Sołdat

Some time ago I started my adventure with reading whole books in Polish. I read a lot of newspapers in Polish but I had avoided whole books until just this summer. My first attempt was Wypędzone. It was a good choice as a first book for me. It wasn’t too difficult to read and I was interested in the subject matter enough to push through even with my language problems.
I decided to read Sołdat from the same series as my next book. I know it is kind of heavy on the WWII history. The book is heavy but at the same time insightful and informative. I had never read anything about WWII from the perspective of a Red Army soldier so that alone was enough to catch my interest. That and the total szacun I got from other people on the beach as I read it.
After that I watched the documentary entitled “900 Dni - Oblężenie Leningradu” (worth watching)and I finished off with the book  Bij w werbel i nie lękaj się wspomnienia - Maria hrabina von Maltzan. It’s a very interesting book and Misiu described the life of the duchess as zajebiste. Her life was amazing and eventful, but I wouldn’t want to have as zajebisea a life as hers. I also shed a tear as she described saying good-bye to her favorite chestnut trees from her family’s palace. I know this place well and those trees are still there. It’s not the most harrowing event of her life but it was touching for me.
I’m a peculiar person, I know.
So from Wypędzone I was able to learn 20 new ways to describe getting raped, here in Sołdat I was able to learn an amazing number of ways to say flaki. Oh and ziemianka which I kept reading as ziemniaka.
This in the introduction of the book Sołdat, the memoir of Nikołaj Nikulin, is what made me decide to tackle this book despite the difficult subject matter and difficult language for me, Polish.
Wojenne zwycięstwa i heroizm są powszechnie znane, przez wielu były opiewane. Lecz w oficjalnych zapisach nie ma prawdziwej atmosfery wojny. Ich autorów prawie nie interesuje, co naprawdę przeżywa żołnierz. Zazwyczaj wojny wszczynali ci, którym zagrażały one najmniej: feudałowie, królowie, ministrowie, politycy, finansiści i generałowie. W ciszy gabinetów układali plany, a potem, kiedy już wszystko było skończone, pisali wspomnienia, podkreślając swoje męstwo i usprawiedliwiając porażki.
Większość pamiętników opiewa samą ideę wojny, stwarzając tym samym przesłanki dla nowych planów wojennych. Zaś płacą za to wszystko ci, co giną od kuli, realizując plany generałów. Ci, którym wojna jest absolutnie niepotrzebna – pamiętników nie piszą.

Victory in war and heroism are commonly known and have been praised by many. But in the official records, there is no authentic atmosphere of war. The authors almost take no interest in what the soldiers actually experienced. Typically, war was launched by those it least threatened: feudal lords, kings, ministers, politicians, bankers and generals. In the quiet of their offices they drew up plans, and then, when everything was over, wrote memoirs, highlighting their bravery and justifying their failures.

Most diaries celebrate the very idea of war, thereby creating the conditions for new war plans. And to pay for all those who die from a bullet, carrying out the plans of generals. Those to whom war is absolutely useless, do not write memoirs.

You can’t get through this book without reading about death, useless, senseless death. Death is everywhere in this book. It’s a war memoir. Death is unavoidable.
Tak więc stosunek zabitych: jeden do dziesięciu lub nawet więcej – na korzyść przegranych. Ten rachunek prześladuje mnie ciągle jak najgorszy koszmar.
Czyżby nie dało się inaczej? Przecież tyle środków przeznaczano na armię przed wojną. Teraz nawet nie ukrywa się faktu, że na początku wojny nasze siły były wystarczające, by pokonać wroga.
Po upływie wielu lat oceniam, że inaczej być nie mogło, ponieważ ta wojna różniła się od wszystkich naszych poprzednich wojen nie sposobem jej prowadzenia, a jedynie rozmachem. Uwidoczniła się nasza cecha narodowa: wykonywać wszystko maksymalnie źle przy maksymalnej utracie sił I środków.

Thus, the ratio of dead: one to ten or even more - in favor of the losers. This account of affairs still haunts me like the worst nightmare.

