I've been back in the United States for about four days now, and I'm fairly quickly adjusting to life (I'm not so sure I'm actually adjusting to life; I think I might just be getting overwhelmed with all the 'new' cultural experiences that it leads me to skimp out on taking the proper amount of time to reflect on what is happening to me; consequently, giving myself the illusion that I've actually readjusted fairly well). Having said that, I know that there have been numerous times this past week where I've been utterly shocked and confused as to how I'm suppose to act in public and as to how I'm to accept a drastic change in lifestyle.
Here are just a few of the things that I've noticed that are different:
1. Language It was really strange getting off the plane in Chicago and instantly hearing everyone around me speaking fluent, rapidly-paced English. My initial shock was at the American accent and how 'nasally' it sounds. On Tuesday I had the chore of driving down to the DMV to pick up my new licence and the women who waited on me spoke so quickly that I was often at a loss as to what she said. She told me three times at one point to "take a seat along the wall", upon which I proceeded to stand in front of her desk waiting for my picture. I didn't understand her rapid intonation and different rhythm; it would have been easier if she had just spoken to me in Czech. I do believe that she thought I was hard of hearing; her blank stares and confusion as to why I was still standing before her after three commands to sit made me feel like a complete idiot. I went to the pub last night with a few friends and had a great time drinking some Pennsylvania beers. It was so funny being in the pub and knowing that I'm not the foreign person dragging the conversation to a lower speed and jumbling my words with a thick accent; everyone understood me, I understood them. Conversing was SO easy--I was able to say exactly what I wanted and with as much slang as I cared to use.
Nature/Weather I forgot how beautiful Western Pennsylvania really is. The hills in this area are never-ending and they all seem to be covered with a rich layer of deciduous trees. Everything here is green, and the sight-lines that are to be found when crossing over the numerous bridges that dot the area are magnificent. Yesterday while driving in my brothers truck to Beaver Falls, I had the window down and I heard the incredibly loud chirping of the cicadas in the trees. I had forgotten how much I missed that sound, as it has come to signify the season of summer and all the 'good' that is surrounded with it: sandcastle, running in the sun, Kennywood, barbecues and hikes through the woods. Aside from the wonderful foliage that I'm taking in at every turn, the heat has been quite unbearable for me. It is so much more humid here than in the Czech Republic, and when I walk outside I instantly become covered in running lines of sweat. I don't want to sit outside, really.
People Americans by nature are incredibly polite and uphold a level of common courtesy that just isn't seen in the Czech Republic--this has been one of the best little gems of cultural readjustment I have run into. I remember when I was in the airport in Chicago, I was pushing a cart with all of our bags on it. I made a wrong turn into a line and had to turn around. While doing so, the largest and heaviest piece of luggage that I had slid off and crashed onto the ground. I hurriedly rushed to pick it up, as I saw hoards of travelers coming my way--I was worried that they wouldn't have the patience to wait for me while I did battle with the 50-pound bag. To the contrary, all of them stopped and smiled at me and asked if I needed some help; it was utterly shocking. After spending two years in the Czech Republic, where people are impatient and don't want to wait in line, I found the American nicety of offering a lending hand and not 'huffing and puffing' when they have to wait a few extra minutes completely refreshing. The second 'nicety' I discovered was in the grocery store when I was checking out. In the Czech Republic, the common tradition is for the shopper to place their items on the move able belt and then run in the front to bag their own groceries. The cashier generally does not smile, nor do they talk to you; they just read off the price and ask if you want something else. When I first moved to Policka, I found this to be very intimidating and cold behavior. So, when I went to the local Shop 'n' Save and the cashier greeted me with a large smile and very welcoming "How are you doin'?", I knew I was in a different country. She even began talking to me; it seemed as if she wanted to hold an actual conversation!
Lifestyle The most negative aspect of being home is having to deal with the overall wastefulness of American lifestyle and habits. Every single day I'm utterly shocked at the amount of plastic bags that people use when they shop for food, and I've grown completely disgusted with the lack of recycling bins. Just today, I looked in the garbage at my brother's house and saw that about 75 percent of the material that was thrown away could be/should be recycled, yet it will be placed in a land-fill somewhere. There are massive cars everywhere, and when I ride my bike I'm continually on alert, as I feel that many people who drive in gigantic automobiles don't even look out for cyclists. The cars seem to be getting larger than I can remember, which is kind of ironic considering we're suppose to be producing more 'environmentally-friendly' automobiles. I must admit that I've also seen my fair share of obese people, which I had hoped wouldn't be so bad. We Americans have the stereotype of being the fattest nation on earth. For a long time I refused to believe it, but I must admit that many of the people I see driving these gigantic cars are quite large themselves. It's a vicious cycle of static living, poor eating and dependence that lead many Americans down a road of poor health. I just wish for Jamie and I that we will be able to find a balance and try not to live such an environmentally degrading and unhealthy lifestyle.
Architecture Probably the most unexpected joy I've gotten out of being home, has been my fascination with the local architecture around the Pittsburgh area. My time in the Czech Republic was long enough for me to come back home and see the brick buildings and three-story houses built into the hillsides in a whole new light. Generally, I have the perception that American houses are really all just an agglomeration of the 'McMansion' style, and all of our stores are big-boxes surrounded by oceans of parking spots. I've come to realize that this isn't the case. Today I went on a run around the town and saw--I think--at least two very distinct and beautiful architectural styles: Old German style from the Harmonites and the practical, industrial style housing that was built during the steel boom of the early 20th century. I love it how the houses and the buildings all are built upon the sides of hills; their peaked roofs create really beautiful and symmetrical sight lines as they climb their way up to the crest. For many years I found these houses to be just dirty remnants of a 'better' time, but I now see them as having uniqueness and character--we would do well to preserve them.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
5th and final day of English Camp
WOW, what a week! I can't believe the last day of camp has come and gone! I'm positive that everyone involved had a BLAST and it's going to be hard to go back home and to our every day lives outside of English Camp. Jeremy and I would like to personally thank everyone who worked so hard to make this camp a success. Thanks to all the volunteers (Americans and Czechs) and all the families that hosted Americans or had them over for dinner. We know that each camp takes a lot of time and planning, but it would not have been able to happen with out all your help. Thank you.
This post is going to be a little different than the others. We still have pictures, so "czech" those out, but also make sure you keep scrolling down and read the thoughts about English Camp from a few of our Czech volunteers.
Thoughts from some of the Czech volunteers
Pastor Jan: The most exciting thing about the camp is how lively this place is. The campers, the Americans and the volunteers are just full of so much energy. After camp I like to walk around the church and feel all the loose floor boards that weren't there before. I really like the openess of our doors - people coming and going, being relaxed and being themselves.
