pictured above: Romanian children in 1989 with a sign reading
"The dictatorship has fallen. Ceausescu's clan fell and we are free."
In the Romanian Revolution of 1989, the people revolted against the tyrant Nicolae Ceausescu. I was born and raised in Romania. As an adult, I look back at communism realizing that I didn’t know any other way of living. 
I was about seven years old in 1981 when my brother and I were playing outside with our friends in the neighborhood, anxious to go to the countryside, our mother’s birthplace. I recall the river Visa, the rain, the salty and freshwater lakes, the green hills, the apple orchards, and working the land — we didn’t feel the lack of utilities the same way as in the city; the blow was softer.
Our flat was in one of the buildings surrounding the small dirt park. We didn’t even have sand to play until our father brought in a truck full of it. We were the talk of the neighborhood! There were green bushes of Swamp Rose Mallow around the three sides of a rectangle measuring about four apartments next to each other. On one side, there was a fence leading to the garden between two other buildings where residents were growing vegetables. We didn’t dare to cross it because we had respect for food which was scarce.
That summer day our mother called us into the house from the balcony: Isabelaaaaa! Valentiiiiin! Come upstairs! Quick!
Instantly we knew what was going on. Other kids would be called into the house, and within minutes, the laughter, yelling, playing with the balloons, or hide-and-seek would just stop into an eerie silence. It was a big day. Thursday. The only day of the week when we had water. That was also the day when we had hot water, too. Our father was away on one of his weekly countryside trips.
My brother and I entered the house: Is it on?
My mother replied while closing the door behind us: Yes. Quick! Let your brother bathe first this time, he’s dirty as a pig!
Valentin, who had a lisping issue at almost seven years old, rebutted: No, I’m not. You should see Florin! He fell and dirtied his clothes. His mom will be so mad.
While helping my brother undress, my mother said: You must be careful so you don’t hurt yourselves.
My mother lifted Valentin into the bathtub and washed him as fast as she could giving him a good scrub. I peeked through the door at how she was foaming up his head, washing his back with bare hands, kneeling next to the tub on the cold bare floor. He was giggling, and she enjoyed the moment. Once done, she rinsed him, covered him in a white cotton towel — white was the only color on the market — and she called me: Isabelaaa, your turn.
I was butt-naked waiting right behind her, ready to hop into the warm tub. We didn’t change the water; it was normal to bathe together. Oh, how much I missed that water! I dipped back to wet my hair cut as a bowl, and then, I started to wash using the unevenly cut soap that my mother made. We didn’t have shampoos, conditioners, or bath sponges. I let my tiny doll float around the foam and talked with her: You better enjoy it while you can! Then, I would start giggling. My mother was busy in the kitchen but once in a while, she checked on me: Isabela, hurry up! We don’t have much time.
I stood up and rushed to rinse while my mother brought me a dry towel. She wrapped me up and said: My turn. Take care of your brother but stay indoors. It will get dark soon, and dinner is ready.
She stepped into the warm tub to clean herself up. She always had color pigments on her skin and intimates. Working in the chemical warehouse at the textile factory was not easy for a woman.
Our mother washed within minutes, then, she scrubbed the tub — on hands and knees again — then filled up the tub with clean water. She called us again. We opened the door to see her in a white flannel robe, with rose skin, and wet hair — clean as a whistle like us.
This is only for number two. Look! She started the drill to show us: You take this small bucket, fill it up with water, and you dump it into the toilet. Don’t waste it! It has to last us a whole week.
She turned to my brother: Call me after you go dodo, all right? He nodded. Moving into the kitchen, she started to fill up bottles, pots, and buckets — a routine mimicked in every household in Romania.
This was all normal in a totalitarian regime where every aspect of human life — water, food, electricity and consumer goods — were controlled by an all-powerful government. Upon my arrival in the United States in 2001, I learned that America is the beacon of freedom because of the entrepreneurial spirit and respect for individual liberty.
As an American now, I sadly see that our federal government’s present behavior is all too reminiscent of my childhood in Romania. Since I educated myself in law, I learned that the only way to stop this wayward spiral is by using Article V — a Convention of States — as mentioned in the Bill of Rights.
Step by step, signature by signature, petition by petition, discussion by discussion, and legislator by legislator, we must reach the 34-state mark fast, so the convention will be called. We, the people, need to establish amendments for term limits, fiscal restraint, and overreach limitations, and together, we can preserve the Constitution of the United States of America.
Join us in our mission to save our nation from becoming a communist country like my native Romania!
