When my mother, Victoria, felt things, namely America, turn against her, she would sign and with her perfect accent say, “America is beautiful!”

I often wondered what she said the day after President Truman dropped the first atomic bomb, and then the next day after dropping the second. What did Mom say? I don’t know, although now I wish I did. While I grew up, I never questioned her about things like that.

Adolph went back to his village in Poland and brought Victoria home to the U.S. My mother died from a stroke. Years later, 1968 or thereabouts, Pop went back to visit Poland. My brothers and I wondered if he went back for another wife. He did ask Richie to airmail him his divorce papers to where he was staying in Poland. Much later we found out thru Uncle Alex that he almost married again, but lost the woman because of his false teeth. He lost his false teeth while visiting her and his “loved one” found them in the bread box in their kitchen. So the knot wasn’t tied that tight.

When he came back home from Poland, all Adolph could talk about was the to and fro via the airplanes. Then Richie and airplanes. I knew what that was all about…I knew what that was all about. I knew at the same time in his mind my father was counting lost money in Polish, cost-values of the new but unused college clothes, college tuition forfeited after Richie was expelled from Notre Dame for hankie pankie, but all I know about his joining the U.S. Air Force, was that Adolph had a long talk with him the day he came home from Notre Dame.

Nevertheless, when my mom was alive she was a seamstress for women; she could look at a lady, just once and make a dress that fit her perfectly. She gave her hard earned sewing money away to her three sons, one after the other, to use towards college for extras.

She wanted to be oh-so American and this incident happened when I was in the 7th grade. About that time, Tupperware parties started, became popular, surged as a women’s event.

My family knew not a whit about giving parties. On my first birthday party, my mother having decided I should have one like all the other kids, baked a cake and sent out in the street to round up the gang and any stray adult neighbors. I didn’t get any birthday presents except from my mom.

Such goes it!

But disaster came later. Victoria recruited me to clean the house, both floors, sweep the cellar floor, sweep off the front porch. Not to bother with the back porch because that’s where Koko lived. The small back porch was his “dog house”. Then I had to polish (not Polish, polish, you know, with a rag?) all the furniture in the dining room and the kitchen.

Victoria outdid herself; she made gumkees (pigs in the blanket) and the potato salad with the vinegar in it. All day long she baked, and fried, and now and then she would claim, “America is beautiful, isn’t it, Stashu?”

“Yeah, Mom, it sure is!”

I’ve never seen her so happy.

Unfortunately, no one, and I mean, nobody, came to my mom’s party. I went across the street, tried to drum up some interest. I tried to bribe Mary Clandy all my savings, some $17.62. “I want you to come over and buy something from my mom.”

“With this money, Me? Stanley, what you talking about?”

“Nobody comes. I want you to come over to my mother’s party, eat a little of cake, and buy some of that plastic stuff from my mother,” I explained.

“What’s going on?” said a confused Ms. Clandy.

Mary Clandy’s brother Frank, who worked on the barges, was off that day. While at the kitchen table, he spoke up. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. I can guess what happened. Mary, did you receive an invitation to his mother’s Tupperware party?”

“Why, no”

“Mrs. Nodvik is — excuse me, son — is a dumb Polack. Polacks don’t know how to give a proper party.”

“Well, at the last party, she stood up and announced she was going to have a party, and we all were invited. But, I guess that’s not enough … ”

Frank laughed. His sister looked at him in a stern fashion, stern enough to silence him.

“I’ll be over, as soon as I change my dress,” said Ms. Clandy

“You’re a good neighbor, Ms. Clandy. Thank you.”

Miss Clandy did come over, talked a good while with Mom who sent me downstairs to pop some popcorn on the cellar stove. Later, Miss Clandy bought some plastic stuff, bowls with lids, and I went out with her and she said she tried to explain about party invitations, but my Mom told her they didn’t have parties that way in the old country. I watched her go home. I liked Ms. Clandy even though she was a spinster, and even though she was the last in our neighborhood to still have an outdoor outhouse.

My Mom came out on the front porch. I could see tears on her cheeks.

“America is still beautiful, right Mom?”

“I want Harry Truman to drop a big Ass-bomb on them,” she said.

“What!?”

My mom, Victoria, sighed, looked around, then repeated what she had said, “ … a big-ass bomb on those women.”

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