My greatgrandparents
I wrote this story (still unfinished) a few years ago, describing what little we know, pieced together from the few documents we have and my mom's memories. This story is dedicated to my ancestors, who fled poverty in Poland to find even greater poverty in America. They fled Poland, seeking the “American Dream”, to a country that despised and demonized immigrants (and continues to do so). I don’t have their entire stories. I have a couple of baptismal records, thanks to a very kind priest in Brooklyn. I have some names and then my mom’s memories of Helen and Chiotka Maruska. Her father said very little of his early days, and so I’ve recreated their story. She was 17 years old, yes old... with her second child, Wanda, in a country whose language she did not speak and without a place of her own to call home. She lived in a tenement, like so many other Po...