Could it have been otherwise? After all, so many resources were allocated to the army before the war. Now, the fact is not even hidden that at the beginning of the war our forces were sufficient to defeat the enemy.

After the passing of many years, my evaluation is that it could not have been otherwise because this war was different from all our previous wars, not in the way it was conducted but by its momentum. It only served to highlight our national character: to do everything as badly as we can with a maximum loss of forces and resources.

And because hindsight is always 20/20:
Czasem w pamiętnikach generałów czytamy: “Jeśli zrobiono by tak, a nie tak, jeśli posłuchano by mnie, wszystko poszłoby inaczej…” Co by było gdyby! Czasem winią Stalina albo inny ludzi.

Sometimes we read in the memoirs of generals: “If it had been done like this and not like that, if they had listened to me, things would have gone differently…” What would have been! Sometimes they blamed Stalin, sometimes other people.

In describing the attitude to people and to life:
Pewnego razu podsłuchałem rozmowę komisarza z dowódcą batalionu strzeleckiego, który w tym czasie toczył walkę. Ta rozmowa wyrażała istotę rzeczy: Powalczymy jeszcze dzionek, dwa, dobijemy resztę I pojedziemy na tyły na przegrupowanie. Wtedy dopiero się zabawimy!

Once I overheard a conversation between our Commissioner and a shooting battalion commander, who was fighting a battle at the time. This conversation expressed the essence of the matter: “We will fight a day or two, kill off the rest and go to the back to regroup. Then we’ll have some fun!

Killing off the rest is in reference not to the enemy, but to their own soldiers. Killing off meant allowing the enemy to kill them, but what’s the difference to you the lowly soldier of the front line?
Zresztą, wojna zawsze była podłością, a armia – instrumentem zabójstwa. Nie ma wojen sprawiedliwych, wszystko one są – mimo różnych uzasadnień – nieludzkie. Żołnierze zaś zawsze byli nawozem. Zwłaszcza w naszym wielkim mocarstwie i szczególnie w czasach socjalizmu.

Besides, war has always been vile, and the army – an instrument of killing. There are no righteous wars, all of them are - despite various justifications - inhuman.  Soldiers have always been fertilizer. Especially in our big superpower and especially in times of socialism.

“Ludzie to pył. Naprzód!” “People are dust. Forward!” quote of general who was told his approach was a death wish for his division.
The author frankly cannot hide his disgust at journalists and other good for nothings who stayed at the back and profited from the death on the front line. He resents how they tell their stories and collect their medals.
Pogrzebią szlachetną pamięć o tych, którzy naprawdę walczyli i zginęli. Wojnę, o której sami wiedzą niewiele, przedstawią w romantycznej aureoli. To, że wojna oznacza strach, śmierć, głód, nikczemność – odejdzie na drugi plan.

They bury the noble memory of those who actually fought and died. The war, of which they know little, they present with a romantic aura. The fact that war is fear, death, hunger, wretchedness – comes in second place.

About injuries and survival:
Ludzie, którzy naprawdę walczyli na wojnie, bezwarunkowo powinni albo zginąć, albo trafić do szpitala. Nie wierzcie tym, którzy mówią, że przeszli całą wojnę bez jednej rany. To znaczy, że albo wałęsali się na tyłach, albo sterczeli przy sztabie.
Mnie ratowało od śmierci nie tylko szczęście, ale – głównie – odniesienie rany. W krytycznych momentach pomagały mi uciec spod kul. Ranienie – byle nie w brzuch i nie w głowę, bo równało się to śmierci – było szczęśliwą okolicznością! Idziesz na tyły, tam cię myją, przebierają, kładą na czystym prześcieradło, karmią, poją….O zranieniu żołnierze marzyli jak o urlopie. O lekkim.

People who actually fought in the war should unconditionally either die or end up in hospital. Don’t believe those who say that they passed through the war without a single wound. This means that they were either loitering at the back or waiting it out at the headquarters.

I was rescued from death, not only by luck, but - mainly – from getting wounded. In critical moments, that helped me escape the bullets. Getting wounded – just not in the stomach and not in the head because it meant death - was a happy circumstance! You went to the back, where you were washed, dressed, put on a clean sheet, fed, and watered...Soldiers dreamed of getting wounded like dreaming about a vacation. Slightly wounded that is.

