Busia and Dziadzia (grandma and grandpa in Polish), came to the United States as immigrants shortly after World War I. They worked very hard to raise their family and become acclimated to a society completely unlike the ones from which they traveled. They loved America and were thrilled that their children had the opportunities which they had suffered hardships for them to achieve.
My grandfather never did learn English very well, but that was not unusual. He was a quiet man who I recall appearing serious and quite grumpy at times. His smile was infrequent, but he did attempt to tease his grandchildren. I was very intimidated by his gruff manner, but when the smile broke through, the love in his eyes sparkled. There was something that thrilled my heart each week at our regular Sunday dinners when he led the family in prayer - in Polish. While I never understood the words, the sound of his voice, rich with respect , showed his faith. My grandmother, however, learned her own version of English. It was quite broken, but easily understood by all of us. She was devoted to her family and grandchildren. Because I was the first, I was most spoiled and remained close to her to the end of her life.
When my grandparents, my father and my aunt and uncles wanted to discuss us, they would change their language from English to Polish. Because none of the grandchildren had learned the language, we never knew what they were saying, therefore their secrets were never revealed. Occasionally we would hear a phrase that we latched on to and my father gladly translated for us. I proudly learned to say, "Merry Christmas!", "Give me a kiss." and other phrases. We even learned to sing happy birthday for my father's ninetieth birthday party, and I eagerly shared the song with my four granddaughters so they could wish their great-grandpa a wonderful day.
One of the things my family took joy in was playing games. My grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles often joined in a game of cards to finish the day. We cousins would play or watch the game, trying to learn the rules so we could join the group. During those times, my grandparents would lapse into Polish, as would some of their children, which made learning the game difficult, but it was fun to watch them enjoy family together.
Fast forward to my own family. When our two oldest sons were toddlers, I would tease them with a few of the phrases I had learned growing up. One of those, I believed, was to call them "little monkeys." That would be considered a most acceptable phrase by most people, but I said the word once when we visited my parents and my father reacted much stronger than I had anticipated. He raised his voice to ask, "Do you know what you just called your children?" I drew back in amazement as I told him what I thought I had said. "I called them little monkeys, didn't I?"
"No," he responded, "You just called your little boys... let's just say, I would not win mother-of-the year for my label of my sons." Mortified, I decided I would never, ever say anything I could not specifically translate myself. This has become a topic of humor in our family, but I still cringe at the thought I could have said this where my grandmother would hear it. You see, I learned the word from her! She said it a few times during the family card games and it was she who told me it meant "little monkey!"
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