As a first-generation American (my mother was born in Italy, though her family emigrated to a steel town outside Pittsburgh when she was still an infant, and my father was born and grew up in Brazil, though his father was Austrian and his mother Scottish), I was acutely conscious of how different my parents were from the parents of my childhood friends. They were *weird*; my father still spoke with some combination of a Brazilian/Austrian accent (though it took me years to realize this), and my mother was a doctor - an extraordinary accomplishment for a woman born to immigrant parents in 1923. Back then I wished that our family could be "normal," like the bland families in the sitcoms on TV.
Now that I'm old(er) and my parents are both gone, I find myself taking pride in EXACTLY the things that embarrassed me about them when I was a kid: my dapper father's continental/South American exoticism; my mother's insistence on the importance of her career, despite the endless sexism she faced in her profession... all of it. I wish I'd had the chance to tell them.
That's s lovely description of them, Martin. Why does it take us so long to appreciate our parents? Even though was able to let them know some of the things I valued and learned, I'm sure I didn't tell them enough. And I know I didn't understand them with the depth I do now. I guess we have to trust that is just the way of life. I do hope that our kids will eventually appreciate some of our more colourful characteristics!
You are so right. We don’t quite know what we have when we have it. But hearing your story and Sabrina’s makes me think our children will appreciate as we do. Seeds do not fall far from the tree.
Intriguing story, Martin. Of course, I never knew any of that at and I'm glad to know it now. I've for years wondered about your last name. I thought it was Czech. How does that fit into the picture?
It is indeed a Czech name. Unfortunately, I know almost nothing of my family’s history before my grandparents, but my assumption is that at some point during the days of the Austro-Hungarian empire some long-forgotten relative decided to move from what is now the Czech Republic to Vienna.
That was such a beatiful memoir. Thank you for its poignancy and love.
I suspect that our Dads were the family backbones. Mine was. Staunch, gentle, lover of music, wise, intellectual, cried when things moved him, whistled awfully off-key, loved dogs and reading, adored the cricket. Loved Mum with a passion. I've been missing him for 23 years.
Such a beautiful post, Sabrina - a wonderful tribute to your father. Such intrigue! Totally fascinated by his story.
My dad is wonderful; my mum, too. Their hair is grey now, as is my own. That's fine by me, and I'm happy to take after them in all sorts of other ways, too. Dad always makes me laugh whenever all four of us get together as a family - because he always calls me by my sibling's name when we're in the same room together. Always has done.
Not unusual in families, right? Wrong. MY SIBLING'S NAME IS CHRISTOPHER.🤣
A lovely, lovely read. Thank you. You've got me thinking about all sorts of stories of my own family.
Somehow I missed this very thoughtful comment, Rebecca. My apologies! Your family does sound lovely and your affection shines through your essays when you describe them. Ha-wrong name indeed! Not having siblings, I missed that experience, although the dog and I were often interchanged. 🤷♀️
Oh Sabrina! What a lovely memory of your Dad, and how VERY interesting! I adore that last photo of you two.
Boy, what a story! CIA snooping into mail?!!!?! Do you think they opened it? Or just photographed the envelopes?
I miss my Dad terribly as he was gone too soon. I am older now than he was at his passing, two weeks before Matt was born. He had the best sense of humor and we laughed so much around the dinner table! His claim to fame was in his gardening, organic before organic was a thing. I asked him why he never went to church and he said he met God outside. He was also the world’s greatest camper. He organized horse packing trips for three and four families on the block... some of my favorite memories.
Thank you! And now I know where you get your organisational brain and your love of flowers and good food! I like meeting god outside too. Your dad sounds wonderful ❤️
So sorry not to have commented on this post right when it came out because it's the most important one!! It brought back many memories and the photographs brought tears to my eyes.
Mystery solved! I won't wonder and ask anymore. At the time, conversations about your father's job swirled around campus but what struck me the most is that it must have been so difficult for you to live in this uncertainty and tolerate the questions and gossip. Since one's job defines so much of a person, there must have been a big uncomfortable identity gap that required strategies to avoid conversations and questions. Hard for a kid and teenager.
Mostly, I loved reading about your relationship with your father and all he taught you. Beautiful.
Fascinating, and lovely. Thanks, Sabrina.