But don’t even think about injuring yourself on purpose. For that they shot you in the head.
And now to get the perspective of the Russian aggressors described by the German women in the previous book:
As the Russian army crossed over into German territory…
Teraz wojna pokazała jeszcze jedno – zaskakujące dla mnie – oblicze. Wydawałoby się, że doświadczyłem wszystkiego: śmierci, głodu, ostrzałów, pracy ponad siły, zimna. Otóż nie! Było coś straszniejszego, co mnie dobiło ostatecznie. W przeddzień wejścia na terytorium Rzeszy do oddziałów frontowych przyjechali agitatorzy. Niektórzy wysokiej rangi.
-Śmierć za śmierć!!! Krew za krew!!! Nie zapomnimy!!! Nie wybaczymy!!! Pomścimy!!!
I staliśmy się tacy sami, jak naziści. Co prawda, tamci rozrabiali planowo: utworzyli gett, obozów, stworzyli protokoły i zestawienia zagrabionego majątki, rejestr kar, planowe egzekucje i tak dalej. U nas poszło po słowiańsku, żywiołowo. Bijcie, chłopaki, palcie, głuszcie! Marnujcie ich kobiety! Oprócz tego przed ofensywą sowicie zaopatrzono wojska w wódkę. I poszliśmy.

Now the war showed me one more surprising  face. It would seem that I had experienced everything: death, starvation, shellings, exhaustion, cold. But no! There was something terrible, which eventually “killed” me. On the eve of entering the territory of the Reich, agitators arrived to the front. Some were high ranking.

-Death for death! Blood for blood! Do not forget! Do not forgive! Revenge!

And we became the same as the Nazis. In truth, they did their damage following a plan: they created ghettos, camps, created records and statements, seized possessions, recorded penalties, planned executions and so on. We did our damage the Slavic way, spontaneously. Beat you guys, burn, smother! Ruin their women! In addition, before the offensive, the army was provided with ample supplies of vodka. And so we went.

As the war comes to an end, the author made it from Leningrad to Berlin.
Kontakty z sojusznikami były nikłe. Przeszkadzała bariera językowa i powściągliwość Anglików, którzy patrzyli na nas z góry. Amerykanie byli bardziej bezpośredni, zwłaszcza Murzyni, którzy z nami sympatyzowali.

Contacts with the Allies were slim. The language barrier interfered as well as the reserved nature of the English, who looked down on us. Americans were more direct, especially black Americans, who sympathized with us.

He goes on to describe an amusing situation in which a drunk Russian soldier stopped a German on his bike, hit the German in the ear, stole his bike and went on his way. The German complained to the English and they recovered his bike. Later a black American soldier got that bike from the German and handed it over to the Russian with a friendly slap on the back (for the Russian) and another punch to the ear for the German.
While that story is sad yet mildly amusing, the next is not.
W Berlinie widziałem, jak Amerykanin pobił śmiertelnie swojego rodaka – Murzyna. Bił go bestialsko, podkutymi butami kopał w brzuch, w twarz. Wszystko to nie wzbudzało sympatii do sojuszników.

In Berlin I saw an American beat his black compatriot to death. He beat him so savagely, with his spiked shoes he kicked him in the stomach, in the face. All this did not arouse sympathy for the allies.

I chose these few remarks from the book to give you a taste, however, the book consists of much more. The author includes his war story, the stories of others, anecdotes both humorous and tragic, his reactions and later reflections of what went on. Sometimes I got lost in the chronology as I think the author did as well in 1975 when he finally decided to put his story down in writing. I also got lost in my Polish occasionally mixing up active and passive tense as I do. I am fortunate enough to know war only from books and documentaries. I hope it stays that way.

Polecam

I recommend two articles from natemat.pl about… What else?
America!
Admit it, you thought I was going to write religion, didn’t you?

