As we put on a year or two, it becomes harder to remember those events that would have an impact on your life. Ann and Joe are gone now for nearly eleven years, but they were present at my first Christmas. They had spent the first ten years of their marriage sharing the front half of Busia’s home on Gilbert on the West side of Detroit. When I say sharing, that meant the front was occupied by a brother and his wife, while the rear half housed three other brothers, mom’s parents and that single uncle, Old Joe. A little cozy, wouldn’t you say.
Well that year, 1950, was a bellwether for my parents. They had purchased their first home out of a foreclosure directly across the street, my mom was pregnant with me and my dad purchased the family’s first TV.
My mother’s due date was near Christmas and there was much anticipation. Her girlfriends and nieces would touch her belly to feel me kick. Dad and Mom’s brothers would speculate whether I would be a boy or a girl. They had lost a male child on their first try but had two healthy daughters ages two and five. But this Christmas they were expecting a bundle of joy. Maybe Dr. Stocfitz would make a delivery instead of Santa.
Of course in Mom’s condition everyone helped out with the Christmas preparations. The brothers helped set up the tree in the front room. The pierogies were rolled out by Busia with help from an Aunt. There was not much money to shop but Mom still found the energy for the bus ride to Hudsons so my sisters could sit on Santa’s lap.
The Polish Christmas Eve dinner was served across the street at Busia’s. The Poles always set an extra place setting for that stranger who might just arrive unannounced. Mom looked at the empty chair and wondered, maybe tonight is the night. Midnight mass came and the extended family all attended helping Mom hike up the steps at St. Hedwig’s church. Mom sang the Polish Christmas Carols with her family all the time wondering when her child would come into this world. Maybe it would be tomorrow, Christmas Day. That would be nice, but where would our doctor be. She slept through the night. Christmas morning came: no baby yet. Kids played with toys, Uncles and Aunts, friends and neighbors came and went throughout the day; “nice tree Ann” they would say. “When will you deliver, soon tak” (tak in Polish means yes)
Men shared a bottle of CC toasting Na Zdrowie, women sipped a little homemade eggnog. Mom rested on a sofa with her hospital bag nearby. The crowd dwindled. Mom asked Dad to play her favorite Christmas song “Silver Bells” once again. One more night she dosed off.
No bundle of joy arrived that day. A few more days and nights went by; I was getting impatient at last. The trip to Grace Hospital was bumpy in the ’39 Packard, but I was reluctant to make my entrance. New Years had come and gone. Mom was into a long labor. Then at 5:18 am on the third day of the New Year Ann and Joe had a son. There was much celebration on Gilbert that day, a little belated. It was a long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, but I was there on Christmas in 1950. I remember it well; it was my First Christmas.
Grub Hoe 