Exhilaration.
That’s what I feel when I flip through clothing racks and realize I have to look for size 4s and 6s now instead of 12s and 14s.
I buy smaller clothes. I wear smaller clothes. So, why do I still think I look fat?
“Fat” is a highly subjective term. I remember “hating” waif-looking girls who complained they were “huge.” All of us have different thresholds for what weight feels healthy or not. While I’ve dropped about 50 pounds over the past few years, I still feel and see “fat.”
Perhaps it’s because I had expectations of what my body would look like as a size four. Then again, I’ve had two kids. Pregnancy does some weird things to one’s body, some of which will never change no matter how much I diet and exercise.
What’s ironic is that I didn’t feel or see “fat” until I made it a point to get into shape.
Despite this, I feel better, have more energy, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. So, what does this internal, psychological warfare boil down to?
Expectations and reality.
I won’t do anything stupid or drastic because of my skewed perceptions. I vow to continue pursuing a healthy lifestyle while realizing my limitations and knowing that it’s better to eat and exercise in moderation than forbidding certain foods and overdoing workouts.
For now, I keep telling my “fat” ghost she doesn’t scare me anymore. But do I really believe that? Maybe she’s haunting me because I’m afraid she’ll return.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Welcoming Autumn
Hands down, this is my favorite time of the year. The weather cools (though, as I’m writing this, it’s nearing 90 degrees), the leaves change color, and the scent of the harvest and smoky chimney fires linger in the air.
It’s the autumnal equinox—12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. Only twice a year do we find this balance between light and dark. The first marks the rebirth of nature after winter’s sleep; the second signifies nature’s abundant growth and harvest thanks to the summer sun.
For countless millennia our ancestors celebrated the solstices and their midway points, the vernal and autumnal equinoxes. Evidence of this lies in their ancient structures which align with the sun precisely at the shortest, longest, and equal days of sunlight (check out Stonehenge and Machu Pichu). While modern man’s connection to nature has dissipated in that we rely on our clocks and farmers for time and food, we can still find that long gone connection. It’s as simple as going for a hike, walking along a beach, or sitting in a grassy field.
Personally, I love feeling the warm sun bake my face and the cool energy of the moon’s night time gaze, but I connect best through food. Yes, this is no surprise to those of you who’ve been reading my blog, but today’s celebration goes beyond my joy of eating. Many foods are symbolic (i.e. pumpkins, apples, etc.). Incorporating seasonal flavors into autumn dishes provides a sense of balance between me and nature.
So, to celebrate the autumnal equinox, I’m treating my family to the following (somewhat healthy) dinner: grilled pork with homemade apple-cranberry sauce, corn on the cob, green beans, honey-drizzled cornbread, and pumpkin pie. Each ingredient is not only representative of fall but also of certain correspondences to life’s elements. Listed below are the symbolic associations of the foods and herbs going into our dinner this evening:
• Apples – peace, love, health, wise choices, insight
• Cinnamon - spirituality, success, healing, power, protection, love
• Corn – the land, cycles
• Cranberries – security, protection
• Honey – sweet things in life, happiness
• Salt & Pepper – grounding, cleansing, purification, protection
• Wine – celebration, joy, honoring positive actions
Like the balance between day and night, tonight we'll think about the past six months and determine how our lives and choices succeeded or failed the balancing act among family, work, and self. And to mark the occasion, we’ll enjoy the fruits of Mother Earth and the official kickoff to the new season.
Happy Fall, Y’all!
It’s the autumnal equinox—12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. Only twice a year do we find this balance between light and dark. The first marks the rebirth of nature after winter’s sleep; the second signifies nature’s abundant growth and harvest thanks to the summer sun.
For countless millennia our ancestors celebrated the solstices and their midway points, the vernal and autumnal equinoxes. Evidence of this lies in their ancient structures which align with the sun precisely at the shortest, longest, and equal days of sunlight (check out Stonehenge and Machu Pichu). While modern man’s connection to nature has dissipated in that we rely on our clocks and farmers for time and food, we can still find that long gone connection. It’s as simple as going for a hike, walking along a beach, or sitting in a grassy field.
