I recently took part in a conversation about frugal Polaks and realized that I haven’t yet covered how my entire family of 74 adults and 2 children (I used to be special before everyone started going at it and now I have a thousand cousins) got to ‘Merica. Before I go any further – yes, we are legal. My parents studied those stars and stripes like you wouldn’t believe. I would know cause I was probably still a toddler when I was translating the test for them. Anyways. They passed all that shit. And since me and my sis were still babies, we just got to be legal through them. Thanks parents.
It was the summer of 1993. Sometime before that, my parents, grandparents, and a couple uncles entered a lottery to get visas. That’s how shit worked back then. They pulled our name out of a fucking hat. Too bad Slytherin wasn’t around yet. I bet baby Draco Malfoy was a babe.
There’s a sidenote to this story that I have to talk about because it’s the fucking best. The day we found out we were coming to America is also the day my sister was born. This makes her think she’s like a lucky child, but in reality, she’s just the middle one. So my mom’s in the hospital pushing, and my dad was late getting there. Or something. Whatever the case, my aunt was there because I think she’s the one that called my dad to tell him that he was the proud father of a baby girl. My dad thought he was being punked because, until the baby came out without a penis, my parents were expecting a boy. To be named Patrick. My first thought woulda been that he’s just deformed and missing parts, but I guess the doctor was pretty sure it was a girl. After knowing her for 25 years, I can vouch that she’s like 450% girl. Which makes up for me hardly being a woman. So that’s that. My sister was supposed to have a dick. And, for those unaware, her middle name is Barbara. So much for being lucky.
My dad eventually makes it to the hospital, probably because at that point, she wasn’t the middle child yet, so he cared. Maybe I was there too. I was 4, so the memory is a little hazy. Or since I was fed beer since I could hold a bottle, I had just already lost brain cells. While at the hospital, my dad gets a call from my grandpa with news that WE’RE GOING TO AMERICA. I don’t know for sure that my dad shit himself, but my mom probably did since all her shit was still loose. Too much information. Yea, I know. Sorry not sorry. I think he didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. Like congrats on your new miracle of life AND go find a house in the land of the free. But it was real. So in May 1994, we came on over. Via plane. Not Ellis Island because I’ve actually been fucking asked that.
The rest of the familia spread to the south side, and the four of us lived with my aunt and grandma somewhere on Belmont in a one bedroom with more plants than people for like 3 months. Then we moved to a not so sexy apartment for something like 5 years. Then, and I have no idea with what money, my parents bought an adorable house in Portage Park, where the little bro was born and I fell in love with my current bf. You heard right. I met my soulmate at age 11. Stay tuned for that post. Then my home high school got a little too hood for my parent’s liking, so we moved to the beautiful, green, clean, quiet, burbs.
And here we are today. I’m not just saying this just because I know my mother reads this (sorry for talking about your vag, mama), but my parents deserve a FUCKTON of credit. They were 27 & 29 with two kids, didn’t know English, and had like $4. I’m 28, and I can’t even begin to put myself in that situation. Partially because I’ll never get around to having two kids, but also because it’s mandatory in so many random countries to learn English in school that I’d be fine if I was shipped away. Back to my parents. I usually think that they (mostly my dad) don’t realize how much they have to be proud of. Not only do they live in a gorgeous home, own two other properties, allow themselves to travel, and aren’t in stupid American credit card debt, but they raised smart ass kids who are kicking the shit out of life. Not just me. Patrick and the little one are decent too.
We’re just like an amazing fucking family. Seriously.. ask anyone. We welcome shameless farting, freedom to raid the fridge, and shots aren’t frowned upon at noon. We’re like the Kardashians only with less ass, money, and drama, but more actual jobs, brain cells, and fun.