Driving to a 60th anniversary celebration of a Ukrainian old people's home I suddenly remembered lying in the hot sun next to a field of potatoes turning my 11 year old legs red. I was pleased with my sunburn as we were in those days till someone pointed out my white ankle socks. It was a lovely day - the home had put on free food and entertainment which was very nice of them. I wanted to show my son some of his roots. He says he is English. I waiver between envying his certainty of his identity and grief that he feels disconnected from his ancestors. Many of the people at the celebrations are bringing up their kids speaking Ukrainian(they are third generation) but I have taught my children a few words. I speak to them in Ukrainian sometimes but more to stop me losing it. I do find the whole concept of identity confusing. My son watched the concerts - he said he liked the dancing a little bit. The blokes get the best dance moves and boy did they dance well.