Personally, I love feeling the warm sun bake my face and the cool energy of the moon’s night time gaze, but I connect best through food. Yes, this is no surprise to those of you who’ve been reading my blog, but today’s celebration goes beyond my joy of eating. Many foods are symbolic (i.e. pumpkins, apples, etc.). Incorporating seasonal flavors into autumn dishes provides a sense of balance between me and nature.
So, to celebrate the autumnal equinox, I’m treating my family to the following (somewhat healthy) dinner: grilled pork with homemade apple-cranberry sauce, corn on the cob, green beans, honey-drizzled cornbread, and pumpkin pie. Each ingredient is not only representative of fall but also of certain correspondences to life’s elements. Listed below are the symbolic associations of the foods and herbs going into our dinner this evening:
• Apples – peace, love, health, wise choices, insight
• Cinnamon - spirituality, success, healing, power, protection, love
• Corn – the land, cycles
• Cranberries – security, protection
• Honey – sweet things in life, happiness
• Salt & Pepper – grounding, cleansing, purification, protection
• Wine – celebration, joy, honoring positive actions
Like the balance between day and night, tonight we'll think about the past six months and determine how our lives and choices succeeded or failed the balancing act among family, work, and self. And to mark the occasion, we’ll enjoy the fruits of Mother Earth and the official kickoff to the new season.
Happy Fall, Y’all!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Mother's Guilt
A healthy dose of mother’s guilt keeps me on my toes. Instead of feeling complacent with the time and activities I spend with my kids, the guilt inspires me to come up with new ways of interacting with them.
Mother’s guilt comes in many shapes and sizes. Am I under feeding the kids? Are they getting too much junk food and TV? Should I encourage them to make more friends? Am I pushing them too hard to be athletes, pick activities, be responsible? Do they have enough kid time? Are they over/under stimulated? He sneezed and coughed twice in row, is it time to see the doctor? Are my habits going to lead them into OCD [e.g. asking if they’ve washed their hands regularly—then again, I have boys. They need to be reminded.]? Do I spend enough time with them?
For me personally, it’s the time issue. My daily balancing act on life’s precipitous tightrope is divided by my full time job, two kids, husband, and writing books. I’m plagued by worries of my children seeking counseling 20 years from now explaining to their psychiatrists, “Well, if only mommy would’ve spent more time with me…”
Managing one child was easy. Every spare minute was focused on his needs. At one week old, I’d prop him in my lap and read to him. By two months old, he’d sit for 20 to 30 minutes smacking the pages as I read, effectively telling me which stories he wanted to hear again by complaining until I turned to the ones he wanted. I took him to Gymboree, kids activities in town, and enrolled him in toddler sports. He knew his ABCs and how to count by the time he started preschool. During holidays, he’d help decorate and bake. And I felt like a failure, because, despite the time we had together, more often than not, he came second to my job.
Then baby number two came along.
Having thought I was a bad parent before, now I was the worst parent ever. Baby number one sacrificed mommy time because of baby number two’s more urgent needs and Mommy’s lack of energy. Baby number two never got the reading time alone or the mommy and baby activities around town. Mommy-time focused on doing errands and chores together.
Baby number two started preschool today. He knows most of his alphabet thanks to his big brother and he can count to ten. Not too shabby, but I wonder what he’d be capable of if I would’ve spent more time with him in his first three years.
When I was a teenager, I was determined to be a successful career woman, wife, and mom. I wanted it all. I got it all. The juggling of priorities and sacrifices of each goal were things I didn’t anticipate. It’s easy to say and believe that family comes first. It should come first. Everything we say and do as parents shapes our children’s futures. What kind of message are we sending if we’re too busy to spend time with them? I don’t want my children pushing my grandchildren away because of their jobs or hobbies.
