I am a child of the Diaspora. My parents and grandparents, together with a few other family members, fled Nazi Germany in the mid-thirties. The rest did not make it out. Those who did are, even now, spread around the world: Australia, South America, Israel, London, Austria, and South Africa. To say that we were a dysfunctional family is a redundancy, but since I knew no other way and thought all children had homes like mine, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
Am I scarred by it? Probably. Does it matter? Not really, except in that I am who I am because of it.
When I was six, my mother married for the third time.
During her periods of adjustment–which never quite happened–I was sent to live with my beloved grandparents. As I recall, the third one was shortly before Passover. Their flat was a’flutter with cleaning and cooking. My boredom quickly became a nuisance to Oma, my grandmother, who decided my grandfather, Opa, should teach me to play Canasta.
I learned fast. After a Passover game to help digestion after the Seder, I was declared a natural.
“But I didn’t win,” I said.
Oma left to make a pot of tea. “You explain to her, James,” she said in German.
Opa took out his small, oval snuffbox. Delicately, he dipped into it with his left pinky. Holding one nostril closed, he inserted snuff into the other and inhaled. There followed a gigantic sneeze, a shudder, and a satisfied sigh.
“This is the most important lesson you will ever learn in your life–it should only be a long and healthy one. We cannot influence the cards we are dealt in life. What we can do is learn to see the opportunities opened by those cards and have the courage to grab them by the throat and use them. That is what you did and that is why you will be a winner.”
And so they began to teach me — my grandfather about
always being just a little bit kinder than necessary, my grandmother about opportunity, and both of them about the value of listening more than I talked.
Nothing small about that memory. You hit the anvil of the past foursquare and drew off sparks of pure gold. All the magic in life is contained in the fact that the deck is dealt at random and there are wild cards… As writers we are gamblers who rely on just that array of possibilities. Our worst moments are when we fold or stand pat (hmmm…not Canasta); our best are when we imagine and express the possibilities, then fearlessly turn the cards. Thanks for the winning hand, Janet.
– Sully
Wow—those were some grandparents you had.
Thank you for sharing this glimpse into your past, Janet. Your grandfather was a wise man.
Ahh, lovely. Grandparents memories are often among the best. It’s like the pressure’s off, the wisdom’s full on, and a sense of acceptance, comfort, and fun abounds.
I do believe that I learned more from my grandparents in Kentucky–my dad’s, my mom’s folks were dead by 1935–than my nieces will learn from my parents or their other grandmother. You had Canasta, I had a guy who taught me how to hunt for bargains in a small town. My nieces have iPods and laptops and they are only eleven. Virtual granparents don’t cut it. Take care, Janet.
Wayne
You’re a grandchild of the Diaspora, or perhaps the descendant of it. I am the child of it, the first generation sowed into the wind like a dandelion seed, no knowing where I’d land. Am still tumbling.
But the grandparents… the grandparents sound mighty special people. I was privileged with special grandparents too. I understand, from the inside.
Thank you for another lovely vignette, Janet.
Whether our ancestors were driven by drought, famine, racism, mad dictators or a simple hankering to escape to a better place, many of us are now descendant seeds that find ourselves planted a long walk from where our forebears once trod.
Advice learned by a grandparent’s life experiences, if heeded, is priceless. That’s one reason that grandparents are referred to as grand.
Your piece is grand, and we can all benefit from it.
Thank you for sharing.
Bob
My grandparents & I thank you for your kind words. They are ever with me.
Thank you Sullyman. What are you writing?
Can barely wait for your next offering, Mr. Jones.
To the others who commented, I thank you but can’t write fully because of a wrist and computer problem.