Stephen Shooster We also played stickball. To make the bat, I took my mom’s old broom and cut the head off. This made a nice, heavy, uniform stick to play the game. Unfortunately, this can also be used as a weapon, and my mom was very upset when I ruined her broom. That stick and others like it would prove to haunt me over the next few years. I was so well-liked by my Catholic friends that I used to celebrate one of their holi- days with them, Three King’s; it is otherwise known as the Epiphany. We went house- to-house, singing carols. It is still a Fall tradition in Poland, to this very day, and I enjoyed it immensely. A few of the Orthodox Jews knew of my friendships and celebra- tion of the Catholic holiday so, needling my parents, they told them, “We’re not sure if your son knows he is a Jew.” I am sure my dad dismissed those remarks as out of hand because he never said a negative word to me about it. Besides, he was given an edict from the Tsadik of Tyczyn, “Be lenient with Leon.” When I look way back, I know I was a dreamer, and the outdoors was my real home. Schoolwork was the last thing on my mind. As a child, I had no patience for it. Luck- ily, I was smart enough to associate myself with Henry Ziołko. He was a good student, and willing to help me. Without him, I would have had raw knuckles or red ears much more frequently. He helped me with my Math homework, or should I say, he did my Math homework. My favorite thing to do was to play with my next-door neighbor’s kids. I felt like I lived there. I ate dinner with them frequently and stayed to all hours of the night. I’ll never forget the graciousness of Tadeusz Skrabski, my dad’s best friend, and his son, Stanislaw, who was about my age, two daughters, Jadwiga and Janka, a little brother named Marion(b. 1932), and their baby brother (b. 1938). Tadeusz and I were friends until he died. Our families were so close that our horses shared the same yard. Stani- slaw died in 1938 (1927-1938), before the war. He was only 11 years old. I will never forget his funeral. The sadness is much more profound when a child dies. One of my fondest childhood memories was going with Tadeusz and his kids to visit two parcels of land he owned nearby. He grew cabbage on one and potatoes on the other. Since they needed to be tended and picked, he would put me on his carriage with his kids and we would go out for a few hours. I loved touching the earth. It was rewarding to help him for nothing more than appreciation. When they were ready for harvest, I was invited to go back and pick the vegetables. Eating them reinforced my appreciation for nature. I have always loved getting my hands dirty and helping out my neighbors at the same time, plus his kids were my best friends. I will never forget the birth of my baby twin sisters. My mother was at her full term
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