Still, there’s a fine line between wanting to be the “perfect” parent and losing ourselves in “mommyhood.”
When I became a parent, I gave up everything that defined me at the time. Concerts. Date nights. Trips. Reading. Arts & crafts. Sure I missed these things, but my kids far outweighed the sense of loss.
The years melted into one another and each season seemed to whirl by faster. One day I crashed into the wall of reality. I was “wife,” “mommy,” and “employee.” “Andrea” was gone.
In living for everyone else and striving to do my best for my husband, kids, and job, I stopped doing anything for me. I equated “me” time and money spent on myself with selfishness and ended up being only half the person I wanted to be for everyone. I was no more than the titles.
Once I started writing again last year, I rediscovered my passion. I feel alive. Whether anyone else thinks my book is good or just plain sucks is irrelevant. It gave me the creative outlet I missed for over a decade. Even if the books never see the light of day, I know what I was able to accomplish. I’m a happier person for having completed something I’ve always wanted to do. As a result, I’m a better wife, mom, and employee.
The balancing act continues to teeter. Now that I’ve added a new hobby to my daily routine, I’ve had to carve time from an already insane schedule. I’ve given up sleeping. (I can rest when I’m dead.) I’m trying to include my kids in some of my everyday tasks more often. Cooking dinner, cleaning, or dancing/exercising together might not be great bonding experiences, but they teach responsibility and give us a chance to talk about our day’s events. My new goal is to reinstate Mommy & Me reading every night with each child. I wonder who they’ll pick: Mommy or the TV…
The mother’s guilt keeps pushing me to achieve my goals so my kids can learn from my example: don’t give up on your dreams, you can have it all. You just need to make it happen.
Mother’s guilt comes in many shapes and sizes. Am I under feeding the kids? Are they getting too much junk food and TV? Should I encourage them to make more friends? Am I pushing them too hard to be athletes, pick activities, be responsible? Do they have enough kid time? Are they over/under stimulated? He sneezed and coughed twice in row, is it time to see the doctor? Are my habits going to lead them into OCD [e.g. asking if they’ve washed their hands regularly—then again, I have boys. They need to be reminded.]? Do I spend enough time with them?
For me personally, it’s the time issue. My daily balancing act on life’s precipitous tightrope is divided by my full time job, two kids, husband, and writing books. I’m plagued by worries of my children seeking counseling 20 years from now explaining to their psychiatrists, “Well, if only mommy would’ve spent more time with me…”
Managing one child was easy. Every spare minute was focused on his needs. At one week old, I’d prop him in my lap and read to him. By two months old, he’d sit for 20 to 30 minutes smacking the pages as I read, effectively telling me which stories he wanted to hear again by complaining until I turned to the ones he wanted. I took him to Gymboree, kids activities in town, and enrolled him in toddler sports. He knew his ABCs and how to count by the time he started preschool. During holidays, he’d help decorate and bake. And I felt like a failure, because, despite the time we had together, more often than not, he came second to my job.
Then baby number two came along.
Having thought I was a bad parent before, now I was the worst parent ever. Baby number one sacrificed mommy time because of baby number two’s more urgent needs and Mommy’s lack of energy. Baby number two never got the reading time alone or the mommy and baby activities around town. Mommy-time focused on doing errands and chores together.
Baby number two started preschool today. He knows most of his alphabet thanks to his big brother and he can count to ten. Not too shabby, but I wonder what he’d be capable of if I would’ve spent more time with him in his first three years.
When I was a teenager, I was determined to be a successful career woman, wife, and mom. I wanted it all. I got it all. The juggling of priorities and sacrifices of each goal were things I didn’t anticipate. It’s easy to say and believe that family comes first. It should come first. Everything we say and do as parents shapes our children’s futures. What kind of message are we sending if we’re too busy to spend time with them? I don’t want my children pushing my grandchildren away because of their jobs or hobbies.
