opposite of what she was three years later.  The paradox still haunts me in quiet moments.

During the party, Dr. Nelson, our head dentist, lead us all in a prayer of thanks for the party, cake and presents.  One of the boys, about age twelve, asked if he could pray, too.  He thanked God also... for bringing the Americans from across the world to take care of their teeth and be their friends.  We stifled our sobs as we considered the monumental weight of one little orphan boy’s prayer.