The first one http://natemat.pl/76325,nowa-fala-american-dream-mlode-pokolenie-pokochalo-stany-zjednoczone describes the fascination some young Poles have with America and American culture. It’s worth reading.
Sometimes my younger students (under 30) ask me about some musical artist or some movie and are shocked when I haven’t heard or seen it. Sometimes I have never even heard of it. I have heard more than once with a laugh, “Are you really American?” I don’t know…I don’t think knowing whole dialogues from “Scarface” by heart is necessary for me to prove myself as an American. Gawd, if you don’t know “Ciemność widzę” does that mean you’re not Polish enough?
I recently referred to a very popular American television series that I have never seen as “Waking Bad” and almost get my ass kicked by one very loyal Polish fan. Sorry, bitch.*

The next one http://natemat.pl/76847,my-tez-mielismy-swoj-american-dream-czy-mlodzi-maja-powod-by-zachwycac-sie-stanami includes experiences from Polish people who emigrated to America at different ages for different reasons at different times in history and with different results.
Are they living the American Dream?
I don’t know what the American Dream means for Polish people but for me it means the possibility to markedly improve your educational and financial status through your own hard work. Following that definition, most economists would agree that the American Dream is dead.

I think I have written a lot about what can be surprising or irritating to people moving to Poland**, but what can be surprising or irritating for those people moving to America. Well, a lot things.

The fact that you can work and work and work and have nothing. That losing your job can put you in dire straits, not only with your bills and bank but with your health care and your children’s health care. Not that it only happens in America, but that it shouldn’t happen in America of all places. At least that’s we think before we go.

The fact that health insurance is very expensive and not guaranteed.

The fact that your employer doesn’t have to give you vacation days.
The fact that people over a certain age can be found in all kinds of jobs, meaning that some jobs are not just reserved for the young.

The fact that there are plenty of poor people in America. That people go hungry. That one street away from the beautiful and modern city center is a street of burned out buildings with people sleeping on the street.

That people smile at you on the street.

That university is so expensive, but mortgages are cheap.

That you can wear jeans and sneakers to church.

That gasoline is so much cheaper, but everything is far away.

That food is so much cheaper and portions are so much bigger.
That people throw away perfectly good stuff and them buy new stuff.

That a person who has never been to Poland but has one Polish family member from three generations back thinks that he is Polish too and call Poland the “old country”.

That people will drive from one end of a strip mall to the other instead of just walking.

That doing business in America is like entering another mindset.
That nobody will steal your hubcaps and you can live a pretty calm life until the moment you get shot.

Enjoy the articles. I think I will go to the new American diner in town to enjoy my Polish dream.

*One character from that show calls everybody “bitch”. I’m rude, but not that rude.
**Drinking age is 18. People will help you get your baby carriage on/off the bus without even asking. Cashiers almost always ask for exact change. You can buy raw milk from a machine without getting arrested. Old ladies crowd you everywhere you go and like to jump line. You are supposed to sit in your assigned seat at the movies. You don’t get a bill from the hospital after having a baby. If you forget to pay your ZUS, they block your entire account not just the unpaid amount. Bread is still pretty good. You can walk more places because there usually is a sidewalk. Priests and nuns work at school. Dog poo bombs are everywhere. People don’t smile on the street but they do say hello/good-bye when entering/exiting stores, the doctor’s office, post office, etc. If you drop something you should pick it up and blow on it. If you have to provide a urine sample, you need to bring the sample with you. They play the dirty versions of all the foreign songs on the radio and your 7-year-old will sing along to “…this is fucking awesome.” I could go on and on but you get the picture.

As seen in Poland

This is my own private Catholic Culture Day here on Kielbasa Stories. I am a big fan of the roadside crucifix. Though not a Catholic, I can appreciate the fact that I live in a Catholic culture and can admire the symbols of the religion (except in my children’s classrooms). It seems that the fashion of our area involves plastic flowers and streamers for stand-alone crucifixes and little or no adornment for crucifixes near a church or chapel building. Our village doesn’t have a real church, but just a chapel in an old building. We also have a large, modestly decorated crucifix. Some smaller communities just have their decorated crucifix (no chapel) with benches around or without. They hold some church services there. Either the parish is responsible for upkeep and decorating or it is passed around the parishioners house by house as it is in our village for cleaning and decorating the chapel. I opted-out. Enjoy.