Jitka: I'm a leader of the teenage girls and they are really hard to impress, but they really like it here. They are having fun and it is because of you.
Petra: For me camp is mainly about relationships. I'm happy my friends from America came so I can see them. And I'm happy I got to make more friends. Your company really means a lot. You always bring so much energy and it really inspires me.
Hanka: This is my first year and I didn't think it would be this great. I can see you like this work and you like to work with children and the children really like you and so do I. This camp is a really specail thing.
Dan: I'm not from here (Policka) so English Camp for me means doing something good and making friends and seeing old friends - both Czechs and Americans
This post is going to be a little different than the others. We still have pictures, so "czech" those out, but also make sure you keep scrolling down and read the thoughts about English Camp from a few of our Czech volunteers.
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| 2010 English Camp: Friday |
Thoughts from some of the Czech volunteers
Pastor Jan: The most exciting thing about the camp is how lively this place is. The campers, the Americans and the volunteers are just full of so much energy. After camp I like to walk around the church and feel all the loose floor boards that weren't there before. I really like the openess of our doors - people coming and going, being relaxed and being themselves.
Jitka: I'm a leader of the teenage girls and they are really hard to impress, but they really like it here. They are having fun and it is because of you.
Petra: For me camp is mainly about relationships. I'm happy my friends from America came so I can see them. And I'm happy I got to make more friends. Your company really means a lot. You always bring so much energy and it really inspires me.
Hanka: This is my first year and I didn't think it would be this great. I can see you like this work and you like to work with children and the children really like you and so do I. This camp is a really specail thing.
Dan: I'm not from here (Policka) so English Camp for me means doing something good and making friends and seeing old friends - both Czechs and Americans
Thursday, July 15, 2010
reflections
I'm normally a studious writer of my experiences; I either find time when the sun is just starting to set to jot down some ideas in my journal, or jump on this blog and type out another post. Yet, this past week has been quite different: I haven't found the time, nor have I had the urge to really put down my experiences to paper. I know that later on--maybe a few years from now--I'll regret this decision, as these past few days in the Czech Republic have been so wonderfully fulfilling, and at the same time, so emotionally exhausting that I can't seem to find an 'even keel' where I find contentment. Much of this feeling is inherent in the fact that I can't seem to make the fact that Jamie and I will be flying away from friends and our lives here in less than three days, a reality. I'll be leaving friends. I'll be leaving habits. I'll be saying good-bye--in a small way-- to myself, or atleast the person I've come to be known whilst living here.
Jamie and I have spent many nights and evenings these past few days sitting with friends who are usually crying; however, I'm never crying. I can't seem to make myself cry. When I see some of my Czech friends break into tears when they discuss the fact that I won't be here, I'm left feeling guilty, because I am not reciprocrating that emotion, and I hope that they understand that just because I'm not crying does not mean that I'm not sad. In my mind, I've come to view all the people and friends that I've met these past two years in the Czech Republic as being true friendships--ones that enrich my life for the better. I also know that some of them will weaken with the passage time, but I honestly am believing (and telling myself) that just because I'll be leaving on Sunday, does not mean that I'll never be able to see them again--and I know that I'm not just saying it to protect myself and my emotions.
This upcoming Sunday is going to be an exhausting day for both Jamie and I, as we will be officially saying good-bye to the church and the congregation who have supported us and who have become our community for these past two years. I've been debating about whether I should say a few words, but I'm content to just tell them thank you and that I've loved both years. And, really, I'm probably not going to cry while leaving. How can I cry? I would be more remorseful and sad if I had never taken the jump and moved to Policka two years ago; I am a better person for knowing them. That, to me, is not sad; in fact, it calls for a time of rejoicing, which we will surely be doing on Friday night during the 'garden party' in the yard of the church. I look forward to the last moment I can take down one last 'na zdravi' and dance with both the Czechs and Americans--of all different ages, sizes and even religions--who have become my root these past few years.
On a personal note, I must tell you that I've been really torn throughout this entire camp, as my family back home in America have been attempting to heal and deal with the fact that my Grandmother is very ill. Each moment I have time to reflect on my own, my mind instantly shoots back to my Grandma and my family; I'm worried for her health; I feel guilty I can't be there with her or them; and I've been struggling to get updated, accurate information about her actual situation. I'm all emotinoally mixed up....it's been the hardest week of my time spent in the Czech Republic.
Jamie and I have spent many nights and evenings these past few days sitting with friends who are usually crying; however, I'm never crying. I can't seem to make myself cry. When I see some of my Czech friends break into tears when they discuss the fact that I won't be here, I'm left feeling guilty, because I am not reciprocrating that emotion, and I hope that they understand that just because I'm not crying does not mean that I'm not sad. In my mind, I've come to view all the people and friends that I've met these past two years in the Czech Republic as being true friendships--ones that enrich my life for the better. I also know that some of them will weaken with the passage time, but I honestly am believing (and telling myself) that just because I'll be leaving on Sunday, does not mean that I'll never be able to see them again--and I know that I'm not just saying it to protect myself and my emotions.
This upcoming Sunday is going to be an exhausting day for both Jamie and I, as we will be officially saying good-bye to the church and the congregation who have supported us and who have become our community for these past two years. I've been debating about whether I should say a few words, but I'm content to just tell them thank you and that I've loved both years. And, really, I'm probably not going to cry while leaving. How can I cry? I would be more remorseful and sad if I had never taken the jump and moved to Policka two years ago; I am a better person for knowing them. That, to me, is not sad; in fact, it calls for a time of rejoicing, which we will surely be doing on Friday night during the 'garden party' in the yard of the church. I look forward to the last moment I can take down one last 'na zdravi' and dance with both the Czechs and Americans--of all different ages, sizes and even religions--who have become my root these past few years.
On a personal note, I must tell you that I've been really torn throughout this entire camp, as my family back home in America have been attempting to heal and deal with the fact that my Grandmother is very ill. Each moment I have time to reflect on my own, my mind instantly shoots back to my Grandma and my family; I'm worried for her health; I feel guilty I can't be there with her or them; and I've been struggling to get updated, accurate information about her actual situation. I'm all emotinoally mixed up....it's been the hardest week of my time spent in the Czech Republic.
Day 4 of English Camp
Today was all about courage. Courage to make new friends, courage to speak another language, courage to try something new (and possibly a little scary), and the courage to do something silly when everyone else is watching.
The skit of the day was David and Goliath, with was good because it was about a younger boy who was being brave. In the stations the campers had to try out their own courage while they did different activities involving mouth traps, tennis balls, and trusting one another.
