Poland is My Heart and Soul, America is My Mind and Spirit

As I was reading Leah Lee's writing, I found myself thinking about my Dad throughout her narrative. That is why I used her title for this reflection, but inserted "Poland", taking the place of "Korea." My father, born in 1931, second eldest son to Polish immigrants had one foot steeped in the traditions of Poland and one foot in his American experience. As a child, my siblings and I heard stories of the responsibilities thrust upon him while his brother, the eldest, was sent off to expensive boarding schools for high school and how college was paid for my uncle. Dad, the one left behind, learned how to cook, clean, work side jobs by 14 as an accordion player with bands, and still get all A's in his coursework because that was what was expected of him. My grandfather, a World War I veteran, had epilepsy and worked odd jobs. My grandmother, Babci, worked for the city of Hamtramck, but when my dad was 10, has a nervous breakdown and was bedridden for 2 years. Dad's responsibilities and his duty to his family started early.

In her narrative, Leah speaks to duty and responsibility to family above all else. My dad, spoke to the same things as we were growing up. Being Polish American meant honoring the traditions of his parents and his Polish heritage, but striking out to be the American kid that young adults around him were allowed to be. But he always came back to tradition and respect. He would go out and flex his independence with his friends as a teenager, but came back home to do the laundry and give his share of earnings to support his family. Like Leah, my Dad grew up in a culture of Polish America in the city of Hamtramck, where Polish was spoken at home and in church but among his friends and at school, English was embraced.

Like Leah, I have struggled with my Polish heritage and my American upbringing. Although we are second generation, Dad wanted my siblings and I to honor the Polish traditions and we fought him all the way because it made us different from our friends. In the end, the respect that we were taught to honor for our parents and heritage won out and we did what we were told to do because it was the right thing. Wearing the traditional Polish dance outfit meant a little bit of standing out to avoid the "the look", much like Leah described when her mother disapproved of her conversations with her sister.

As I think about my educational experiences, from K-12 through my new adventure in doctoral work, I owe much of my success to my father and his demand to always do your best and persevere. He wanted more for his children than what he experienced growing up and his parents before him. At the toughest moments during this new adventure in doctoral work, I draw upon thoughts of my Babci crossing the Atlantic Ocean at age 18, alone on an ocean liner to a new life in America. I think about my father and his brother, picking garbage in the alley's of Hamtramck to have extra food to eat and how they went from that image to my uncle being a high school chemistry teacher and my father, with his M.B.A. degree and Naval career just shy of Rear Admiral. Most importantly, I reflect on the idea that if not my father's insistence that I respect my Polish heritage and my American privileges, I wouldn't be the person and student that I am today and strive to be.

Lastly, I wish my dad was here today so he could read this narrative by Leah Lee and I could ask him about his experience as a Polish American growing up. I have a feeling he would nod his head and agree with many of her feelings and then go on to talk my ear off for hours, teaching me more things about my heritage that only now as an adult, do I appreciate and understand.

(EAK : February 28, 1931 - October 5, 2003)