Still, there’s a fine line between wanting to be the “perfect” parent and losing ourselves in “mommyhood.”
When I became a parent, I gave up everything that defined me at the time. Concerts. Date nights. Trips. Reading. Arts & crafts. Sure I missed these things, but my kids far outweighed the sense of loss.
The years melted into one another and each season seemed to whirl by faster. One day I crashed into the wall of reality. I was “wife,” “mommy,” and “employee.” “Andrea” was gone.
In living for everyone else and striving to do my best for my husband, kids, and job, I stopped doing anything for me. I equated “me” time and money spent on myself with selfishness and ended up being only half the person I wanted to be for everyone. I was no more than the titles.
Once I started writing again last year, I rediscovered my passion. I feel alive. Whether anyone else thinks my book is good or just plain sucks is irrelevant. It gave me the creative outlet I missed for over a decade. Even if the books never see the light of day, I know what I was able to accomplish. I’m a happier person for having completed something I’ve always wanted to do. As a result, I’m a better wife, mom, and employee.
The balancing act continues to teeter. Now that I’ve added a new hobby to my daily routine, I’ve had to carve time from an already insane schedule. I’ve given up sleeping. (I can rest when I’m dead.) I’m trying to include my kids in some of my everyday tasks more often. Cooking dinner, cleaning, or dancing/exercising together might not be great bonding experiences, but they teach responsibility and give us a chance to talk about our day’s events. My new goal is to reinstate Mommy & Me reading every night with each child. I wonder who they’ll pick: Mommy or the TV…
The mother’s guilt keeps pushing me to achieve my goals so my kids can learn from my example: don’t give up on your dreams, you can have it all. You just need to make it happen.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Blood is Thicker than Water
I recently watched “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” and it’s made me a bit homesick. If you’ve seen the movie, then you’ve met my family. Just substitute ‘Hungarian’ for ‘Greek’ and that’s us.
They’re loud, in your business, and argumentative. They’ll feed you until you explode and if you don’t explode, they’ll be offended that you didn’t enjoy whatever meal was prepared. The man is the head of the house, but (unbeknownst to the man) the woman runs the show. They have something to say about everything and they’re “always” right.
Nationalism runs strong. All Hungarians must be proud of their heritage (I endured a horrific Hungarian school on weekends for far longer than I ever wanted). And Hungarians are responsible for great feats of mankind. (George Pataki [NY Governor], Franz Liszt [composer/pianist], Performers—Drew Barrymore, Mariska Hargitay, Jamie Lee Curtis, Tony Curtis, Harry Houdini, Freddie Prinze Jr., Rachel Weisz, Bela Lugosi, Goldie Hawn, Paul Newman, Zsazsa Gabor; Peter Esterhazy [writer]; Bela Karolyi [Gymnastics coach]; Business—Calvin Klein, Estee Lauder; Scientists/Inventors—Szilard & Teller [physicists part of team responsible for development of atomic bond (personally, I’m not too proud of this achievement)], Mihaly Somogyi [chemist who developed 1st child insulin treatment in US], Erno Rubik [sculptor and inventor of the Rubik’s cube]. The list is endless…
Unlike those above, my family isn’t famous (though my dad did design and develop food production/packaging machines for Godiva, Pepperidge Farm, and Palmer—what can I say? I’m proud of his accomplishments). Like many Hungarians, they certainly have their eccentricities and are hot headed (to say the least). Despite it all, one thing is for sure. They have hearts of gold. Arguments, hurt feelings, and “talking loudly” are just part of who we are and what we do. Most importantly, we love each other unconditionally—no matter what. After all, we’re family.
Source: Most Famous Hungarians
They’re loud, in your business, and argumentative. They’ll feed you until you explode and if you don’t explode, they’ll be offended that you didn’t enjoy whatever meal was prepared. The man is the head of the house, but (unbeknownst to the man) the woman runs the show. They have something to say about everything and they’re “always” right.
