The WOW of a YES

So the other day I was talking to my cousin, and she posed the question, "What if grandma had said, "no"?". "WOW".....Grandma Polka's one small "yes" eventually made a "Joyce"...and I guess I had never really thought about it that way until Nancy asked that question (so maybe I'm not the brightest bulb on the tree)!! I know Christopher West sparked a few similar thoughts in his TOB presentations with the whole baby-making thing of my parents. But my blessed Grandma (and Grandpa) Polka's "yes" to America made me possible!! Three little bitty letters started my destiny.....awesome!! Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the lack of sleep.....maybe is was the Holy Spirit trying to make contact....but I blurted out...."Yeah....and what if Mary had said "no" to God? Think about that one!!" Understand that in our 3 hour conversation we were packing a lot of past, present and future....and imbedded within that time was a capsule of trying to comprehend why my cousin abandoned the Catholic church. As I offered that morsel for her exploration, her furrowed eyebrow lead me back to Grandma Polka....and we spent the next hours rehashing Polka history with my mom (the 8th of 16 children), who turned 90 this past Feb.

I am just a 3rd generation immigrant....in contrast to Mike, who can trace the first Babbitt's coming to America back to the 1600's. Maybe because it's pretty recent history that it fascinates me...it really wasn't that long ago. In January of 1910 (like just 100 years ago!!), Walter and Caroline Polka packed up a feathertick and a few clothes to make the voyage to America. I try to wrap my mind around the emotion....leaving parents and siblings behind, knowing that they would probably never see each other again. They didn't speak English. An added stress factor, was that their 15 month old baby, my Uncle Steve, had spiked a temp, as most babies do after receiving vaccines, which were needed for overseas travel. And that was a problem. As they boarded the boat, they were told that if he got sicker (possibly contagious)...or worse...if he died, simply stated, he would be thrown overboard. How hard it must have been....how difficult to make the next move. Do they stay in Poland and lose maybe the only possible chance to better themselves and their family? The tickets were paid for and it took years of migrant "slave" labor to earn that money. Or do they chance burying their firstborn at sea....or worse, drown him in the ocean????? Shock...despair...fear???? They were told that they could send for him later...a cushion to their final decision to leave him with her sister . Not really knowing what the future held, they thought that after getting settled in America....maybe a few months, they would bring him and Aunt Mary, her twin, to the states too. What they did not know was that Aunt Mary would not be granted a visa for a long time....and that it would be 16 years before they would ever see their son again. Hard as it was, tear-filled eyes, they waved good-bye to family and friends...but said "yes" to America...a chance for freedom....a better life.