Thoughts from the Oklahoma team
Barb Henderson: Thank you Policka. English Camp is awesome! Keep a smile on your face. Give love from your heart.
Jordan Scott: Yesterday was the best day of camp. I liked the family that we ate dinner with.
Coleton Crockett: English Camp has been a ton of fun so far. I think my favorite thing about camp is being able to meet new people.
Kim Shanks: Have you ever seen God in an unexpected way? He's here and you wouldn't recognize Him if you were looking for Him in the usual way. Praise God!
Tim: Schlais: During one dinner hosted by a Czech family in Policka, we began a converstaion about the youth here and their search for something greater in life. A realization hit me that sometimes the search may be important and will create a deeper faith for someone whose belief was come too easily. My greatest hope is that our week here will help someone begin their faith journey.
The skit of the day was David and Goliath, with was good because it was about a younger boy who was being brave. In the stations the campers had to try out their own courage while they did different activities involving mouth traps, tennis balls, and trusting one another.
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| 2010 English Camp: Thursday |
Thoughts from the Oklahoma team
Barb Henderson: Thank you Policka. English Camp is awesome! Keep a smile on your face. Give love from your heart.
Jordan Scott: Yesterday was the best day of camp. I liked the family that we ate dinner with.
Coleton Crockett: English Camp has been a ton of fun so far. I think my favorite thing about camp is being able to meet new people.
Kim Shanks: Have you ever seen God in an unexpected way? He's here and you wouldn't recognize Him if you were looking for Him in the usual way. Praise God!
Tim: Schlais: During one dinner hosted by a Czech family in Policka, we began a converstaion about the youth here and their search for something greater in life. A realization hit me that sometimes the search may be important and will create a deeper faith for someone whose belief was come too easily. My greatest hope is that our week here will help someone begin their faith journey.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Day 3 of English Camp
The middle of camp has come and gone, but not without having an amazing time. It seems like the first two days start off a little slow each year, but once Wednesday comes around the campers are done being shy and the really fun can begin.
The theme of the day was kindness, and was kicked started with a skit about the Good Semeritan. No matter how many times I've heard the story, it still makes me smile when someone "unexpected" does the right thing and helps a person in need. There are too many times in life that we take the easy way out and ingore the people in need around us, so I'm hoping that through the skit it will show the campers that no matter who they are they can always lend a helping hand.
After a morning of shirt making, dodge ball playing, skits and snacks all the camper teams came back to the church to preform their group song/chant before lunch. Every group had made a great sign about their superhero and a song to go along. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Pokec with the church band:
Cerna Ovce (One black sheep)
Most days that Americans are taken for some sort of trip after lunch, however Wednesdays have been a little different the last three years. During Kati Salmon's last year in Policka she helped to form a church band with the youth. Since then the band has grown and mattured to the point that they are now writing and playing their own songs!
So, today at 4:30pm about 50 people came to the church to watch Cerna Ovce play. Their guest was Kerry, so many of the Czech volunteers from camp, as well as some campers, came to see what Kerry would say. It really made me happy to hear so many people say how much the band had progressed in the last three years, and I hope that the members will take those words as encouragement and continue to grow.
Thoughts from the Oklahoman team
Jean Crockett: The meals have been delicous! The soccer game last night was lots of fun. Coleton scored two goals :)
The theme of the day was kindness, and was kicked started with a skit about the Good Semeritan. No matter how many times I've heard the story, it still makes me smile when someone "unexpected" does the right thing and helps a person in need. There are too many times in life that we take the easy way out and ingore the people in need around us, so I'm hoping that through the skit it will show the campers that no matter who they are they can always lend a helping hand.
After a morning of shirt making, dodge ball playing, skits and snacks all the camper teams came back to the church to preform their group song/chant before lunch. Every group had made a great sign about their superhero and a song to go along. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Pokec with the church band:
Cerna Ovce (One black sheep)
Most days that Americans are taken for some sort of trip after lunch, however Wednesdays have been a little different the last three years. During Kati Salmon's last year in Policka she helped to form a church band with the youth. Since then the band has grown and mattured to the point that they are now writing and playing their own songs!
So, today at 4:30pm about 50 people came to the church to watch Cerna Ovce play. Their guest was Kerry, so many of the Czech volunteers from camp, as well as some campers, came to see what Kerry would say. It really made me happy to hear so many people say how much the band had progressed in the last three years, and I hope that the members will take those words as encouragement and continue to grow.
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| 2010 English Camp Wednesday |
Thoughts from the Oklahoman team
Jean Crockett: The meals have been delicous! The soccer game last night was lots of fun. Coleton scored two goals :)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Day 2 (hooray!)
What a day! We started off energizers and then jumped right into the theme of creativity with a skit about Noah and the ark. Super J and Wonder Girl were ready to help protect the animals from the flood waters, but of course our Superheroes were dissapointed that they were not needed, because Noah trusted in God and took care of the problem at hand in a creative way.
In the each station the campers where given taskes where they also had to be creative or solve a problem. For example, in Crafts they made a coin purse out of a juice box, in Power Station they invented their own animal and talked about pollution, and in surprise they decoded and solved riddles.
There is a lot more great things planned for the rest of English Camp, so be sure to czech in and read about what's happening each day and look at some pictures.
Thoughts from the Oklahoman team
Kim Shanks: This is SO much fun!
Kerry Ebert: This camp had already been a great blessing to me, especially the honor of serving communion with Pastor Jan on Sunday.
Paula Denson: For me the mission trip has been full of unexpected kindnesses, which I have seen from people caring for other. It makes me think that our goal of finding "everyday superheroes" in both groups - Czechs and Americans - has already been accomplished. I'm looking forward to finding more "superheros" all week long.
In the each station the campers where given taskes where they also had to be creative or solve a problem. For example, in Crafts they made a coin purse out of a juice box, in Power Station they invented their own animal and talked about pollution, and in surprise they decoded and solved riddles.
There is a lot more great things planned for the rest of English Camp, so be sure to czech in and read about what's happening each day and look at some pictures.
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| 2010 English Camp: Tuesday |
Thoughts from the Oklahoman team
Kim Shanks: This is SO much fun!
Kerry Ebert: This camp had already been a great blessing to me, especially the honor of serving communion with Pastor Jan on Sunday.
Paula Denson: For me the mission trip has been full of unexpected kindnesses, which I have seen from people caring for other. It makes me think that our goal of finding "everyday superheroes" in both groups - Czechs and Americans - has already been accomplished. I'm looking forward to finding more "superheros" all week long.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Day 1 of English Camp!
First day of camp! Waahooo!
I'm pretty sure that every camp started off with just as much excitement and energy that this camp did, but it's always quite the feeling to walk into a room full of people and hear the energizer songs and seeing a smile on everyones face.