Nationalism runs strong. All Hungarians must be proud of their heritage (I endured a horrific Hungarian school on weekends for far longer than I ever wanted). And Hungarians are responsible for great feats of mankind. (George Pataki [NY Governor], Franz Liszt [composer/pianist], Performers—Drew Barrymore, Mariska Hargitay, Jamie Lee Curtis, Tony Curtis, Harry Houdini, Freddie Prinze Jr., Rachel Weisz, Bela Lugosi, Goldie Hawn, Paul Newman, Zsazsa Gabor; Peter Esterhazy [writer]; Bela Karolyi [Gymnastics coach]; Business—Calvin Klein, Estee Lauder; Scientists/Inventors—Szilard & Teller [physicists part of team responsible for development of atomic bond (personally, I’m not too proud of this achievement)], Mihaly Somogyi [chemist who developed 1st child insulin treatment in US], Erno Rubik [sculptor and inventor of the Rubik’s cube]. The list is endless…
Unlike those above, my family isn’t famous (though my dad did design and develop food production/packaging machines for Godiva, Pepperidge Farm, and Palmer—what can I say? I’m proud of his accomplishments). Like many Hungarians, they certainly have their eccentricities and are hot headed (to say the least). Despite it all, one thing is for sure. They have hearts of gold. Arguments, hurt feelings, and “talking loudly” are just part of who we are and what we do. Most importantly, we love each other unconditionally—no matter what. After all, we’re family.
Source: Most Famous Hungarians
Friday, September 11, 2009
Remembering 9/11
Remember When…
• Life was free and fearless.
• Loved ones could kiss you goodbye or greet you at an airport gate.
• Baby formula and jars of food, water bottles, cosmetics, manicure kits, and shampoo were just innocent carry-ons for any flight.
• Your only fear of flying was of flying itself.
• The New York city skyline stood tall, proud, and complete as a symbol for America’s past, present, and future.
• A drive into any major city was filled only with thoughts of business, entertainment, or leisure, instead of wondering whether or not you’d make it out alive that day.
• Crazy ideologies terrorized nameless, faceless people half a world away.
• Capitalism and democracy were just a way of life, not a reason for war.
• We expected the government, CIA, and FBI to keep us safe on US soil at all times, at all costs.
• Freedom of speech and freedom of religion were assumed.
Never Forget…
• Before the dust settled on 9/11, every American—Democrats, Republicans, Independents—stood side-by-side as brothers and sisters united by this day’s tragedies. Regardless of our own political alliances and religious beliefs, we are still one nation fighting to keep the freedoms our forefathers secured for our country.
• The men, women, and children’s lives that were lost the day our eyes opened to evil, maniacal presences lurking just outside Lady Liberty’s open arms.
• The firemen/women, police officers, soldiers and all those who serve today and those who have died in the line of duty to protect us and the freedoms we take for granted every day.
Most importantly…We are proud and lucky to be Americans.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. To secure these rights governments are instituted among men, deriving their just power from the consent of the governed…” (Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson, 1776)
• Life was free and fearless.
• Loved ones could kiss you goodbye or greet you at an airport gate.
• Baby formula and jars of food, water bottles, cosmetics, manicure kits, and shampoo were just innocent carry-ons for any flight.
• Your only fear of flying was of flying itself.
• The New York city skyline stood tall, proud, and complete as a symbol for America’s past, present, and future.
• A drive into any major city was filled only with thoughts of business, entertainment, or leisure, instead of wondering whether or not you’d make it out alive that day.
• Crazy ideologies terrorized nameless, faceless people half a world away.
• Capitalism and democracy were just a way of life, not a reason for war.
• We expected the government, CIA, and FBI to keep us safe on US soil at all times, at all costs.
• Freedom of speech and freedom of religion were assumed.
