The holidays are full of memories. Every year, as we grow a little older, the memories of the times we have spent together become more meaningful.
For me, it was growing up in an East European immigrant family in Johnstown. All my grandparents came to America in the early 20th century from what is now Slovakia. The holidays were a very special time for us. Every Christmas, after attending Mass, my father would first drive us to visit my baba (grandmother) for Christmas lunch. There, we would visit with my aunts, uncles, and cousins on my mom’s side. We would have halupki (stuffed cabbage), ham, mashed potatoes, and all the fixings. There was also homemade paska (bread).
This is where I developed my legendary love of halupki. My mom and sister also make great halupki, which they learned from my baba, and that I must now rely upon, as Diane hates the smell of cooked cabbage and does not make them at home. However, the trade-off is that Diane, of Italian and Swedish descent, is an amazing baker and pizza-maker.
As a boy, I can remember sitting in the picture window at my baba’s house, which looked out toward the steel mills and mainline, to watch the trains roll by. In those days, it was the Penn Central hauling an endless consist of freight and coal cars.
After a few hours, it was time to go to visit my dad’s family. There, we would visit with my grandma, grandpap, and a houseful of relatives on my dad’s side.
I can remember the live tree in the corner of the living room, lit with large blue Christmas lights that were hot to the touch. To Catholics, the blue lights symbolize the Virgin Mary. There was also a homemade Nativity under the tree. There were never enough chairs for everyone. After a buffet-style dinner of ham, there would always be a tray of cookies, cakes, and nut roll. Whenever I spoke with my grandparents, often my dad or another relative would have to serve as interpreter, as they spoke what was then known as “broken English,” part-Slovak and part-English. By my late teens, I had picked up on much of the pattern until I could engage in conversations on my own.
It’s been more than 35 years since my grandparents passed away, changing the family holiday celebrations forever. Yet, I can still feel the love and joy of those long-gone days every time I light the Christmas tree.
Bernard A. Oravec
Publisher
boravec@barashmedia.com