When Jeremy and I were planning the camp we were nervous that there would not be enought campers interested in attending since there are two other big camps going on at the same time. However, as the applications trickled in, I was surprised to hear that our final count was 90 students!
The theme of this years camp is Superheroes, and each day will have a mini theme that is a characteristic of superheroes (friendship, creativity, kindness, etc...), which the campers will be learning about. However there is a catch. Everyday there is a skit, biblically based, were there are two superheroes that are trying to save the world, however they are always too late - a normal, everyday person does the job for them. Because you see, you don't have to be a superhero to do good things.
Everyday I plan on posting pictures and thoughts from the Oklahoman team, so that you back home will have a taste of what is happening here. Of course you'll have to wait until everyone is back home to hear all the great stories :) So feel free to leave comments for the team and please keep the camp in your thoughts and prayers.
Thoughts from the Oklahoma mission team:
Kelsey Goebel: Today was amazing. The children were so excited. Seeing the smiles on all their faces was so inspiring. I can't wait to continue working in the camp.
Malory Scott: As Monday came around the corner, from all the preparation, I realized that even though it is the first day I already feel the connection between the campers and us. The excitement they has was encouraging even though they were cautious with how they responded to us. I hope that everyone can step away from this week with the feeling that they had made a connection and a difference in the lives of the camper this week.
Tonya Scott: My first day of English Camp made me realise that kids are so very similar - regardless of geography. Today I had students of all ages and I watched them laugh, talk and wrestle. I had expected quieter, more withdrawn children, thinking American kids were more rambuctious, but I quickly realised that they are the same - the smiles, the laughter, the curiosity. Even though it was a hot and tiring day it was full of excitment and reward.
I'm pretty sure that every camp started off with just as much excitement and energy that this camp did, but it's always quite the feeling to walk into a room full of people and hear the energizer songs and seeing a smile on everyones face.
When Jeremy and I were planning the camp we were nervous that there would not be enought campers interested in attending since there are two other big camps going on at the same time. However, as the applications trickled in, I was surprised to hear that our final count was 90 students!
The theme of this years camp is Superheroes, and each day will have a mini theme that is a characteristic of superheroes (friendship, creativity, kindness, etc...), which the campers will be learning about. However there is a catch. Everyday there is a skit, biblically based, were there are two superheroes that are trying to save the world, however they are always too late - a normal, everyday person does the job for them. Because you see, you don't have to be a superhero to do good things.
Everyday I plan on posting pictures and thoughts from the Oklahoman team, so that you back home will have a taste of what is happening here. Of course you'll have to wait until everyone is back home to hear all the great stories :) So feel free to leave comments for the team and please keep the camp in your thoughts and prayers.
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| 2010 English Camp: Monday |
Thoughts from the Oklahoma mission team:
Kelsey Goebel: Today was amazing. The children were so excited. Seeing the smiles on all their faces was so inspiring. I can't wait to continue working in the camp.
Malory Scott: As Monday came around the corner, from all the preparation, I realized that even though it is the first day I already feel the connection between the campers and us. The excitement they has was encouraging even though they were cautious with how they responded to us. I hope that everyone can step away from this week with the feeling that they had made a connection and a difference in the lives of the camper this week.
Tonya Scott: My first day of English Camp made me realise that kids are so very similar - regardless of geography. Today I had students of all ages and I watched them laugh, talk and wrestle. I had expected quieter, more withdrawn children, thinking American kids were more rambuctious, but I quickly realised that they are the same - the smiles, the laughter, the curiosity. Even though it was a hot and tiring day it was full of excitment and reward.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Rock band and submarines
"The best way of making friends is by making a fool of yourself" - Jarda
The Saturday before camp is always about meeting all the Czech and Americans volunteers, doing crazy stuff and making new friends. Jarda says it every year that the best way to make new friends is to make a fool our of yourself first, and he is exactully right. During the upcoming week Czechs and Americans will be working together to up on an English camp for about 85 Czech campers, so being able to have fun together before the week is a good way to start.
Our Saturday program started off with a preformance by some of the Czech volunteers. They had a rock band that lip-synced five or six songs ranging from ACDC to Elvis. This broke the ice and from there out the mood of everyone involved was a playful one.
Later on we played game called "submarines". Everyone except the five captains were blind folded and they used the rest of the people in their team as torpedos and tired to sink other "submarines". It took a lot of team work, as well as trust because without the guidance of the captian, and the rest of a submarine, a torpedo would be blind and left to wonder. This week do don't want anyone one who is helping with the camp to feel like that are lost at sea and left of wonder through the camp on their own. We might be two groups - Americans and Czechs - but we are one team, and our goal is to make the camp the best possible experience for the 90 campers that are attending this week.
I would like to ask that you keep our team in your thoughts and prayers throughout the week, as well as the campers. English camp is much more than learning English. It's about making friends, high-fiving kids, and making a difference in someone elses life.
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| 2010 Saturday program |
The Saturday before camp is always about meeting all the Czech and Americans volunteers, doing crazy stuff and making new friends. Jarda says it every year that the best way to make new friends is to make a fool our of yourself first, and he is exactully right. During the upcoming week Czechs and Americans will be working together to up on an English camp for about 85 Czech campers, so being able to have fun together before the week is a good way to start.
Our Saturday program started off with a preformance by some of the Czech volunteers. They had a rock band that lip-synced five or six songs ranging from ACDC to Elvis. This broke the ice and from there out the mood of everyone involved was a playful one.
Later on we played game called "submarines". Everyone except the five captains were blind folded and they used the rest of the people in their team as torpedos and tired to sink other "submarines". It took a lot of team work, as well as trust because without the guidance of the captian, and the rest of a submarine, a torpedo would be blind and left to wonder. This week do don't want anyone one who is helping with the camp to feel like that are lost at sea and left of wonder through the camp on their own. We might be two groups - Americans and Czechs - but we are one team, and our goal is to make the camp the best possible experience for the 90 campers that are attending this week.
I would like to ask that you keep our team in your thoughts and prayers throughout the week, as well as the campers. English camp is much more than learning English. It's about making friends, high-fiving kids, and making a difference in someone elses life.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Oklahoman team is here!
Early this morning twelve of the Czech volunteers from the Policka English camp loaded onto a bus at 5:30am and headed for Prague. Along the way I started the realise that the English camp is just around the corner, and also, in ten days Jeremy and I would be leaving the "home" we had made during our two years in Policka.
Upon arriving at the airport you could feel the level of excitment rise a little. We looked at the arrival board, which informed us that the Oklahoma team would be arriving at 9:40...we had an hour to wait. What I really like about the Prague airport is that there is a place where you can watch the planes land and take off. So I found that members of our "welcoming crew" would walk from the seating area to the look out point and then to the arrival board.
