In order for my sister Betty and I to be born, many things had to happen just right. I'm not talking about the chance happening between a woman and a man and the subsequent miracle that occurs from the romantic coupling of two consenting adults. I'm talking about big picture items like my mom daring to leave her home in Knoxville, Tennessee, for the big city of Cleveland, Ohio, and my father miraculously having an American citizenship because my grandfather lived in the United States for a brief time permitting dad to leave Hungary just before the extermination madness in the late 1930s.
Picture how difficult it was for these two people to communicate. Although my father spoke five languages, he knew only a few words of English and I'm sure my mother's southern accent threw a curveball in his ability to learn the language of his new homeland. With all these hurdles and difficulties cast aside some common bond existed, they married and I was born in 1946 and my sister in 1951. It was a unique household to be sure.
There was a lot my father would never talk about, such as the loss of his parents, sister, and former obstinate wife, who refused to leave Hungary, even though the dangers were more evident everyday. My father loved America enough to join the Army to help defeat Hitler and his band of lunatics that dominated Europe in those days. Illness forced him out of the Army minus one kidney, and he found work in a defense plant where he met the pretty woman who, several years later, became my mother. She was a riveter, he became a welder, and together they built B-29s and a family. |
