Most of you may know my story … moved here from NoCal, hate the cold, love surfing and all that good stuff. However, you probably didn’t know that my mom Marina is foreign. My mom grew up along the coast of the Black Sea in Kobuleti, Georgia … the country, not the southern U.S. state.

My grandparents were not native Georgians. My grandpa was from the near country, Armenia, and my grandma, from Russia. Throughout my life, my mom has told me many stories about how hard it was having an Armenian dad because he was so strict. She’s shown me multiple pictures along with corresponding stories of her adventures. My mom always complains to me about how America is so lazy and how hard her schooling was.

Unlike most high school students, she never really got to go to what we consider a normal high school. At age 16 she left home and began her first year of college in Siberia where she studied law and soon got her degree as a Russian law attorney. She was married to a Georgian man long before she had met my dad. Together, she and her first husband had my oldest brother Irakali Vashakidze (Ike). Ike grew up speaking his native language — Georgian. However, his father was not a good role model and the marriage had ended in divorce. My brother is now 29 years old and hasn’t seen his father since they left the country.

My mom’s friend from Russia,Vera, had chosen to move to America in hopes of finding herself and instead she found an American man with whom she fell in love. Soon after being married, Vera and her husband wanted to introduce a man named Fred to my mother. After endless phone calls, Fred wanted to meet her. So he flew to Russia to meet her and it was love at first sight.

Their next few dates took place in Georgia. After a few months, Fred proposed to her in the airport and my mom, without hesitation, said yes. In 1998 my parents were married on the Tahoe Queen in South Lake Tahoe. My older brother was about 7 years old when he moved to America with my mom. He wasn’t able to speak English and didn’t really understand much about his surroundings, but he loved my dad. My dad opened up to my brother with loving arms and my brother was quick to call him “Dad.” Coming to America meant that my mom had to leave behind everything she had ever known. Her family, her friends, everything. Thoughts of doubt filled my dad’s side of the family heads that she was just using my dad for a green card. But their minds were soon changed when they saw the love my mom had for my dad. After their marriage they had tried to have a child but were unsuccessful.

At this point my mom had no choice but to turn to religion. So she began praying but was disappointed with the unbroken silence. Until she heard an answer to her prayers. She came to my dad and said that they had to get married in a church. They did, in a Russian Orthodox church in Saint Petersburg, Russia, on Aug. 13, 2000. About one year later on July 27, 2001, they had me. Two years, they had my brother, Patrick, on the anniversary of the exact date that they were married in the church, Aug. 13, 2003.

My mom has overcome so much in her life to get where she is today and live a simple life. It is dumbfounding to stop and think about how my mom got here and the challenges she had to go through. Without her adventurous spirit, I wouldn’t be here today. I couldn’t ask for a better mom.