William Penn Life, 2019 (54. évfolyam, 2-5. szám)

2019-05-01 / 5. szám

Remembering our American-Hungarian

THIS EDITION OF TIB OR'S TAKE, is the first installment of a two-part series on how my parents have influenced my upbringing as an American of Hungarian ancestry.

I have wanted to write this series for a long time. In conjunction with Mother's Day and Father's Day 2019, this series will recall of how my parents provided me a unique, enriching childhood with a distinct Hungarian flavor. I hope these fond experiences will help you recollect just how your parents, grandparents and even extended family members (such as aunts and uncles) utilized their love and influence to help mold your own personality.

During my most recent visit home to Ohio, a late springtime snow storm caused my wife, siblings, brother-in-law, niece and I to have an unplanned sleepover together at my parents' home in Geauga County. It has been growing harder to get all of us under one roof at the same time, but Mother Nature managed to do it. In many ways, this time together felt like an unplanned snowday from school.

With most everyone calling it an early night, my brother and sister and I descended into our bunker-like cellar to spend a few night-time hours playing pool and foosball and exploring the cavernous basement for long-forgotten treasures from our family's past. In this case, we began to scour through boxes of stuff neatly arranged in various categories. Just a few years back my mom and dad organized the cellar, and now it kind of looks like a Tupperware factory, or, as I like to think, the vast government warehouse from the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

As we explored, our conversation turned towards nostalgic retellings of old family events. At one point, my sister had in her hands a worn csiga board that she intended to take home with her. The grooved little board was a family heirloom owned and passed down from my great grandmother to my grandma and finally to my mom. Fiz had apparently used the board several times during the summer before she went to middle school. She and our mother spent hours making csiga. As the piles of noodles would grow, they would

discuss the impending start of 6th grade and all of its attendant stresses: a new school, new classmates, new teachers, a locker and new schedule that would change every semester with new electives. Liz believed this activity served as a sort of therapy in regards to her impending scholastic future.

I could provide a million reasons why Mother's Day is such a revered and honored holiday for me. Even though I live hundreds of miles away, my mom still manages to make time each and every day to let me know she's thinking of me, even if it's only through a few text messages. Through the miracle of technology, we can talk and see each other just as if I was only a few miles away.

One day recently, my mom dialed me up using Facetime to show me the front parlor of the Farkas Pastry Shop in Ohio City. She used her phone to survey the rows of Gerbauds, kremes slices, pogácsa, dobos törte, and other Magyar treats. Apparently, she wanted to know what I wanted in the care package she was preparing to send to me down in Virginia. Even though I am grown and with my own money, my mom still insists on buying me treats or making me my favorite foods as a way to let me know she still loves me.

My mom also still does special things for me dur-Tibor's Take with Tibor Check, Jr.

6 ° May 2019 0 WILLIAM PENN LIFE