Readers from other parts of Poland, do you have a different decorating trend in your neighborhood?

In case you missed it…

…somebody in Rzeszów went too far. Read about it here.
Apparently, the headmasters of public primary school #27 in Rzeszów have lost it. As they do every year, this school is celebrating Christian Culture Week.
Here’s the breakdown of the schedule:

Z internetowej strony SP nr 27 w Rzeszowie - propozycje tematów realizowanych na lekcjach (pisownia oryginalna):
Informatyka: Utworzenie prezentacji o Sanktuariach Maryjnych naszej diecezji
Matematyka: Rozwiązywanie zadań tematycznie związanymi z sanktuariami
J. polski: Pisemna prace: List do Papieża Franciszka z podziękowaniem za Sanktuaria Maryjne z zaznaczeniem o obchodach Tygodnia Kultury Chrześcijańskiej, który stał się tradycją naszej szkoły oraz prośbą o błogosławieństwo dla wszystkich uczniów, nauczycieli i pracowników naszej szkoły
Religia: Omawianie i poznawanie sanktuariów w naszej diecezji
Historia: Chronologiczna segregacja Sanktuariów Maryjnych diecezji rzeszowskiej
Język angielski/niemiecki/francuski: "Zdrowaś Mario" w różnych językach
Muzyka: Śpiewanie i nauka Pieśni Maryjnych
Przyroda: Tworzenie mapy wybranych Sanktuariów Maryjnych diecezji
Plastyka: Malowanie lub wyklejanie obrazu Matki Bożej
Świetlica: Film o tematyce Maryjnej
Wystawa na korytarzu: Figurki Matki Bożej, książki o Matce Bożej, obrazy, prace uczniów. W czasie przerw prezentacja multimedialna o Sanktuariach Maryjnych

Did somebody say “ja pierdole”?
Kids who don’t want to participate in Christian Culture Week can go to the library, but the main principal meant only during mass. Yep, mass. Where can those kids go to escape the above lessons with a Catholic theme? On the list there’s IT, math, Polish, catechism (as expected), history, foreign languages, music, science, art and even in the day room (the place kids who don’t go to catechism are often sent). What can non-Catholic teachers say? Probably nothing, unless they want to wave bye-bye to their jobs.
I teach a boy who goes to Catholic school. They had Jewish Culture Week last year and every year. It involved Polish, history and music lessons and was very well-received by parents and students alike. I see a distinct difference between those two “Culture Weeks”. In my opinion, Jewish Culture Week was just that, a week to become more familiar with the culture of the Jewish faith. Christian Culture Week in this school in Rzeszów sounds more like “Our Parish Days”.
The headmasters defend themselves with this:
The topics for the lessons are only suggestions, but are appropriate to each subject and within proper learning objectives. No one or almost no one protested in the past and the majority rules. Children are not required to participate (they mean only mass and catechism class).
In my experience, most people that I have talked to who support catechism at public school feel that the possibility to opt-out of catechism is enough of an allowance for non-Catholics. And that’s the core of our disagreement. If my children were students of this school in Rzeszów, I would most likely keep them home for the whole week. They would receive the dreaded “1” which is an “F” in the States for all the assignments. Older kids can straighten out what they believe, what the school promotes, and what their parents think about it, but this is elementary school. Not fair in my opinion and quite nachalny.

Pain

Part of my getting my shit together plan is to come to terms with the past and resolve any conflicts while looking ahead into the future. At least that’s what it says on the list.
Well, I’m not exactly going to do that.
I have one personal conflict in the family with my mother-in-law. It doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m not in need of patching things up just in case one of us were to pass on. It is what it is.


