I was born in Worcester, Massachusetts, at home, on New Years Day to Polish immigrants. Ma, 54, and Pa, 58 years old at the time, along with my sister and five brothers, all crunched into the 1st floor of a triple-decker. The apartment had 2 small bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and a bureau draw where I stayed for a while so Ive been told.
My brothers served in the military and each had their own biased story to tell. But, Pa was my hero and greatest story-teller. Conscripted by the Russians, his duty as barber for Cossack officers during the Russo Japanese war began with a march across Siberia to Manchuria. Experiences along the march and in Manchuria provided him a rich a store of material to weave.
Ma, well, she appeared to pray constantly and was a loyal defender right or wrong in all my many predicaments. She hardly spoke to me but made sure I said my prayers, in Polish every night before going to bed. Somewhere along the way I lost my Polish prayers.
The particulars of why my egg finally flowered and came to join this world may well have been a JOKE. If so, I have to admit, I do enjoy being the butt of life. An egg like most eggs, poked into life the old fashion way. And as others I too held a sense of being that struggled to be heardto let the world know Im alive, I also cried but why? To that question and to this day I continue to crystill no one hears. It appeared the louder I cried, lifes strop hit back all the harder, so in silence, Ive learned to keep and act afraid.
In the meantime I worked as an IBEW Electrician / Electrical Contractor servicing the needs of varied clients, who ranged from the poorest individuals to the richest families and industries. The poor demanded most for least money ( and got it), the rich simply wanted their toys to work. Im comfortable with all of them and never allowed myself to be attracted to any.
Marriage to a wonderful woman (my salvation) brought forth four wonderful children and contentment. Though I tried to better their lot over my own poor but rich upbringing, world-ways quickly drew them away know-it alls before their time my audience lost.
During these latter days, as life slowly ebbs from this simple fool, tears from years of unheard cries plunk down on paper to finally tell my story of those eggs that flower to feed the world banquet, rather than join with.
Nitorig (k)