At 9:35 Jarda told us that the Americans should be arriving right now! We walked onto the lookout platform just in time to see the Luftansa plane pull up to the gate. And then we saw hands in the plane windows waving at us! The Oklahoma team had arrived, and were just as excited as we were. After 5 minutes of waving we went down to the exit to meet them; Jarda came prepared to greet Kerry and the others with a Policka pivo :)
The seventh English camp is on it's way! And I'll be posting a little something everyday along with pictures, so czech it out!
Upon arriving at the airport you could feel the level of excitment rise a little. We looked at the arrival board, which informed us that the Oklahoma team would be arriving at 9:40...we had an hour to wait. What I really like about the Prague airport is that there is a place where you can watch the planes land and take off. So I found that members of our "welcoming crew" would walk from the seating area to the look out point and then to the arrival board.
At 9:35 Jarda told us that the Americans should be arriving right now! We walked onto the lookout platform just in time to see the Luftansa plane pull up to the gate. And then we saw hands in the plane windows waving at us! The Oklahoma team had arrived, and were just as excited as we were. After 5 minutes of waving we went down to the exit to meet them; Jarda came prepared to greet Kerry and the others with a Policka pivo :)
 |
| 2010 Airport |
The seventh English camp is on it's way! And I'll be posting a little something everyday along with pictures, so czech it out!
Friday, July 2, 2010
Kolibabovce, Slovakia
“They know everything about my history, except that I’m still alive,” Ladislav Kovac murmured with tears welling up in his eyes. “Please tell them I’m still here—we’re family.” I sat dumbfounded in my chair. I couldn’t look at him in the face. All I felt was pity and the crushing, overbearing weight of loneliness that emitted from his voice.
---
The story and history of places and families always starts with people. Sometimes that history is remembered as a story of moving to a new place and the laying down of new foundations; other times, it is celebrated and remembered through the act of staying connected, rooted in the ancestral land.
In America, more often than not, we gear our minds and society around the “new”: we remember the Civil War for the unheralded nation it forged; we study about the 1960s to trace the developments of fresh cultural phenomenons; and we define our ‘Nation’ as one that is mixed; respecting the difference and finding our strength in our mutual unity and astonishing diversity.
We are always looking to ‘go west’ in search for answers, explanations, and ultimately—if were lucky—the place where our ‘heart is content’.
But, what happens when we begin to set our gaze to what happened before us, so much so before, that our family names weren’t even in this country yet? Through what eyes are we to view that? After all, isn’t there some truth in saying that America’s history is as much about those who came, as it is about those who stayed?
And, where do these two lines—the one of the immigrant cutting ties to the past and the one of the ‘old country’—cross? Do they cross when we find an old black and white picture of a long-dead ancestor tilling a field in the former Holy Roman Empire? Do they cross when we Americans are in the midst of organizing one of our many “Nationality Day” celebrations? Or do they cross when Grandmothers or Aunts (as it always seems to be them) begin to retrace the roots of the family?
Ultimately, I think all of us Americans are caught up in this battle; a battle of trying to preserve a personal/family history often older than our nation itself with little to build upon than vague recollections from aging grandparents and creased pictures hanging on a wall.
So, how can this history come back to life? And, what connections—if any—are waiting to be found?
---
Two years ago my wife and were offered a position to work as pastoral assistants and community organizers in Policka , Czech Republic, a ten thousand-person town located three hours east of Prague in the Czech Highlands.
Our work took on many different forms: we planned English-language summer camps, taught over 100 students, gave cultural presentations, wrote church publications, and planned community activities for both children and adults.
In those two years, we forged relationships, learned the language and adapted to the culture: we became well-versed in understand the confusing public-transportation schedules; became acquainted to $1 drafts at lunch time; enjoyed strolling through squares bursting with baroque architecture; and finally became accustomed to the relative public ‘coldness’ of Czechs to strangers on the street.
And it was in this environment where I finally began to take seriously the past of my family, a family history very typical of many that ended up settling and building a new life in the Pittsburgh area.
---
In 1918, the former Austrian-Hungarian Empire was split in the aftermath of WWI. In the wake of this reality, a new nation was founded in the former territories of both Austria and Hungary: Czechoslovakia.
The early nation of Czechoslovakia, known to both Czechs and Slovaks as “The First Republic”, was powerful and well-advanced. It boasted as having one of the strongest and most robust industrial complexes of post-war Europe; was led by a man of virtue and integrity, in Tomas Garrigue Masaryk; and had numerous theatres, museums and top-class schools.
Yet, not all was so rosy in the eastern part of the country—the region closest to modern-day Ukraine. Jobs were very scarce in the area (situated around the city of Michalovce, Slovakia), as the economy in the east was built largely upon agriculture, and few roads were built.
The eastern Slovakian connection to the cultural life, industrial wealth and political freedom of Prague was merely theoretical at best.
Consequently, the social situation and the lack of opportunity became catalysts for mass waves of emigration from the region.
The early emigrants from the area were generally young men who were hoping to make it to America, where they would work for a few years, save up money, and finally return back home to Slovakia to build homes and acquire land for their families—many of the homes that were built this way can still be seen today. However, this was all ‘theoretical’ planning, as the reality played out much differently: many of the men never returned.
---
It is said that out of the 400,000 Slovak immigrants that came to America, over 200,000 of them settled in Western Pennsylvania alone. They, along with their Polish, Croatian and Hungarian brothers, became the human capital upon which Andrew Carnegie’s steel kingdom turned.
My great-grandfather, Jurej (Jiri, Yurej, George) Hostoviczak was part of the throng. On Janurary 21, 1921, he stepped off the Vedic and onto American soil through way of Ellis Island. He was 29 years old. He left his young wife Anna Kovacova and his new-born daughter, Maria (my grandmother), back in their home village of Kolibabovce.
He found work, initially, at a coke plant in Avella Pa; later moving to West Aliquippa, where he worked his way up into the J & L Steel plant. After about a year and a half of earning steady pay, Jurej sent for his wife and daughter, who together set up a household along the banks of the Ohio River; ignoring their passport visas from the Czechoslovakian government, which informed them that they were to return after one year.
---
At Christmas, I was on a train to Prague when a man sat down beside me. He was very dirty and had the sweet-dingy smell of a drunk. His glasses magnified his eyes to the point that I couldn't make out their color, and his Czech was heavily accented due to the fact that he only retained about five teeth total in his mouth. I tried to make my presence small, as I did not want to give him any reason to spark up a conversation with me. But, it was in vain. He looked over at me and offered me a beer. I had never seen the golden can before in the Czech Republic, so I asked him where the beer was from. "Slovakia," he said. "I was there this past weekend. I work as a forester there." "Where in Slovakia were you, exactly?" I asked. "In Michalovce. It's as far east as you can go. I have a girlfriend who lives in a little village near there." "Oh yeah," I replied. "What's the name of the village?" "Kolibabovce," he said.
