Discovering my heritage as a complement to my life
There is a movie that came out in the U.S. a few years ago called, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, and I found it to be a narrative of my life, except with an amendment of nationality. There was one scene in the movie where the main character was a little girl, sitting at lunch with some of her classmates. The other girls had Barbie lunchboxes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, while the main character, Tula, had something that looked a little different. “What is that?” asked the girls. “It’s moussaka,” Tula answered. One of the girls wrinkled her nose and said, “Moose kaka?” as she erupted into laughter with the other girls at the table, and Tula sunk into a mix of embarrassment and discouraging emotion.
Growing up I was taller than most boys, skinny, had glasses, braces, and wore some interesting outfits. On top of all of this which already made me a target for laughs, I had these strange customs and foods that many kids around me weren’t familiar with. On top of this, I spoke a different language in addition to English, I ate different foods than my friends did, and we celebrated occasions differently—like opening my presents on Christmas Eve while most other kids opened theirs on Christmas Day. I was the “Polish kid”, and as years went on, I learned to embrace it more and more and discover just how special it is to have this heritage. For a short while after arriving in Kraków my junior year of college to study at the Jagiellonian University for the spring semester, I felt that I didn’t know exactly what my identity was—in the U.S., I felt more Polish than American, while in Poland, I felt much more American than I did Polish.
When I finally came to terms with establishing that I was simply a jumble of both, it was easier to consider all of the advantages that came with the fact that I had been given the opportunity to intertwine the American culture with Polish tradition. I could eat my pierogi while enjoying my Starbucks iced coffee as well. I now have the benefit of speaking another language and being accustomed to differences in cultures, which have not only been useful in my social life, but also essential to my professional life. I may not have the best Polish grammar, as illustrated on one particular exam I had in a course I took during my semester in Kraków. This fact was emphasized by my professor who had saved herself the trouble of actually grading my exam and instead writing the word, “BAD”, across the top in red pen. I once tried to order a “salata szewska” (shoemaker’s salad), confusing the name of the street I was on in Kraków with “salata szefa” (chef’s salad). The combination of the American and Polish languages has even resulted in the formation of new terminology: “na konerze” instead of “na rogu”, (on the corner) and “baderowac” instead of “dokuczac” (to bother someone).
Regardless of what hinders my immersion into the total Polish culture, I couldn’t be prouder of my heritage, and will continue to promote everything Polish. I will announce to my friends that it is the obscure holiday of my “imieniny” (Saint’s name day), and offer historical facts when I hear the mention of a Polish figure or event. I will always be fearful of the “przecziag” (draft) making me sick when I’m sitting near an open door or window. I will pass down the blessing of the Easter basket on the Saturday before Easter, and the “Wigilia” Christmas Eve supper to my children someday, with the hopes that they will also realize the incredible things about this heritage.
