Off and Springing: The Land Of His Birth

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Off and Springing
Family Rhymes by H. Paul Shuch, Ph.D.
copyright © 1991-2006

The Land Of His Birth

My ancestors hailed from many a nation,
But I grew up American, first generation
Thanks to my father, Berak (known as Ben)
Who knew he should leave Eastern Europe, and when.
For Poland, he saw, was about to succumb
To a decade of darkness and horrors to come.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

His father served under the Czar as a Russian,
While his Mother, he told me, was born an East Prussian.
My father Berak was by birthright a Pole,
Though all three were from the same village, I'm told.
At the time, Eastern Europe (I know it seems strange)
Had borders that suffered continual change.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

To leave Eastern Europe around 'thirty five
Was everyone's dream, though few made it alive.
US immigration was scarcely a choice:
With the Golden Door shut, who could hear freedom's voice?
My father reached Danzig (it's now known as Gdansk)
And sailed on to Liverpool, seeking his chance.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

In England, my father stayed many a week.
He managed their language to read, write, and speak
(Though his accent was something you'd have to behold,
For he spoke like a dock worker 'til he was old.)
Although British was not what Dad wanted to be,
As His Majesty's subject, he now could breathe free.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

Four months in England, and then Dad was ready
To cross the Atlantic, on feet hardly steady.
The quarters in steerage left much to desire.
But the passage was swift. So did it transpire
That my Dad disembarked, a poor Polish Jew
At the port of Toronto, to start life anew.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

The Canadian border was porous back then,
So no one was there to check documents when
Father boarded a train to Chicago one day,
Illegally entering the U S of A.
But how to gain citizenship? You may ask.
Enlist in the Army to accomplish that task.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

My father was fluent in several tongues
From the land of his parents, but I learned just one.
From the day of my birth, in the halls of our home
Neither Polish nor Russian nor Yiddish were known.
Father spoke only English the rest of his days.
A Yankee, he cast aside all Old World ways.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

The winds of Chicago blow icy and cold,
And the rain and the sleet no one cares to behold.
As fortune would have it, the Army decreed
That in Florida, Dad could accomplish some need.
With the Armistice came these words out of his mouth:
"I'm ready to move the whole family South."
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

I grew up in Miami, an American boy
Who scarcely knew Cuban from Jew or from Goy.
But Father instilled in me, all through my youth
A sense of respect for his own Polish roots,
All the while vowing that he, father Ben,
Would never set foot inside Poland again.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

In Europe, a man's face was graced by a beard,
The mark of a greenhorn, my father once feared.
The land of the free and the home of the brave:
Upon his arrival, he learned how to shave.
Years later, when I grew a beard, Dad recoiled.
Was I now rejecting my own native soil?
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

I once went to Poland with Andrew, my son,
The trip planned for three; we were still missing one.
I asked Dad to join us; he flatly refused.
I was quite disappointed. My son was confused.
But father was adamant. Years ago, when
He left, he vowed never to walk there again.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

When Father turned eighty, though still much alive,
His vision had dimmed. He could no longer drive,
So living alone was no longer to be.
My young sister Era was ready. For she
Had purchased a duplex. One half was for Dad,
So he moved to the West Coast, both happy and sad.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

In warm California he lived out his days,
Still firmly rejecting the Old Country's ways.
Dad turned Unitarian, went to a church,
Turned his back on his heritage. It could be worse,
I reminded myself. Despite all he had done,
I knew my Dad loved and respected his son.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

Dad's mind started slipping, his body did bend,
And I knew his long journey was nearing its end.
I paid him a visit the week that he died.
He told me his stories; we kissed and we cried.
He then assigned one final duty to me:
To scatter his ashes across a great sea.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

To never see Poland again with his eyes
Was Dad's final wish. You can guess his surprise
Looking down on me now, as he sees me disburse
His cremated remains on the cold Polish earth.
I've honored Dad's wishes. He fled to survive,
And never saw Poland again while alive.
He ventured abroad, to the ends of the Earth;
Now his ashes return to the land of his birth.

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