Before my grandmother died in 2003, she showed me and my brothers copies of her parents’ passports and immigration papers. I remember reading and looking over the documents to find their place of birth and residence before Aliquippa. I found the name fairly hard to read, but my Grandma was certain of its pronunciation. "Collee-ba-buff-za," she said. "It's the place where I was born." "Yeah right," I thought. "Old people are always so sure of their heritage."
After the train ride, my mind was jarred back towards that memory. The man had said a village in the eastern part of Slovakia that sounded much like the one my grandma had pronounced out seven years ago. Jamie and I pulled out the documents out and scanned them over. Sure enough, it was a match. We resolved to go.
---
The village of Kolibabovce is well-hidden behind a tree-covered hill—one of many in this region, where the Western Carpathian Mountains lead into gentle rolling plains that stretch all the way to Hungary. In fact, it’s so well-hidden, that the village didn’t even have a road connection until 1968. It was, effectively, a forgotten place set dead-center in a genetically mixed border land of Ukrainians, Ruso-Carpathians, Hungarians and Slovakians.
My wife and I started our journey at the crest of the hill, which was crowned by a beautiful baby-blue Greek-Catholic church. We walked around the cemetery in an attempt to find some family names that had become familiar to us through our preliminary research. There were plenty: Hostovicaks, Kovacs, Ihnats, and Pastulaks. We were definitely in the right place.
There are a total of about sixty houses in the village, and all of them are situated along a narrow road that winds its way through a shallow hollow, alongside a rocky creek, The houses in this area distinct in that they are narrow and long: people leave in the front-half of the home, while live stalk and pets reside in the rear. It was architecture I had never seen before.
Many of the villagers came out to take a gander at the two strangers who had suddenly began aimlessly walking down the road—I’m sure we stuck out speaking English and wearing large travelling packs. This area of Europe is not exactly accustomed to seeing hoards of college-aged tourists.
Thankfully, their glances and looks were not negative, nor were they aggressive. They were more curious than anything; it was almost as if the people were inviting us for a conversation. It set us both in a good mood.
House number 33 was our intended goal, as we both knew that my grandmother’s cousin, Ladislav Kovac, was last known to reside there; however, we were unsure of this bit of information, as we had not received a reply from the letter we had sent him about a month and half before.
Upon arriving at the house, we were both shocked to find it in great condition: it had just been remodeled and was surrounded by gardens of flowers and budding grape vines that arched into a canopy over the main entrance of the house.
This is not exactly the type of home that belongs to a man of about 70 years of age (the age at which Jamie and I estimated him to be).
We were both nervous, very nervous.
I wanted to turn back and be content with just seeing the village and the house where my grandmother was born.
We waited and debated about what to do. Were we being too aggressive? Were we forcing a family connection? Will Ladislav have any interest in a long-lost connection to some “Americans” who were supposed to be family?
We didn’t have the answers.
Our fortunes turned when I saw an older man making his way up the road, coming towards us. In an instant, I stopped him and asked him where Ladislav Kovac lived. “Ladislav Kovac!?” he said speaking through a toothless mouth, making his already soft Slovak accent even more unintelligible to me. “His house is here,” he said firmly, pointing to the newly-refurbished, orange façade with the number 33. “Where are you from?” he asked. “We’re from America. We’re family.” At this moment, he turned toward the house and bellowed, “HEY! LADO, YOU HAVE AMERICANS OUT FRONT.” Then he left. We stood dumfounded.
After about five minutes a woman of short-stature and closely-cropped, brown hair came outside and greeted us with a Slovakian, “Dobry Den.” Nervously, I began speaking in rapid, heavily-accented Czech trying to apologize for the inconvenience of just ‘showing up’ and explain our family relation all in the same breath. She just smiled at me and said, “It’s Okay. We’re family. We’ve been expecting you.”
And at that moment, my wife and I took our first steps into the household my grandmother was born in and into the house from which my great-grandfather left nearly 90 years ago. I knew at this moment that the lines between my family’s history in America and my family’s history in Slovakia had finally crossed.
Ladislav came down the steps with a bottle of Czech Liquor and four shot glasses. All of us began speaking to one another, sometimes at the same time. The conversation got louder and more animated.
We all started pulling out pictures, letters, passports and immigrations papers. A mess began to build on the table. Goulash was served and tea was given, but none of us took a breath to eat.
Kamilla, Ladislav’s wife, announced that she had pictures to show. All the while, Ladislav and I gulped down our third shot. This was beginning to feel like a true reunion.
Kamilla came back and placed the bundle of photographs on the table, and immediately began asking me if I recognized any of the people in the pictures—they were all relatives living in America or Canada. I did. Then, almost unbelievably, she pulled from the pile twelve pictures of young children and new-born babies. “Who are these people?” She asked. “That is me.” I answered. Tears welled up in Ladislav’s eyes. “Really!?” Kamilla exclaimed, not believing me. “Yes. That is my dad, my mom, my grandmother and my brothers. You had pictures of me and didn’t even know it,” I said with a laugh. We drank down our fourth shot.
After this, Jamie and I were invited to take a look at Ladislav’s father’s grave. We began to hear the story of my family from the Slovak side, the stories I never heard in America.
We were introduced to Ladislav and Kamilla’s daughter and their grandson, Lukas. We were immediately offered a place to sleep for the night. We took them up on the offer. They really did welcome us in like family.
As the night wore on, and our initial excitement died down a bit, Ladislav and Kamilla began recounting for us the sadder side of our family’s story. Ladislav’s entire family (mine included in this) immigrated to America before WWII. Only his father, Pavol, and an uncle were left. In 1947, his father died in WWII fighting for the Soviet Army, leaving behind Ladislav at the age of one. He had no other family in Slovakia to take care of him. His mother left and found a new family. Consequently, Ladislav was raised by two old women who looked after him and the family house.
Kamilla explained to us that Ladislav felt abandoned not only by his mother, but by the extended family—cousins, aunts, uncles—who had left him and his father for a new life in America.
She said he cried for many years out of sheer loneliness and animosity in the fact that he had been “forgotten.”
Some time during the evening Ladislav brought out the only known picture of his father, a small black and white pocket-sized photo of his dad in military garb. He came down the steps very gingerly as he held the photo in the palm of his hand, as if it was a delicate butterfly. His emotions were overwhelming.
