My why…
I have been listening to a lot of podcasts and audio books on how to be an executive director of a non-profit lately and the most important piece of advice that I have taken to heart is to find my why. Why am I doing this? I do believe that God has given me a deep love for my clients and staff that goes beyond explanation which drives my ability to get out of bed and go to work each day. But there’s someone in my past, someone I love and admire even more now than when I knew her as a young child and who I wish my current self would have had the opportunity to help as an immigrant. She is my father’s mother, Grandma K.
Family legend has it that she came to America over 100 years ago from Eastern Europe as a 17 year old stowaway on a banana boat which I imagine she got on some where in Central America or the Caribbean after making the trip across the Atlantic. She ate green bananas whole because she had never seen one before which made her more than a little sick. She had come to join her sister who lived in Cleveland, Ohio to work and start a new life. Grandma K eventually went back and immigrated properly. Thankfully there was no such thing back then as having accrued unlawful presence in the US. I have a copy of her immigrant visa and a picture of her holding me as a baby on her lap on my desk. Just a glance at it gives me a whole lot of encouragement. Little did Grandma know though that when she immigrated the second time that she would have an unbelievably hard life raising a family of 4 children, for a good portion of the time, without their father.
My dad never liked talking about his dad but when I began researching my family tree in 7th grade, I got a few things out of him - Dad used to visit the barber shop where his dad and his grandpa were barbers and how his dad used to come home late, drunk, yelling at his mother while he was trying to sleep. His father, who was also an immigrant from a German village located on the border of Serbia and Romania, died when my dad was barely 10 years old from throat cancer.
After her husband’s death, Grandma K was abandoned by her husband’s side of the family and from what my dad explained, the local Catholic church no longer welcomed them because she didn’t have enough money to tithe. No one told her that she could have received veteran’s benefits to help support her young family or other social benefits she was entitled to. She didn’t know much English and would have had a difficult time finding this out by herself. Grandma K did naturalize and become a US citizen. I remember one time seeing a copy of her naturalization application. It was surprisingly less than 5 pages long. Today an N-400 (Naturalization Application) is closer to 20 pages although it was just recently shortened.
She did other people’s laundry and housework to make ends meet and my dad started a paper route in order to support their family of five. The family got by and as the kids grew older, they chipped in to support Grandma K while she helped babysit her grandchildren. I fondly remember making apple pies with her in our kitchen. She made a big pie and always had enough dough and filling left over for me to make a little pie.
I clearly remember the day in first grade when I was called to the principal’s office and told that Grandma K had passed away. Never again would I get to make apple pies with her in our kitchen. What I wouldn’t give to make just one more pie together.
