As the bells toll and the fireworks are popping off, some people might dread that which is to come in a few hours. Namely, the Relative Fight Fest.That occasion when everyone gathers together, tensions mount and you begin to understand within seconds why it is that you normally don’t hang out, unless a “family occasion”…
Category: Interfaith
The People Watcher Revisits Some Principles on Mourning
It is that time leading up to All Saints and All Souls, which brings with it the customary cemetery visit to honor those passed before us. And like most people with enough freedom to do so (and with a desire to avoid crowds), we decide to go a few days in advance. Because while it…
Ode to a Lost Friendship Polish Style II
Click here for Part I The thing with broken kids and kids from broken homes, we always recognize each other. What we do with that information is one thing. But there really is an invisible bond, accessible via the subtlest of signals that brings us kids together. Perhaps Babette was broken, too, but that didn’t…
Ode to a Lost Friendship Polish Style I
He came to me fully grown as a seven-year-old boy about to turn eight, so that’s how I always saw him, as the boy who lived below us in my building and was a year and a month younger than me. There were three of us on our side of the building, so that there…
Tales of the Polish Relatives: my grandfather (and a little bit of my mother’s mother too)
My grandfather was a deeply religious man, who had one final semester left at the seminary before he met my grandmother and decided that what God really wanted for him was to create a family and a life with the beautiful blonde peasant girl he saw. This is according to my mother and I will…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: ciocia Magda part I
Ciocia* Magda was my mom’s youngest sister, and I met her (perhaps) properly when I was seven. At least that’s when I remember her properly. Family history says she stayed with us for two years but I can’t say if being seven was the start, the end or fell somewhere in between. I remember a…
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: wujek Zbyszek part II
I realized that he was more typical of the average, well educated Polish male than atypical: acutely aware of his status and how it affected others in full knowledge of the fact that the woman they’d chosen to bear their children would count her blessings of having landed such a fine specimen of a man, keep her mouth firmly shut and do the best to raise and maintain a family unit lest the neighbors, church and assorted acquaintances, relatives and friends get a chance to list all her shortcomings (and by extension also those of her family), a feat that would happen anyway, regardless of how perfect she aimed to be.
Unraveling the Mystery of the Polish Relatives: wujek Zbyszek part I
I probably still have some of my mother’s kin living where she last left them. I wouldn’t know because to me they are not family. In fact they are the furthest thing from family a person would wish to have / would / could wish on their arch enemy / enemies to have. This is…
On the Conundrum of Recognizing Nationalist Rhetoric Before Others Become Aware of It
As the child of a Holocaust survivor (and a war child delivering goods to the ghetto) your mind naturally wanders off in all sorts of directions and goes off on all kinds of tangents, one of them being, what were those times like? Were there any signs and – perhaps more importantly – how would it have affected me and what if anything would I have done? We all want to be the heroes in the stories we dream and live but when it comes to generational guilt and trauma, those wishes and ideals intensify.
Coffee and Warm Apple Pies in Nałeczów
. . . we like to package our evils up neatly labeled good and bad, with the bad being really stupid and ugly and the good practically reflecting the light of the angels like a halo. But it’s not like that. Reality is not like that. Objectively speaking, the people with toxic views can still make engaging things. Their movies are fun, their writing is stimulating and their music carries you away. And their restaurants make great food. But the packaging is deceptive, because the message – although smelling of roses – is toxic.
talesfromyourlocalpubs 