Never Forget…
• Before the dust settled on 9/11, every American—Democrats, Republicans, Independents—stood side-by-side as brothers and sisters united by this day’s tragedies. Regardless of our own political alliances and religious beliefs, we are still one nation fighting to keep the freedoms our forefathers secured for our country.
• The men, women, and children’s lives that were lost the day our eyes opened to evil, maniacal presences lurking just outside Lady Liberty’s open arms.
• The firemen/women, police officers, soldiers and all those who serve today and those who have died in the line of duty to protect us and the freedoms we take for granted every day.
Most importantly…We are proud and lucky to be Americans.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. To secure these rights governments are instituted among men, deriving their just power from the consent of the governed…” (Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson, 1776)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We’ve Come a Long Way (Well, Some of Us…)
Imagine being lashed for wearing inappropriate clothes. And not just any clothes. The horrible, indecent, and truly repulsive…pants?
Eleven women were recently arrested, tried, and found guilty of breaking a vague Islamic law in Sudan which regulates women’s attire. Ten pleaded guilty to wearing pants and were whipped for their punishment.
One, a former UN reporter, stood her ground and fought the system arguing the law does not clearly prohibit women’s pants. She was still found guilty, but spared 40 lashes. Instead she’s heading to jail, because she refuses to pay the fine of $209 as a matter of principal.
Pants. Pants?
Women have long fought against rules set in place by patriarchal societies. Living in America, it’s easy to take our freedoms for granted and forget the basic rights some women are still fighting for around the world.
I admire Lubna Hussein’s courage to fight the system. I wonder if I’d be brave enough to do the same if confronted with such a fundamental right. Then again, would I be too indoctrinated by a system which encompasses politics, religion, and social regulations to see the injustice? Would I fight for freedom or would I believe these women got what they deserved? I certainly hope I’d stand on the side of freedom and equality. Still, I wonder…
Source: Sudanese woman fined for wearing trousers
Eleven women were recently arrested, tried, and found guilty of breaking a vague Islamic law in Sudan which regulates women’s attire. Ten pleaded guilty to wearing pants and were whipped for their punishment.
One, a former UN reporter, stood her ground and fought the system arguing the law does not clearly prohibit women’s pants. She was still found guilty, but spared 40 lashes. Instead she’s heading to jail, because she refuses to pay the fine of $209 as a matter of principal.
Pants. Pants?
Women have long fought against rules set in place by patriarchal societies. Living in America, it’s easy to take our freedoms for granted and forget the basic rights some women are still fighting for around the world.
I admire Lubna Hussein’s courage to fight the system. I wonder if I’d be brave enough to do the same if confronted with such a fundamental right. Then again, would I be too indoctrinated by a system which encompasses politics, religion, and social regulations to see the injustice? Would I fight for freedom or would I believe these women got what they deserved? I certainly hope I’d stand on the side of freedom and equality. Still, I wonder…
Source: Sudanese woman fined for wearing trousers
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Soldier Person: Reflections on WWII from Behind Enemy Lines
Today marks the 70th anniversary of the start of World War II when Germany attacked Poland at Westerplatte. To this day, WWII marks a tragic era for the entire world. Considering the losses faced by nations and families, there were no winners.
(Before I go any further, I want to state emphatically that Hitler was a madman and his ideology and plans have no place in our world. He needed to be stopped and, thankfully, the allies were able to bring about the war’s end. And to all the service men and women who’ve protected our freedoms over the centuries…Thank You!)
Studying World War II through the eyes of American history books was an experience I’ll never forget. We learned about the triumphant allies and evil enemies. Classmates spoke proudly of their grandparents, aunts and uncles who served the allied forces honorably. Classes would recount America’s heroic efforts to avenge attacks and stop the war to end all wars.
But history books are just printed facts on a page. They capture no feelings. They say only what the writer wants you to know when there’s so much more to be said. No matter which side they’re on, nations and soldiers are people too; they're not all mindless, soulless brutes.
