MY World Journal Post (9)

Friday: October 1, 1971

My mother told my father to get a doctor (see why here) but instead he brought a woman who he said was just like a doctor. The woman reassured my mother that she had mended many a broken arm and leg and that she knew what to do.
The woman (I don't know her name) came into my room and began to examine my arm, her findings as told to my mother was that my arm was sprained and that there is nothing to worry about. She then proceeded to pull on the arm and I passed out with pain.
After that horrible ordeal, I begged my mother not to have that woman pull my arm again. The woman had the gall to tell my mother that I was faking and that she had to pull the bone sockets into place. Upon hearing her reply to my mother, I began to scream and beg my mother to send the woman away.
I thanked God that she did send her away, because I don't think my little heart could have taken that much fear and pain again.

MY World Journal Post (8)

Continuation from yesterday.

Thursday: September 30, 1971

After I had fallen from the freight car my cousins helped me home. My sister Jacey (Helen) was home and asked my what had happened, I said, "please don't tell ma", and she said, "I promise I won't tell". With this reassurance, I began to tell her what had happened. Her reply was, "ma is going to kill you" - (at that time Jacey was 14 years old and I was 9) - I could always rely on her for protection and good counsel.
The first thing she did was put me to bed and make me as comfortable as she knew how to. By this time my left elbow was giving me a lot of pain. Jacey said, "Don't show your pain, ma is coming home and you'll get a beating". With this reminder, I bore the pain.
My mother came home and she asked why I was in bed, Jacey said, "He isn't feeling good, and I put him to bed".
I do not know how I endured the pain for 9 horrifying days. Each day it felt worse than the previous day. My mother suspected something was wrong with me and she asked if I was alright. I kept insisting everything was fine and went so far as to open and close the door with my fractured elbow.
After nine days of excruciating pain, I began to let my feelings be known and told my mother my arm hurt.

MY World Journal Post (7)

Another post from my grandfathers journal.

Wednesday: September 29, 1971

It was a beautiful Spring day in May 1939, our spring vacation from school. My two cousins came over to play with me (Edwin and Alfred). Edwin suggested we go to Revere Beach and spend the day there. I was sort of hesitant at first because my mother told me to stay around the house. Alfred kept calling me a sissy and a ma-ma's boy. In my anger, I went with them.
We did not go to Revere, instead we played tag at the freight yard. The freight yard had four lines of tracks running parallel with one another. All the tracks were full of freight cars.
Like boys we climbed up to the top of the car and we began to jump from one train to another. We began a game of tag and my cousin began to chase me. In my excitement, I started to climb down the ladder of the train, but missed the first rung and fell backwards onto the cement pavement below.
A feeling of awe come over me, followed by a dull sensation in my left arm. I became very frightened and I cried uncontrollably. For some strange reason I tried to lift my left arm with my right hand only to have my are fall, like it did not belong to my body.
Then a new fear came over me, my mother, I thought, she told me to stay around the house and I didn't, she's going to kill me. Little did I know that I was entering into a whole new world of pain, anxieties and fear.

This journal entry starts off an interesting segments of other entries. I will do my best to post them in order.

MY World Journal Post (6)

Monday, September 27, 1971

My mother and father are two people ordinary in every aspect, but a couple that were unique together.
I can remember the joy my father gave us. Like his home made violin, why that damn thing fell apart more than it was whole, but he was never discouraged because he would conjure up his home made glue and clamps, put the violin together, tie it up with clothesline and he would then leave it to harden; like a month! If he got two days play from it, after all that trouble and patience, he would be very pleased.
That is one of many funny stories about this loveable man. (My whole family loved him deeply.)
He worked on one job for 39 years and he only took an afternoon off to become an American citizen. That day was about the happiest day of his life.

My World Journal Post (5)

When on a roll....Roll.

Tuesday: September 28, 1971

My mother, the backbone of our home, she gave birth to four children all at home and with no doctor to assist her. The amazing thing [gj: that's not the amazing thing!?] was that after each of us was born, she would get up from bed and get my fathers supper. She is a very immaculate person, even today at 85 years, she still prefers to wash her clothes by hand and scrub the stairs on her knees.
She punished us when we deserved it (or not). All the times I got a licken from her, I forgot the words, or not. She was a firm believer in respect for older people.
She was so proud, that even if we didn't have food and someone offered some to her, she would say she had plenty. That woman as proud and as hard as she tried to make us believe she was really as warm and soft as a rose in June.
She proved this time and time again As I will express in my daily journals.
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I'm told that in this picture Babcia (Polish for Grandmother) is drinking whiskey from her favorite glass. As I sit here and drink whiskey out of my own. I guess it's in the gene pool.

My World Journal Post

Another page from my grandfathers journal:

Tuesday, September 21, 1971

The world that I had lived in was not one filled with geography or history, but rather one filled with vulgarisms and anxieties, love, joy, sorrow and most of all - religion.

I can remember when I was very young during the depression years. We lived near the waterfront in Chelsea, a suburb of Boston, near the Mystic River. That section of the city was called Little Warsaw, due to the fact that everyone on that street (Medford Street) was from Polish extraction.
My mother and father could hardly speak or understand any English, so it would be apparent that I was in the same boat.

Ordinarily, this would be a disaster but it wasn't because all my neighbors and friends spoke the same language.

We were educated in the Saint Stanislaus School. It was there that I learned how to speak English.

The days in school were split up into two parts, the first part of the day was English and the second part of the day was Polish. I did not understand what the nun was talking about when my lessons were in English, but I did very well with my Polish Lessons. As a result, I had to stay in the first grade again.

Those days were very difficult for me because while those good and dedicated nuns were trying to teach me my lessons, my mind would be in 'Little Warsaw', swimming for bananas that would fall from the banana boats or making crab traps. But those thoughts would soon end when the nun would catch me day dreaming.

No matter how hard I tried to pay attention in school, my mind would always drift off, into my world, time and time again.

I can remember how frightened I was of the nuns the first day of school, especially when they spoke a foreign language - English.
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previous journal enteries. 1. 2. 3.

My World (Part VIII)

Tuesday: September 28, 1971

"My mother, the backbone of our home, she gave birth to four children all at home and with no doctor to assist her. The amazing thing was that after each of us were born, she would get up from bed and get my fathers supper. She is a very immaculate person, even today at 85 years, she still prefers to wash her clothes by hand and scrub the stairs on her knees.

She punished us when we deserved it (or not). All the times I got a licken from her, I forgot the words or not. She was a firm believer in respect for older people.

She was so pround, that even if we didn't have food and someone offered some to her, she would say she had plenty. That woman as pround and as hard as she tried to make us believe she was really as warm and soft as a rose in June.

She proved this time and time again. As I will express in my daily journals."

-Ed J.

This would be my great-grandmother, ('Bachi' is how I have always heard her name as. However, I think once again my family has slaughtered a foreign language name. A little google search shows Polish for granmother is 'Babci'. Hey, whatcha gonna do?)

It's really crazy to think that she gave birth four times, unassisted. My first kid is on the way and I can't imagine my wife and I flying that solo.

Other journal entries from my grandfather: 1, 2