A date to rememberBy Mitchell Ozog There was a tradition for members of my family to meet at Bald Park on June 16 every year. People called that park bald because it had hardly two large trees in it and instead there were little bushes, which dominated there. Despite it, the park was located in a pleasant area of my city, Wroclaw, near Oder River and a walking distance from my house. We came there every single year on June 16, no matter what weather and a day of a week it was. Why always over there? There was my mother’s idea that wanted to honor my great-grandmother and it became a tradition since it. My great-grandmother Stanislawa or Stasia suddenly died at The Bald Park on June 16, 1969.She died from a heart attack, while helping with organizing party for old bachelors. She died under one of those enormous trees, in her sitting position, and unfortunately, those gentlemen did not even realize that she was gone.” They were too much involved with each another to notice that. I am not surprised. These are typical men”, my mother would say. I believe she had a reason to describe the old men this way because she was not impressed with a fact that it passed about one hour and a half before they discovered Stanislawa’s dead body. However, my aunt Barbara had different view on it matter. “There vas her time to leave this world. God brought her here and he took her back and we should not blame anyone for it”, that is what she told my mother. I am confident that my great-grandmother deserved to be appreciated by us for her great heart. Stasia was an extraordinary person who always helped people in needy. She would knock from on e door to another to gather some food and clothes for poor and always appreciate God for it. “God is mighty and everything is in his hands”, she would say such words all the time after her mission was fulfilled. Also, once a month she would invite all homeless families from Wroclaw for some tea and a hot meal. She had hardly time for herself and a rest of her family, but they never complained about it, instead they supported her idea by collecting some money for poor among themselves. They were really proud of her. I have never appreciated my great-grandmother until I turned 17. At that moment I started to understand how essential it was for all of us to be at the Bald Park on June 16 every year. We all missed her a lot. Once I even find my mother cry somewhere in a dark corner of our apartment, and when I asked her what was a problem she told me she dreamed about Stanislawa a night before. I really understood how she felt. Anyway, all members of my family enjoyed being at the park every year on June 16 and we were more concerned about retelling our stories than eating a food, which my mother would prepare for us. First, we would set up our fire camp and then sit around it like Indians with our legs crossed. Afterwards, everybody could tell a story from his childhood or other event. Obviously, many of us could bring back Stanislawa with their stories. I was able to feel her spirit there. Yes. She was there with us on that day, and there were a lot of various emotions behind it, we could laugh and then cry, and then laugh again. Sometimes we could get into arguments because of a little thing. We sang there as well and sometimes old men got drunk and then they dance wildly in a rhythm of a soft music. And this is how my family is. Afterwards, we divided ourselves into 3 groups: young, old, and children who usually prefer a company of their own. However, my mother never belonged to any of these groups. She was to busy preparing a special meal for that occasion. She felt it was her responsibility to take care of it and maybe because she had a very close relationship with Stanislawa. They also seemed to be attached to each another. They shared some secrets as well and I believed that my great-grandmother died with all of them. My mother like my great-grandmother enjoyed cooking and never let anyone to interfere with this business, and whoever attempted to help her with cooking would regret it for a long time. She could not speak with him/her for many months.”I am not handicapped. Look at me carefully. Are my hands cut off?” and that was what she would say to her victim. My mother was a good person but many times she could hurt people’s feelings by her coldness. We got to use to it after some time and treated it as normal. There something else about that day, June 16, every time we visited our favorite park, all of us including small children would wear same blue T-shirts and all of them have my greatgrandmother’s first name. I have never found out why blue, but I felt like there was a reason behind it. Maybe there was Stanislawa’s favorite color, and again that was my mother’s idea and obviously everybody agreed on it. She never told them why blue and they never asked for clarification on it, perhaps it was one of those secrets they shared. I remember when I was little; many times I was bored while being at the Bald Park. In order to entertain myself, I would walk around and look closely at my aunts and uncles faces to see colors of their eyes, and then find out whose nose was the longest. Another time, I would count how many pieces of meal each member of my family could consume. One time I even told my uncle Ryszard to go on a diet because I noticed that his paints looked tie on him. The next thing I done went to an attic of my house, found some old and large pants, brought it for my uncle, and insisted on putting it on him. Ryszard, took it as a joke, however, my mother did not. She grounded me for this for 4 weeks. Every day I had to clean all junky shoes, which my mother found in our house with using of that smelly shoe-pasta which turned those ugly antiques into good looking shoes. I thought that punishment was too tough for me since I was only a child, but she had a different view on it.” This will help you to understand what is right and what is wrong. I Hope, you will have some more respect for people who love you”, that was what she said to me. Obviously, I learned my lesson. There is also something amusing that occurred on one of those June 16 days. One year my aunt Irena invited a special quest to our event. She came from England to teach English in one of our elementary schools and that was how my aunt met her. Her name was Ann and she was able to speak a good Polish but she would not understand our slang that well. Sometimes I did not understand it myself. Anyway, she was there in the Bald park enjoying her time, eating, and talking until something unexpected happened which made her feel embarrassed. My mother served some chicken, potato salad, vegetables, fruits, and some cold beverages for that occasion. I remember that Ms. Ann ate one piece of chicken and she decided to have another one afterwards. “I would like to have more chicken. This so delicious, is it o.k? She asked. ‘NO” I believe that was my aunt Barbara who said it which in Polish slang means yes, and a regular word for it is tak. Unfortunately, Ann misunderstood that expression and took it as English word no. She sat there in silence for some time. Suddenly one of children came up to a table and tried to grab 2 pieces of a chicken from there, but Ann told him that they were not allowed to have 2 pieces. Then my mother explained to her that was a plenty of a chicken to share and asked her if she wanted to have more. “But somebody said no more chicken”, she said. My mother explained to her that no means yes when people use slang and apologized for her inconvenience. Ann seemed to feel much more comfortable afterwards and she even laughed gently at herself later. I was so glad that ended happily, after all there was one of our most important days. Although I live in USA today my memories are always alive and they will live with me forever. I often retell my stories from June 16 to my children about the Bald Park, which does not exist anymore. Today this place is being used for different purpose, there was built a big automobile company in that bald place which causes pollution all over the city. However, I feel lucky. I have my memories and that makes me happy. |
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