Kamilla looked at him and said, “You’ve cried for over thirty years that you had no family around you, and now that they are here, you’re still crying! What am I going to do to make you happy!?” We all smiled.
---
Our time with Ladislav and Kamilla ended quite abruptly, as the next morning we had to take a bus back into the city. And as I waved to Ladislav out the side window, I saw him wiping his eyes, even though a wide smile creased his rough-strewn face.
When I embarked on this journey to reconnect with the past and search out my family roots, I thought that it in many ways that it would only be me who would come away affected. I was hesitant to make the situation more important than it was. I guess I guarded myself against the fact that maybe for my relatives that live in Slovakia, a relationship is not really needed. I was resolved to believe that it was only we root-starved, history-searching Americans that need to find out about our own past. Yet, I realized, especially with Ladislav, that sometimes it is the ones who stayed that also need a connection, and that they too have family to find and frayed edges to mend.
---
The story and history of places and families always starts with people. Sometimes that history is remembered as a story of moving to a new place and the laying down of new foundations; other times, it is celebrated and remembered through the act of staying connected, rooted in the ancestral land.
In America, more often than not, we gear our minds and society around the “new”: we remember the Civil War for the unheralded nation it forged; we study about the 1960s to trace the developments of fresh cultural phenomenons; and we define our ‘Nation’ as one that is mixed; respecting the difference and finding our strength in our mutual unity and astonishing diversity.
We are always looking to ‘go west’ in search for answers, explanations, and ultimately—if were lucky—the place where our ‘heart is content’.
But, what happens when we begin to set our gaze to what happened before us, so much so before, that our family names weren’t even in this country yet? Through what eyes are we to view that? After all, isn’t there some truth in saying that America’s history is as much about those who came, as it is about those who stayed?
And, where do these two lines—the one of the immigrant cutting ties to the past and the one of the ‘old country’—cross? Do they cross when we find an old black and white picture of a long-dead ancestor tilling a field in the former Holy Roman Empire? Do they cross when we Americans are in the midst of organizing one of our many “Nationality Day” celebrations? Or do they cross when Grandmothers or Aunts (as it always seems to be them) begin to retrace the roots of the family?
Ultimately, I think all of us Americans are caught up in this battle; a battle of trying to preserve a personal/family history often older than our nation itself with little to build upon than vague recollections from aging grandparents and creased pictures hanging on a wall.
So, how can this history come back to life? And, what connections—if any—are waiting to be found?
---
Two years ago my wife and were offered a position to work as pastoral assistants and community organizers in Policka , Czech Republic, a ten thousand-person town located three hours east of Prague in the Czech Highlands.
Our work took on many different forms: we planned English-language summer camps, taught over 100 students, gave cultural presentations, wrote church publications, and planned community activities for both children and adults.
In those two years, we forged relationships, learned the language and adapted to the culture: we became well-versed in understand the confusing public-transportation schedules; became acquainted to $1 drafts at lunch time; enjoyed strolling through squares bursting with baroque architecture; and finally became accustomed to the relative public ‘coldness’ of Czechs to strangers on the street.
And it was in this environment where I finally began to take seriously the past of my family, a family history very typical of many that ended up settling and building a new life in the Pittsburgh area.
---
In 1918, the former Austrian-Hungarian Empire was split in the aftermath of WWI. In the wake of this reality, a new nation was founded in the former territories of both Austria and Hungary: Czechoslovakia.
The early nation of Czechoslovakia, known to both Czechs and Slovaks as “The First Republic”, was powerful and well-advanced. It boasted as having one of the strongest and most robust industrial complexes of post-war Europe; was led by a man of virtue and integrity, in Tomas Garrigue Masaryk; and had numerous theatres, museums and top-class schools.
Yet, not all was so rosy in the eastern part of the country—the region closest to modern-day Ukraine. Jobs were very scarce in the area (situated around the city of Michalovce, Slovakia), as the economy in the east was built largely upon agriculture, and few roads were built.
The eastern Slovakian connection to the cultural life, industrial wealth and political freedom of Prague was merely theoretical at best.
Consequently, the social situation and the lack of opportunity became catalysts for mass waves of emigration from the region.
The early emigrants from the area were generally young men who were hoping to make it to America, where they would work for a few years, save up money, and finally return back home to Slovakia to build homes and acquire land for their families—many of the homes that were built this way can still be seen today. However, this was all ‘theoretical’ planning, as the reality played out much differently: many of the men never returned.
---
It is said that out of the 400,000 Slovak immigrants that came to America, over 200,000 of them settled in Western Pennsylvania alone. They, along with their Polish, Croatian and Hungarian brothers, became the human capital upon which Andrew Carnegie’s steel kingdom turned.
My great-grandfather, Jurej (Jiri, Yurej, George) Hostoviczak was part of the throng. On Janurary 21, 1921, he stepped off the Vedic and onto American soil through way of Ellis Island. He was 29 years old. He left his young wife Anna Kovacova and his new-born daughter, Maria (my grandmother), back in their home village of Kolibabovce.
He found work, initially, at a coke plant in Avella Pa; later moving to West Aliquippa, where he worked his way up into the J & L Steel plant. After about a year and a half of earning steady pay, Jurej sent for his wife and daughter, who together set up a household along the banks of the Ohio River; ignoring their passport visas from the Czechoslovakian government, which informed them that they were to return after one year.
---
At Christmas, I was on a train to Prague when a man sat down beside me. He was very dirty and had the sweet-dingy smell of a drunk. His glasses magnified his eyes to the point that I couldn't make out their color, and his Czech was heavily accented due to the fact that he only retained about five teeth total in his mouth. I tried to make my presence small, as I did not want to give him any reason to spark up a conversation with me. But, it was in vain. He looked over at me and offered me a beer. I had never seen the golden can before in the Czech Republic, so I asked him where the beer was from. "Slovakia," he said. "I was there this past weekend. I work as a forester there." "Where in Slovakia were you, exactly?" I asked. "In Michalovce. It's as far east as you can go. I have a girlfriend who lives in a little village near there." "Oh yeah," I replied. "What's the name of the village?" "Kolibabovce," he said.
Before my grandmother died in 2003, she showed me and my brothers copies of her parents’ passports and immigration papers. I remember reading and looking over the documents to find their place of birth and residence before Aliquippa. I found the name fairly hard to read, but my Grandma was certain of its pronunciation. "Collee-ba-buff-za," she said. "It's the place where I was born." "Yeah right," I thought. "Old people are always so sure of their heritage."
After the train ride, my mind was jarred back towards that memory. The man had said a village in the eastern part of Slovakia that sounded much like the one my grandma had pronounced out seven years ago. Jamie and I pulled out the documents out and scanned them over. Sure enough, it was a match. We resolved to go.