Concentrating on hiding my guilt-ridden secret, I hoped no one would ask about my family’s past. While I was born in America to immigrant parents who are proud Americans, I couldn’t turn my back on my family’s history. You see, there’s more to the good guys versus bad guys WWII story. It’s not a clear cut case of black and white. My ancestors were inextricably caught in the many shades of grey somewhere in between.
70 years ago today marked the beginning of a series of events that destroyed both sides of my family.
Hungary in 1939 was a tumultuous place. Over the prior thousand years, the country had grown extensively both politically and culturally and subsequently been conquered by countless invaders. With Hitler positioned to the northwest and the ever present Russian threat to the northeast, Hungary was literally caught between a rock and a hard place. When Hitler gave them an ultimatum (join us or we destroy you), the Hungarian politicians were left with little choice. They wanted to salvage whatever they could of their country and its inhabitants. As a member of the “enemy” forces, the people and soldiers were at the mercy of Hitler’s whims.
With the ever-changing eastern borders, my grandmother's father (on my mom's side) was forced into serving with the Romanian army. It didn’t matter that he had four young children and a very young wife who he was abandoning for the war effort. Hitler needed bodies. The men were drafted. They went. The alternative for those who refused: imprisonment, torture, and, possibly, death. Oh, did I mention, the punishment extended to their family members as well. So, to protect his wife and children, he served unwillingly for a cause with which he vehemently disagreed. Although he eventually returned home, the horrors his children faced without his presence and protection shaped their futures.
Although he was proud to be a Hungarian soldier, my mom's dad and his brothers didn’t agree with Hitler’s agenda or Hungary’s position in the matter either. Nonetheless, as active soldiers, all of the brothers were shipped to the eastern front. Only two returned.
Though the circumstances varied across the country and from family to family, my dad’s family fared far worse. My grandmother was one of three sons and three daughters from an educated, middle class family in Vasvar. She gave up her comfortable life to marry my grandfather who worked as a railroad officer across the country. (He survived the front lines in the army at only 17 during the first World War.) Still, they lived a comfortable middle-class existence and had five children before WWII. When the war hit, my uncles, who were already soldiers or of serving age, were forced to fight against the allies. Despite their stance against the war, they had no choice but to do as they were commanded.
Decades after the war ended, the blood of their friends could not be washed from their hands. Memories of herding their childhood playmates, classmates, their families, and coworkers onto railcars to be shipped to death camps haunted my uncles and grandfather until the day they died.
After the war ended and Hungary’s borders were remapped yet again, my dad’s family was given 24 hours to move back to the country otherwise they would be considered Yugoslavian citizens. So deep was their tie to their homeland, that they packed what they could carry and crossed the borders with their children. The comforts they once enjoyed became faded memories. Under communist rule, my grandparents died impoverished. Their children struggled for every crust of bread and every accomplishment; some made it, some did not.
It’s easy to say the honorable thing for both families would’ve been to stand up for what they believed and fight against the oppressive regimes leading them into unpardonable actions. Having lived a fairly easy life in a country that lets me speak my mind, I can’t even begin to imagine the challenges my ancestors faced. Their choices amounted to picking between the lesser of evils. Fight with a regime at the expense of countless innocents or oppose the regime and forfeit both your life and that of your families. In a time when the idea of the “greater good” was muddled with conflicting ideologies, they protected what was within their very limited power. They chose their families.
Choosing the honorable path is never easy and many have lost their lives in the process. In this one case, I’m selfishly glad my families did what they had to in order to survive. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have been given the greatest gift ever.
Life.
(Before I go any further, I want to state emphatically that Hitler was a madman and his ideology and plans have no place in our world. He needed to be stopped and, thankfully, the allies were able to bring about the war’s end. And to all the service men and women who’ve protected our freedoms over the centuries…Thank You!)