However, I thought I would just write something about the time I was ill, just to get it out. I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t even like to think about and avoid the topic altogether if anyone asks me about it.
I started to think about it again after reading an article about pain. You see, pain was my most dominant symptom.
The article which appeared in Gazeta Wyborcza’s supplement Duży Format. Wyłam z bólu. Oni pytali: co za śmieć tu leży? is the title of the interview of patient Anna Kleszcz by Grzegorz Sroczyński. The title in English would be “I howled in pain and they asked: what’s this piece of trash lying here?”
“Przez dwa lata prowadziłam prywatne śledztwo, na ile powszechne jest to, co mi się przydarzyło. Tortury w polskich szpitalach są niestety zgodne z prawem.” (“For 2 years I have led a private investigation of how common it is what happened to me. Torture in Polish hospitals in unfortunately in accordance with the law.”) Anna Kleszcz is fighting so that what happened to her and still happens to other parents each day will change. I wish her all the best. After reading her story, I felt like I knew her.

Ms. Kleszcz suffered from an abscess on her spinal cord. I cannot imagine the pain she suffered, but I can identify with what I can only call cruelty of the medical personnel which by not easing her pain, in fact, tortured her until she lost consciousness and almost until she lost her sanity. It reminds me of one of my doctor’s commenting to the other, “Do something. You are turning this poor woman into a crazy person.” And crazy with pain, I was.
In my case and in Ms. Kleszcz’s, the hospital did not lack the drugs or the means to administer them. The drugs are neither expensive nor addictive. They simply lacked normal human decency, and it is not an isolated incident. Ms. Kleszcz has the data to back up her claims. Additionally, she is collecting cases of patient suicides. People of all ages some with serious illnesses, others without, all sharing in pain, throwing themselves out of hospital windows or down hospital stairs. This is the determination and desperation of patients to end not their lives, but their pain.

I’m not surprised by Ms. Kleszcz’s shocking treatment. I was once that crazy lady writhing and screaming in pain in many a Polish hospital and no I’m not referring to giving birth. For that you scream in pain for awhile, but soon it all goes away and you get to go home with a baby. I just got, “We don’t know what’s wrong with you, but we suspect it’s all in your head.” Then they write on your release papers that you’re sick in the head but in Latin. You take those papers to the next doctor who starts out prejudiced against you and that’s how you go without diagnosis or treatment from doctor to doctor, hospital to hospital.
In the hospital they ask you to stop screaming, then they tell you sharply, then they start screaming. After that they send in the head shrinker. In my experience when you tell the head shrinker to go and fuck herself, you’re not any closer to getting the pain meds you need, but I did thank her (give her the finger) for suggesting meditation and acupuncture. That was right after I begged her for mercy. She showed me none.
I was tested and examined inside and out over more than a year. Every orifice was probed and if you could camera in there, then they did. They even cut some pieces from some pretty strange places and tested them but all was normal except the pain, the pain which kept growing stronger and encompassing more and more of my body.
In one hospital when I told the doctor that my bladder hurt (the main, but not only source of my pain) she said it was impossible. I insisted. She laughed and asked, “How do you know it’s your bladder?” I pinched her arm hard and twisted. She screamed, “Ow! What do you think you are doing?!”  I asked, “Did that hurt?” She shouted, “Yes, it hurt! You pinched my arm!” “How do you know it’s your arm?” I asked. That doctor didn’t help me either.

Countless doctors visits, hospital stays, tests, procedures, research. After 2 years of constant and increasing pain,I could tell you what I didn’t have. I didn’t have stomach ulcers, diverticulitis, stomach cancer, intestinal cancer, or bladder cancer. I did not have ulcers on the inner bladder wall nor bacteria embedded in the wall. There definitely was not a parasite of any kind in my bladder, stomach or intestinal tract, believe me, you don’t want to know how they check it. Additionally, I did not have TB of the kidneys, an ailment I did not even know existed. Although a very stupid ER doctor diagnosed me with kidney stones, my kidneys (as well as my liver) were all clear. Incontinence was not a problem either and bladder capacity seemed to be normal, well, normal for me (no gold medal bladder awards for me even before I was ill).
What did I have? Constant pain, at first starting in my bladder and then taking over practically my whole body along with the never-ending urge to urinate. Add to that intestinal spasms and the slow numbing of my backside and thighs and I was a wreck.
That’s the first time I ever thought that life was too long. I had ‘lived’ 2 years already with this pain and I couldn’t imagine living 2, 3 or 10 more. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I barely ate or drank. I daydreamed about death the way people dream about winning the lottery. But just like the lottery, winnings rarely come right before you spend your last penny, and quick and painless accidental deaths rarely come to those contemplating suicide. I was gonna have to take matters into my own hands.
And I will leave that subject there.

