Mój zwariowany życie (My Crazy Life)

I have so much to tell you, yet I don’t know where to begin….

Shall I begin with my entry into the world? Hmmm… how much should I reveal in this blog? I mean, it does bear my real name.

Well, here goes. I am an AAPP, first generation. My mommy was born in Poland and came here to America after her first holy communion. Her years spent on this earth were unhappy for the most part. She is no longer with us and the story of  how she lived and died may just be more interesting than my own. Alas, she is not here to dictate her life to me so all that I have are the many letters she wrote to me while incarcerated and her memory. I will do my best to tell her story as it is a big part of my own story.

I’ll start with the plane ride here to America from Poland. My grandma Anna could barely speak english, yet she packed her three children up and headed to America for a better life. My grandfather Edmund Boguslaw Nowalinski did not make the trek here to America.  I am still unsure why and I am, quite frankly, scared to ask my grandma Anna. I’m not sure if theirs was a clean break or if, perhaps, my grandmother was fleeing the country to get away from my grandfather. I don’t know if I am ready to deal with the truth if it is an ugly truth.

My mother Jolanta Bozena (translated in English: Yolanda Belinda) was the oldest at 9 years old and my uncle Mark and his  twin sister, my aunt Ursula were about 4 years old. My grandmother tells the funniest story of the trip over here to America. My uncle Mark had to go to the bathroom really bad, but my grandmother could not speak English. She struggled to communicate with the stewardess that her toddler needed to use the restroom, but the sterwardess could not understand. What do you think happens when a 4 year old cannot go to the bathroom? They can’t hold it forever, they go on themselves. And that’s exactly what Mark did, he shit his pants. I am not the best teller of this story but when my grandmother tells it in her broken English and you can see Mark turning red as she goes on… well it’s just the funniest thing.  My uncle Mark doesn’t find it the least bit amusing as he is now 50 years old.

I really need to go back a little further and tell you about my grandmother’s mistreatment at the hands of the Nazis. I will do that in my next post. I need to locate my grandmother’s statement to the German Government.

Peace be with you until next time…

L;-)