As a first-generation American (my mother was born in Italy, though her family emigrated to a steel town outside Pittsburgh when she was still an infant, and my father was born and grew up in Brazil, though his father was Austrian and his mother Scottish), I was acutely conscious of how different my parents were from the parents of my childhood friends. They were *weird*; my father still spoke with some combination of a Brazilian/Austrian accent (though it took me years to realize this), and my mother was a doctor - an extraordinary accomplishment for a woman born to immigrant parents in 1923. Back then I wished that our family could be "normal," like the bland families in the sitcoms on TV.
Now that I'm old(er) and my parents are both gone, I find myself taking pride in EXACTLY the things that embarrassed me about them when I was a kid: my dapper father's continental/South American exoticism; my mother's insistence on the importance of her career, despite the endless sexism she faced in her profession... all of it. I wish I'd had the chance to tell them.
That's s lovely description of them, Martin. Why does it take us so long to appreciate our parents? Even though was able to let them know some of the things I valued and learned, I'm sure I didn't tell them enough. And I know I didn't understand them with the depth I do now. I guess we have to trust that is just the way of life. I do hope that our kids will eventually appreciate some of our more colourful characteristics!
Oh Martin,
You are so right. We don’t quite know what we have when we have it. But hearing your story and Sabrina’s makes me think our children will appreciate as we do. Seeds do not fall far from the tree.
Intriguing story, Martin. Of course, I never knew any of that at and I'm glad to know it now. I've for years wondered about your last name. I thought it was Czech. How does that fit into the picture?
It is indeed a Czech name. Unfortunately, I know almost nothing of my family’s history before my grandparents, but my assumption is that at some point during the days of the Austro-Hungarian empire some long-forgotten relative decided to move from what is now the Czech Republic to Vienna.
Thanks for that, Martin. Interesting.
Mine did the reverse. They moved from the town of their namesake, Falkenau, outside of Vienna, to Prague. They migrated in the mid-late 1700s.
That was such a beatiful memoir. Thank you for its poignancy and love.
I suspect that our Dads were the family backbones. Mine was. Staunch, gentle, lover of music, wise, intellectual, cried when things moved him, whistled awfully off-key, loved dogs and reading, adored the cricket. Loved Mum with a passion. I've been missing him for 23 years.
Ah thanks Prue. I'm sorry you lost your dad so long ago. He sounds like a gem. Daughters and dads: such a special bond.
Such a beautiful post, Sabrina - a wonderful tribute to your father. Such intrigue! Totally fascinated by his story.
My dad is wonderful; my mum, too. Their hair is grey now, as is my own. That's fine by me, and I'm happy to take after them in all sorts of other ways, too. Dad always makes me laugh whenever all four of us get together as a family - because he always calls me by my sibling's name when we're in the same room together. Always has done.
Not unusual in families, right? Wrong. MY SIBLING'S NAME IS CHRISTOPHER.🤣
A lovely, lovely read. Thank you. You've got me thinking about all sorts of stories of my own family.
Somehow I missed this very thoughtful comment, Rebecca. My apologies! Your family does sound lovely and your affection shines through your essays when you describe them. Ha-wrong name indeed! Not having siblings, I missed that experience, although the dog and I were often interchanged. 🤷♀️
LOL - gosh, if Dad had called me by names of our animals... that's a whole new game! 🤣
Oh Sabrina! What a lovely memory of your Dad, and how VERY interesting! I adore that last photo of you two.
Boy, what a story! CIA snooping into mail?!!!?! Do you think they opened it? Or just photographed the envelopes?
I miss my Dad terribly as he was gone too soon. I am older now than he was at his passing, two weeks before Matt was born. He had the best sense of humor and we laughed so much around the dinner table! His claim to fame was in his gardening, organic before organic was a thing. I asked him why he never went to church and he said he met God outside. He was also the world’s greatest camper. He organized horse packing trips for three and four families on the block... some of my favorite memories.
Thank you! And now I know where you get your organisational brain and your love of flowers and good food! I like meeting god outside too. Your dad sounds wonderful ❤️
The best. My hero.
That is one of the most beautiful love stories I have ever read.
Amy, goodness, thanks so much! ☺️
I appreciate you reading my stories and commenting-it means everything.
So sorry not to have commented on this post right when it came out because it's the most important one!! It brought back many memories and the photographs brought tears to my eyes.
Mystery solved! I won't wonder and ask anymore. At the time, conversations about your father's job swirled around campus but what struck me the most is that it must have been so difficult for you to live in this uncertainty and tolerate the questions and gossip. Since one's job defines so much of a person, there must have been a big uncomfortable identity gap that required strategies to avoid conversations and questions. Hard for a kid and teenager.
Mostly, I loved reading about your relationship with your father and all he taught you. Beautiful.