On June 15, 1996, an Aeroflot flight departed from Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, bound for Shannon, Ireland. Aboard it were myself, my wife, and my two step-daughters, then ages 12 and 8. On the morning of June 16, we caught a connecting flight that landed us in Saint Petersburg, the three ladies’ birthplace, which had only recently reverted to its original name.
We had a plan. I’d been working long hours at several companies for 5 years without a vacation. I was burnt out, and I would take a…Read more