Jackie Danicki

Sixty-nine years ago today, my Gramma and Grampa Danicki were married.

I was surprised when my cousin Lisa shared these photographs, which I had never seen (the picture above was on their bedroom wall when I was a child). She found them after her mother, my grandparents’ oldest child, passed away a few years ago. The wedding looks as if there was some money spent on it. Lisa and I have no idea where that would have come from, as neither of them came from wealthy families. (My grandfather left school at 16 to take jobs that paid as little as 25 cents an hour. I know things weren’t much easier for my grandmother’s family.) Unfortunately, they are no longer here to explain this, or to tell us anything else.

I spent a great deal of time with my grandparents while I was growing up. I sensed that they found it easier - as many grandparents do - to be grandparents than it was for them to be parents. They could spoil us with treats and then send us home and let us unleash any bad behavior on our parents.

I think my brother and I behaved perfectly for Gramma and Grampa. The only things we got told off for were how we sat on the sofa (never sit on the edge of the cushion!) or going in or out of the house through the front door (side door only! The front door was reserved for the priest and, in case he ever stopped by, the Pope.).

My grandparents had a lot of funny rules and habits - like always getting up no later than 5.30AM so they could open the curtains and signal to the neighbors that they weren’t lazy; like doing laundry with a washboard in a basin, even though they were comfortably well-off and could have afforded a washing machine (when we got a new washer and drier, we gave the old ones to my grandparents, who reluctantly accepted - and then just used them as a place to stack folded laundry after using the washboard and before taking the clothes upstairs.).

Gramma and Grampa Danicki with their first batch of great-grandchildren, Mark and Zachary

My grandparents came from immigrant stock, with not much money or formal education. My great-grandmother knew someone at the steel mill and helped my grandfather get a job as a crane operator there. In 47 years on the job, he only missed one day of work. He was grateful to have such an opportunity for steady income and benefits, and there was no way he would jeopardize it. Sometimes I reflect upon my own fear of failure - that I will miss a day from illness and never be able to catch up, for example - and wonder if I inherited that from him. I grew up believing I was very lazy, but now I can see that my work ethic more closely resembles my grandfather’s than I would have previously allowed myself to believe.

From my grandmother, I got my love of cooking for people I love. I remember her, well into her 70s, slaving over a hot stove to make us Christmas Eve dinner: pierogies, stuffed cabbage (and all forms of kapusta), her amazing chanterelle mushroom sauce, homemade bread, the works. I always sensed that she wasn’t enjoying it, but now I realize why, since I hate having anyone in the kitchen while I’m cooking. She probably just wanted everyone out of the kitchen, which was so tiny that we had to take turns eating in shifts. This is my Aunt Suzie’s family taking their turn on the last Christmas Eve we had with both of my grandparents alive (my grandmother died in November 1996):

But she did it, year after year, without complaint. (I do remember her saying that last Christmas Eve, very quietly, that she didn’t think she’d be able to handle it the next Christmas.)

I remember my grandparents’ house smelling like a mixture of my grandmother’s cooking, my grandfather’s cigars (before he read about secondhand smoke and quit), and my grandmother’s perfume. It may sound vile, but trust me, it was the most comforting smell in the world.

I was a weird kid, for many reasons (and I’m still weird - trust me, I know this). I had a lot of issues and found it hard to find a place in the world where I felt safe. (Again, not a lot has changed.) But when I was with my grandparents, I knew nothing could hurt me and that they would do anything for me. They were probably disturbed by my problems, but they never mentioned them, which was a great gift: I knew they accepted me as I was, and they placed no conditions upon their love.

For this, and too many other reasons to list, I miss them dreadfully. I’d give anything to have them back, even for just one day. In the meantime, my cousins and aunt and I are all talking on Facebook about them, remembering their quirky ways and sharing how much we all miss them.

My cousin’s wife suggested that we all eat pierogies and drink Scotch today to remember them. (My grandmother made amazing pierogies, and my grandfather was rarely without a glass of Scotch.) I can’t do the latter, but the excellent Polish restaurants in my neighborhood will allow me to indulge in the former. Like most of life, it would all be so much better if they were here for it.

Filed under: Life