Fraternity-Testvériség, 1982 (60. évfolyam, 1-4. szám)
1982-10-01 / 4. szám
On Saturdays, all the children would be delegated to performing certain chores. After the tasks were accomplished, we would eat again and then were allowed to journey into town. 1 especially loved to go into town with my brother, since there was a certain 5 & 10 cents store that sold a great variety of things, such as little plastic army trucks. We were able to buy these things from the allowance sent by mail from our parents to the administrator of the Bethlen Home. I loved any kind of toy truck or other vehicle and was especially in love with playing in sand or dirt! These highlights seemed to be outstanding during my stay there during that particular July. As for Sundays, we children were allowed to sleep one-half hour later than usual. After we’d eaten and dressed up in our best attire, the entire group would take a long walk to the church services. It was quite a big church building, and as a small child, I remember feeling frightened — thinking that I could even get lost there! We were divided by age groups into Sunday School classes. After the lessons, we would go into church for the formal Sunday services. When this was concluded, the whole group would assemble and walk back together to the Bethlen Home for a special Sunday dinner, afterwhich we would be permitted to play in a quiet manner — not dirtying ourselves nor our nice clothes! For me, the one grievous part of that summer was a specific incident that, in a way, foretold something about me as a future baseball player. Well, it so happened one afternoon, just after lunch, that there was a group of my friends standing around by a particularly high portion of fence which enclosed the playground. As I approached them, I noticed they were trying to throw a pebble over the top of the fence. No one at all could throw it over (what to me seemed to be) about a 20-foot high fence (don’t forget that we children in this group were only around six years old). Whereupon, without hesitation, I went and picked up a bigger rock (not just a small pebble) and had to show off my strong throwing arm! Well, it cleared the top of the fence by a good five feet! Of course, I walked away feeling pretty proud at the time, having bested everyone of my friends there! The trouble was that there was a house on the other side of the fence — said house having many, many windows. Later on my brother came running up to me asking if I threw any rocks over the fence. I straight-way replied, ‘Sure . . . because no one else of the hunch could!’ It was then I learned that my ‘wonderfully strong arm’ had somewhat disturbed the solid state of a pane of glass. Well, nothing out of the ordinary happened for a while, and the regular routine was going along tmoothly. We all had gone into the schoolroom for the afternoon. About in the middle of the session, there was an interruption when the occupant of the house next door to the Bethlen Home came in to speak to our instructor, who in turn asked us students ‘Who threw this rock through Mr X’s window?’ (I was stunned — almost shocked! They even produced the rock as evidence. The rock! The verv same one! I recognized it right away by it» size.) The question was repeated. There was dead silence. Then my older brother tapped me on the shoulder and told me I better confess. I was sitting near the back of the room and the walk to the front of the class was like a long march to the gallows! I confessed — suddenly all the tension and pressure I had felt were gone. I had to personally apologize to the man from the house next door and also to the Headmaster of the Bethlen Home. I must say that that the whole episode was some major experience to try to forget land one that my parents wished never would have happened at all.). Toward the end of our stay at the Summer School, we painted wooden souvenirs for ourselves, were taught Hungarian dances and poems to present to our relatives and friends when they were to come for us on the final day of July. All of us were outfitted in Hungarian costumes and put on a program with recitations in the dining room area for our parents and teachers. Because I was younger than some of the others, I only had to do one dance and recite one verse of a prayer in Hungarian. Those who were older or knew the Hungarian language had to do considerably more verses as well as dance. Finally, it came time to depart. It was good to be going home — but also sad to be leaving. Over the weeks, I had formed quite a few friendships and found I had enjoyed living away from home for a time. But, to express as old cliche, all good things must come to an end. During the ride back home, my brother and I would have many, many things to tell our parents, and they, too, much to say to us. Looking back and reminiscing, it seems to me rather unfortunate that the Bethlen Children’s Home in Ligonier had to be closed. No other young people in the future will be able to have group-life experiences at the Bethlen Home Hungarian School nor ever have a special memory as a result. Maybe though, it might be reopened again some day! Post Script: O, yes, a couple of weeks after we returned home that summer, my parents got a letter stating the amount of damages done to the house next door to Bethlen Home. I also learned then that possessing a good throwing-arm can be painful (costly as well as from parental punishment)! 7
