Urgent Memo

To: My Parents

Subject: Why I’m Not You

Just in case you didn't already know it,
few simple examples of why we are different.

So, so very different.

I serve my children hot dogs. Yes. Oscar Meyer. Stop hyperventilating Mama, the German Deli is not always open and the Polish Deli is overpriced. So yes, sometimes, in the name of convenience and sticking to a budget, I go with the poisonous American brand.

I do not microwave every beverage my children will drink until it reaches appropriate “room” temperature. I have never heard of anyone developing pneumonia from cold milk and sometimes, when the kids are thirsty, they aren’t thinking “yummy, some lukewarm water would be so refreshing right now.”

I cannot superglue Monchichi’s socks to his feet. I know they are bare. I have tried everything. I refuse to carry him from room to room and he doesn’t show a natural ability to fly so until I let you know otherwise, bare feet it is.

You remember Mama, that sandwich that you used to make for me all the time, on rye bread, with the tomato that would get soggy and the Polish sausage that would permeate throughout my 7th grade Spanish class? Yep. Not gonna do it. Lunchables, Mac n Cheese, Chicken Nuggets. There may be plenty of other reasons my boys get picked on in school, but soggy, smelly, sausage sandwiches will not be one of them.

I will not be offering my sons’ friends Tripe Soup. I know I loved it as a kid, but that doesn’t mean that all of my friends wanted to eat cow intestine lining. For the record, I still love it. No. I won’t take it for lunch.

Superman has spent the night at his best friend’s house three times in the last year. That is more than my entire childhood. He didn’t have to put on an exorbitant play, where he dressed like a bunny rabbit and made his younger sister sing along to songs such as “Please please please let me spend the night at Karen’s house and I swear I will never ask for anything else as long as I live youarethebestparentsever!”

My children will not be Polish Scouts. Not because we are unpatriotic, or we don’t love the uniforms or the great outdoors. But remember all the bad stuff I used to do? Remember how you had to ground me and take down my bedroom door and threaten me with deportation? Where do you think I learned how to do that stuff????!!

Dinner will sometimes consist of a casserole. As in, a one-dish meal. Not soup, salad, entrée, dessert, coffee, tea, and ubersnack before bed. Just some meat, noodles and cheese. Please stop crying Mama.

I’m trying to take the Catholic Guilt thing down a notch or two. So I will not be telling Superman that God is always watching him. I want him to be a good boy too, but 25 years later I still have trouble going pee sometimes. It’s kinda creepy, ya know?

Now
that being said, If I am half the parent you both were to me, I will consider myself a success. And I will always be grateful for the unending supply of blog material.

Proud to be Polish,

Your Daughter

Jo