---
The village of Kolibabovce is well-hidden behind a tree-covered hill—one of many in this region, where the Western Carpathian Mountains lead into gentle rolling plains that stretch all the way to Hungary. In fact, it’s so well-hidden, that the village didn’t even have a road connection until 1968. It was, effectively, a forgotten place set dead-center in a genetically mixed border land of Ukrainians, Ruso-Carpathians, Hungarians and Slovakians.
My wife and I started our journey at the crest of the hill, which was crowned by a beautiful baby-blue Greek-Catholic church. We walked around the cemetery in an attempt to find some family names that had become familiar to us through our preliminary research. There were plenty: Hostovicaks, Kovacs, Ihnats, and Pastulaks. We were definitely in the right place.
There are a total of about sixty houses in the village, and all of them are situated along a narrow road that winds its way through a shallow hollow, alongside a rocky creek, The houses in this area distinct in that they are narrow and long: people leave in the front-half of the home, while live stalk and pets reside in the rear. It was architecture I had never seen before.
Many of the villagers came out to take a gander at the two strangers who had suddenly began aimlessly walking down the road—I’m sure we stuck out speaking English and wearing large travelling packs. This area of Europe is not exactly accustomed to seeing hoards of college-aged tourists.
Thankfully, their glances and looks were not negative, nor were they aggressive. They were more curious than anything; it was almost as if the people were inviting us for a conversation. It set us both in a good mood.
House number 33 was our intended goal, as we both knew that my grandmother’s cousin, Ladislav Kovac, was last known to reside there; however, we were unsure of this bit of information, as we had not received a reply from the letter we had sent him about a month and half before.
Upon arriving at the house, we were both shocked to find it in great condition: it had just been remodeled and was surrounded by gardens of flowers and budding grape vines that arched into a canopy over the main entrance of the house.
This is not exactly the type of home that belongs to a man of about 70 years of age (the age at which Jamie and I estimated him to be).
We were both nervous, very nervous.
I wanted to turn back and be content with just seeing the village and the house where my grandmother was born.
We waited and debated about what to do. Were we being too aggressive? Were we forcing a family connection? Will Ladislav have any interest in a long-lost connection to some “Americans” who were supposed to be family?
We didn’t have the answers.
Our fortunes turned when I saw an older man making his way up the road, coming towards us. In an instant, I stopped him and asked him where Ladislav Kovac lived. “Ladislav Kovac!?” he said speaking through a toothless mouth, making his already soft Slovak accent even more unintelligible to me. “His house is here,” he said firmly, pointing to the newly-refurbished, orange façade with the number 33. “Where are you from?” he asked. “We’re from America. We’re family.” At this moment, he turned toward the house and bellowed, “HEY! LADO, YOU HAVE AMERICANS OUT FRONT.” Then he left. We stood dumfounded.
After about five minutes a woman of short-stature and closely-cropped, brown hair came outside and greeted us with a Slovakian, “Dobry Den.” Nervously, I began speaking in rapid, heavily-accented Czech trying to apologize for the inconvenience of just ‘showing up’ and explain our family relation all in the same breath. She just smiled at me and said, “It’s Okay. We’re family. We’ve been expecting you.”
And at that moment, my wife and I took our first steps into the household my grandmother was born in and into the house from which my great-grandfather left nearly 90 years ago. I knew at this moment that the lines between my family’s history in America and my family’s history in Slovakia had finally crossed.
Ladislav came down the steps with a bottle of Czech Liquor and four shot glasses. All of us began speaking to one another, sometimes at the same time. The conversation got louder and more animated.
We all started pulling out pictures, letters, passports and immigrations papers. A mess began to build on the table. Goulash was served and tea was given, but none of us took a breath to eat.
Kamilla, Ladislav’s wife, announced that she had pictures to show. All the while, Ladislav and I gulped down our third shot. This was beginning to feel like a true reunion.
Kamilla came back and placed the bundle of photographs on the table, and immediately began asking me if I recognized any of the people in the pictures—they were all relatives living in America or Canada. I did. Then, almost unbelievably, she pulled from the pile twelve pictures of young children and new-born babies. “Who are these people?” She asked. “That is me.” I answered. Tears welled up in Ladislav’s eyes. “Really!?” Kamilla exclaimed, not believing me. “Yes. That is my dad, my mom, my grandmother and my brothers. You had pictures of me and didn’t even know it,” I said with a laugh. We drank down our fourth shot.
After this, Jamie and I were invited to take a look at Ladislav’s father’s grave. We began to hear the story of my family from the Slovak side, the stories I never heard in America.
We were introduced to Ladislav and Kamilla’s daughter and their grandson, Lukas. We were immediately offered a place to sleep for the night. We took them up on the offer. They really did welcome us in like family.
As the night wore on, and our initial excitement died down a bit, Ladislav and Kamilla began recounting for us the sadder side of our family’s story. Ladislav’s entire family (mine included in this) immigrated to America before WWII. Only his father, Pavol, and an uncle were left. In 1947, his father died in WWII fighting for the Soviet Army, leaving behind Ladislav at the age of one. He had no other family in Slovakia to take care of him. His mother left and found a new family. Consequently, Ladislav was raised by two old women who looked after him and the family house.
Kamilla explained to us that Ladislav felt abandoned not only by his mother, but by the extended family—cousins, aunts, uncles—who had left him and his father for a new life in America.
She said he cried for many years out of sheer loneliness and animosity in the fact that he had been “forgotten.”
Some time during the evening Ladislav brought out the only known picture of his father, a small black and white pocket-sized photo of his dad in military garb. He came down the steps very gingerly as he held the photo in the palm of his hand, as if it was a delicate butterfly. His emotions were overwhelming.
Kamilla looked at him and said, “You’ve cried for over thirty years that you had no family around you, and now that they are here, you’re still crying! What am I going to do to make you happy!?” We all smiled.
---
Our time with Ladislav and Kamilla ended quite abruptly, as the next morning we had to take a bus back into the city. And as I waved to Ladislav out the side window, I saw him wiping his eyes, even though a wide smile creased his rough-strewn face.
When I embarked on this journey to reconnect with the past and search out my family roots, I thought that it in many ways that it would only be me who would come away affected. I was hesitant to make the situation more important than it was. I guess I guarded myself against the fact that maybe for my relatives that live in Slovakia, a relationship is not really needed. I was resolved to believe that it was only we root-starved, history-searching Americans that need to find out about our own past. Yet, I realized, especially with Ladislav, that sometimes it is the ones who stayed that also need a connection, and that they too have family to find and frayed edges to mend.
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