This is the kind of story I wish I read more often: What becomes of child after he or she was adopted from Russia.

It popped up in the "The Oshkosh Northwestern", thanks my trusty Google Alerts. Confession: I have never read "The Oshkosh Northwestern" before, but I did spend a few days in the charming town this past summer when I took my kids there to see the gigantic EAA AirVenture show. There is, however, a Russian tie-in to the Oshkosh air show if you ever want to make the trip: a display of Russian-made MiG fighter jets!

But I digress.

The newspaper's piece is a look at a local teenager by the name of Vo Ford, who is a star on his school's hockey team. Vo, short for Vladimir, was adopted as a seven-year-old in 1999 from Ulan Ude in western Siberia. An older child, still using his Russian name, loves winter sports--maybe this is why the story resonates so much with me. My kids, one of whom was adopted just short of his fifth birthday, are always the first ones out in their snowsuits. And the last ones back in.

Vo, the reporter notes, thinks maybe his passion for hockey is in his blood. Resonance again: My older son's birth surname is the same, I am told (confession: I know zip about hockey), is the same as a famous hockey player. Maybe because of that, I had him out on the ice since he was a toddler. And it was a thrill, last winter, to watch him take off across a frozen New Hampshire lake with his buddies.

But the best thing about this piece is that Vo has such a clear sense of his Russian past and his American present. Whatever the reason for his love of hockey, he just loves being one of the guys in Wisconsin. I talk to my kids a lot about Russia, I read them Russian fairytales and take them to Russian circuses. But most of the time, they are simply focused on being kids: Scoring the goal in soccer, getting a hit in baseball or capturing one of those unpronounceable Pokemon things.

And that is just fine by me.