Arriving on the shores of America was exhausting....emotionally and physically. A nursing mother being cut off from her child...a whole new environment...no translators...no job...no home. It took another 11 days by ship and 3 more days over land to reach Detroit where their "friend-sponsors" lived. Grandpa got a job in the salt mines in Canada. He could not read or write Polish, let alone English. Grandma was literate, but not in English. She often wrote to Poland, but it took weeks for the letters to arrive (and I now think about the internet...and even this blog!!). There were no social programs for free food...free education ...free medical care. The only thing free for immigrants at that time was the freedom to work your butt off to make a life for your family. Seven children later (my mom was the last to be born in Detroit) , following ads in the paper, they wrapped what they could gather in blankets used as luggage...and headed south to a small town in Peplin, Wisconssin where they lived in a shack....no windows...dirt floors...of course, no plumbing. Grandpa landed a job at the papermill to which he walked the eight-mile round trip everyday. With a meager savings, they were eventually able to purchase a small farm. Growing food for a now-family of 11 kids, made sense. Life was good according to my mom. They had each other. They played in the dirt...played in the streams, dodging snakes...they played in the hay. Their only toys were sticks, rocks and rope. My mom never had a doll (I bought one for her for her 50th birthday!!). Of course they all had chores. There were no school buses (duh) . There was a horse and buggy that picked up some kids, but for some reason they did not qualify...she thought they livved too close. They walked 4 miles to school....and usually the kids who woke up first to get the shoes were the ones who got to school...and the shoes didn't always fit. Early on, there simply were not enough shoes to go around!! There were no free lunches. Mom remembers sometimes taking a dry piece of bread for lunch...if they were lucky, maybe it had a swath of lard...it was wrapped in a 'kerchief. She was hired as a fifth grader to clean the school...she made a nickel a week and gave it to her mom for food. They had a cow, but they sold the milk for money. Coffee, which the kids drank, was made from drawn well-water. It had flavor....otherwise,the alternative was simply water. Food was heated on a wood-burning stove. But my mom kinda snickered when she talked about food. Maybe they shared a chicken about once a week....otherwise, it was porridges, soups and lots of potatoes...anything to stretch the little food they had. In the summertime, they picked wild berries and had a garden. In the winter, things were more sparse and bread with lard was a a staple. She often chopped the wood because she felt sorry for grandma; the boys kept the fires stoked. (There were eventually 8boys and 8 girls, however 2 girls were stillborn). They were the definition of poverty, but she remembers being content. The church was 7 miles away and they walked it every Sunday if weather permitted...and the only non-permitting weather was snow....only because not all the kids had shoes and coats. At one point, they did not have enough money to "buy" a pew, so they were turned away and returned home. Grandma taught them individually to say the rosary...that made for a lot of rosaries being said at the Polkas!! She remembers one Christmas, grandpa came home with a sack of apples....and each child got one...and they were so excited to receive a "present". Christmas was celebrated with a freshly chopped tree. On Christmas Eve, each child lit a candle on the tree (yikes) to light the way for Baby Jesus...they sang carols...and then celebrated with a pretty substantial meal...the only one of the year!!

And if things weren't bad enough, then came the crash of 1929. They evetually lost the farm. They received $150 on their $2500 mortgage. Of course, some of the older kids were getting out on their own. The boys went to Milwaukee for factory work. After 8th grade (we're talking 14 years old), the girls went to Chicago to become nannies for the rich Jewish people. We chuckled when she talked about grandpa getting on the train with Auntie Josie, the oldest of the girls. She of course, had her ticket bound for Chicago....grandpa, of course, did not. But he could not bear to say good-bye and send his precious little girl off to the big city by herself. He sat with her and went some 12 miles before they stopped the train and kicked him off...at which point (cell phone anyone??) he had no choice but to walk home. He cried for the loss of Josie. The girls earned 50 cents/week plus room and board...which they thought was a pretty good deal. Food....a roof....and spending money. My mom said that she saved a quarter for herself so she could buy a train ticket home from time to time...and set aside a quarter to give to grandma for food.....

I've heard a lot of the stories over the years...I've barely scratched the surface...I never tire of them. They are etched in my mom's memories....even though, now, she sometimes has trouble remembering what she ate for lunch. I never tire of them because it's my heritage. It's strength in adversity...it's love...it's joy in the simple things...it's courage, it's faith, it's hope and hard-work. It's sacrifice...it's my family. They were tough...they were gritty...they were selfless...they were oh so humble. I feel close to it and I am proud...not haughty, just graciously grateful. (In contrast, when I think about all the gratuities given to and even expected by some in America these days, it certainly infuriates me!!). Our family gatherings have always been comforting (and big)...some really great times. I never sensed bitterness. On the contrary, every one of those little Polka dots made gallons of sugar-sweetened lemonade with the lemons thrown their way. Thirty seven grandchildren, some 90+ great-grandchildren, and the mental calculator is boggled beyond that. A simple "yes" to America, amidst strife and misfortune, has made me so blest. I am indebted and will always be grateful.

Dziekuje , Mama i Jaja, Polka....Bog blogostaw ciebie!! Zabawiamy sie jeszcze??