Studying World War II through the eyes of American history books was an experience I’ll never forget. We learned about the triumphant allies and evil enemies. Classmates spoke proudly of their grandparents, aunts and uncles who served the allied forces honorably. Classes would recount America’s heroic efforts to avenge attacks and stop the war to end all wars.
But history books are just printed facts on a page. They capture no feelings. They say only what the writer wants you to know when there’s so much more to be said. No matter which side they’re on, nations and soldiers are people too; they're not all mindless, soulless brutes.
Concentrating on hiding my guilt-ridden secret, I hoped no one would ask about my family’s past. While I was born in America to immigrant parents who are proud Americans, I couldn’t turn my back on my family’s history. You see, there’s more to the good guys versus bad guys WWII story. It’s not a clear cut case of black and white. My ancestors were inextricably caught in the many shades of grey somewhere in between.
70 years ago today marked the beginning of a series of events that destroyed both sides of my family.
Hungary in 1939 was a tumultuous place. Over the prior thousand years, the country had grown extensively both politically and culturally and subsequently been conquered by countless invaders. With Hitler positioned to the northwest and the ever present Russian threat to the northeast, Hungary was literally caught between a rock and a hard place. When Hitler gave them an ultimatum (join us or we destroy you), the Hungarian politicians were left with little choice. They wanted to salvage whatever they could of their country and its inhabitants. As a member of the “enemy” forces, the people and soldiers were at the mercy of Hitler’s whims.
With the ever-changing eastern borders, my grandmother's father (on my mom's side) was forced into serving with the Romanian army. It didn’t matter that he had four young children and a very young wife who he was abandoning for the war effort. Hitler needed bodies. The men were drafted. They went. The alternative for those who refused: imprisonment, torture, and, possibly, death. Oh, did I mention, the punishment extended to their family members as well. So, to protect his wife and children, he served unwillingly for a cause with which he vehemently disagreed. Although he eventually returned home, the horrors his children faced without his presence and protection shaped their futures.
Although he was proud to be a Hungarian soldier, my mom's dad and his brothers didn’t agree with Hitler’s agenda or Hungary’s position in the matter either. Nonetheless, as active soldiers, all of the brothers were shipped to the eastern front. Only two returned.
Though the circumstances varied across the country and from family to family, my dad’s family fared far worse. My grandmother was one of three sons and three daughters from an educated, middle class family in Vasvar. She gave up her comfortable life to marry my grandfather who worked as a railroad officer across the country. (He survived the front lines in the army at only 17 during the first World War.) Still, they lived a comfortable middle-class existence and had five children before WWII. When the war hit, my uncles, who were already soldiers or of serving age, were forced to fight against the allies. Despite their stance against the war, they had no choice but to do as they were commanded.
Decades after the war ended, the blood of their friends could not be washed from their hands. Memories of herding their childhood playmates, classmates, their families, and coworkers onto railcars to be shipped to death camps haunted my uncles and grandfather until the day they died.
After the war ended and Hungary’s borders were remapped yet again, my dad’s family was given 24 hours to move back to the country otherwise they would be considered Yugoslavian citizens. So deep was their tie to their homeland, that they packed what they could carry and crossed the borders with their children. The comforts they once enjoyed became faded memories. Under communist rule, my grandparents died impoverished. Their children struggled for every crust of bread and every accomplishment; some made it, some did not.
It’s easy to say the honorable thing for both families would’ve been to stand up for what they believed and fight against the oppressive regimes leading them into unpardonable actions. Having lived a fairly easy life in a country that lets me speak my mind, I can’t even begin to imagine the challenges my ancestors faced. Their choices amounted to picking between the lesser of evils. Fight with a regime at the expense of countless innocents or oppose the regime and forfeit both your life and that of your families. In a time when the idea of the “greater good” was muddled with conflicting ideologies, they protected what was within their very limited power. They chose their families.
Choosing the honorable path is never easy and many have lost their lives in the process. In this one case, I’m selfishly glad my families did what they had to in order to survive. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have been given the greatest gift ever.
Life.
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