I traveled all over Poland for treatment. I also went to a private hospital in Germany which sent me back to Poland untreated but on the right path to finding a proper diagnosis. I finally found help with doctor #28. Despite my informing him that the medical community was a kurwidół and all doctors were kurwy, he still treated me. (translated to whore’s den and whores – such a proud moment of speaking Polish but I was too sick to enjoy it) He told me what he thought my problem was based on my symptoms and test results. He suggested a treatment method and a time frame. His plan included pain relief. It took almost 5 months before any noticeable change took place, but while taking the pain meds I could sleep a bit. I could eat. After one year, I could smile. After a year and half we starting a weaning plan. After 2 years I was pain-free and thinking about children. I’ve had one relapse since then which was taken care of in a matter of weeks of treatment by the same doctor. It’s a pity he was not doctor #1.
There it is. I’ve got it out.

Grają nie fair

The first day of school was Monday czyli yesterday. Knowing that the kids in Poland are automatically signed up for Religia czyli catechism, Misiu went to Rosie’s new kindergarten teacher to sign her out. The teacher told Misiu not to worry about it and that he could officially sign her out at the class meeting on Wednesday czyli tomorrow. No worries, right?
Today, czyli Tuesday, Rosie attended Religia czyli catechism and informed us that she needs a book for Religia. She’s only 5. This happened in pre-school as well. That’s why Misiu stepped up on Monday. I think the school is not playing fair.

The first day of school in Poland…

…stinks.
Today, I officially have a 2nd grader and a kindergartener. Our kindergartener is also missing her first tooth. She was so jealous of her older sister who lost 3 teeth in one week and cleaned up moneywise from the tooth fairy. Anticipation really must sweeten the situation because I have never seen a child more happy to find a coin under her pillow than our little Rosie. As per tradition, she asked the tooth fairy to leave her tooth behind as well, so I did. I mean the tooth fairy did. Of course, the tooth fairy did.
Anyhow back to the first day of school – The first day of school in Poland is always the first Monday of September. That you can depend on, and well, only that. Oh and maybe that the kids are supposed to dress galowa which had me confused at first until someone told me it doesn’t mean to dress for a gala, just to dress up a little. Let’s say today we were hipster galowa.
Anyhow, the time your child starts and the time your child finishes the first day of school, nobody knows, sometimes not even the teacher. In my girls’ school, the older kids started at 8 a.m. with the next smaller kids starting at 9 a.m. and the kindergarteners started at 10:00. By noon they were all back home and by they I mean kids plus Daddy because with the little ones, a parent (or other adult family member) has to take a day off from work to accompany the kids to school, collect all the papers and forms, and spend the rest of the day with the kids probably at Tesco buying notebooks and crayons and other school supplies.
Luckily, our Rosie got the kindergarten teacher we were hoping for. It is Lizzie’s former pre-school teacher. We had the choice to send Rosie to kindergarten in pre-school (subsidized but still paid) or to kindergarten in school (not paid except for materials, meals and extras). Lizzie attended kindergarten in pre-school for the sole reason that she had  great teachers. Rosie is attending kindergarten in school for the sole reason the her pre-school teachers really stank. One was fired for striking a child and she was the best one! Tomorrow, Rosie will eat in the school cafeteria for the first time. I can’t wait to hear her reaction.
As per Polish school scheduling, Lizzie starts and finishes at a different time each day. It’s odd for me that a 7-year-old starts at 10:45 and finishes at 2:30 one day and then starts at 8:00 and finishes at 11:30 the next day, but whatever. At least they put catechism as the first or last lesson. And let that be a lesson to you all, complaining loudly works.
Happy, happy school year to you all!