My parents did not consider it safe to take me along to the mass gatherings on Song Ground; all I could was to stay home, listen to the radio and read newspapers. Initial confusion (“But Lenin is still good, right?”) was soon replaced by an unwavering conviction in our common cause.
Therefore, when my father decided to take me along to the Baltic Way, I knew it was going to be my defining moment. The bus, full of people from my father’s workplace, took off in Tallinn and finally stopped somewhere along the road. There were not many people in that section and I worried. We were supposed to hold hands. Will there be enough people? As the instructions came – NOW – I reached out both arms as far as I could, one towards my father and another towards a stranger standing next to me, and I knew for sure: if I can touch their fingertips, everything will be fine.
We succeeded. And only two years later, we succeeded again: we were free. The feeling of both of these days will never leave me.