And on the 8th day, she completely blanked out and couldn’t think of a single freakin’ thing to write about.

So, here’s what she did:

1. Went to Random.org.
2. Got a random number between 1 and 100.
3. Went to her list of 100 Things.
4. Found the one that matched her random number (88).
5. Wrote a post to elaborate on the 88th thing she’d listed:

“I am Lebanese, Polish, and Slovak.”
Whooo-hoo. She bets you wish she’d typed “The End” after the first sentence and called it good.

But, since she needs to be committed (to actually doing this NaBloPoMo thingie), she will bore you with more information about her. And you’re probably wondering why she decided to write this in the 3rd person. Fuck if she knows, it just happened somehow.

Alright, that’s too hard. We’ll go back to first person now, okay?

Aaaaaanyway. My father is Lebanese. My mother is Polish (her dad) and Slovak (her mom). You’re wondering (or maybe you’re not….but hey, let me finish, okay?) - How does a nice Polish/Slovakian girl meet a Lebanese boy from the wrong side of the tracks?

An opportunity to open a trophy store with her uncle brought my mother’s family from the Pennsylvania hills and the danger of the coal mines to Michigan in 1955. Mom is the fourth child of five; two girls, three boys. She’s the younger sister. I wrote about my grandmother here - she was one of my favorite people in the world. I didn’t know my grandfather - he died when I was 5, but I am told he was instrumental in the care and spoiling of a certain baby who lived with him for a time.

My father’s dad worked in the automotive industry until he died of colon cancer in 1968. I never saw him when he wasn’t bedridden but I do have a picture of him sitting on the couch in their old house; the house where he died; before he got sick. My father looks a lot like him. I was never close to my Dad’s mother. She never liked my mother, and I took that to mean that she didn’t like me or my brother or sister as well. She lived the longest of any of my grandparents, though and was the only one to ever meet Shortman and Mr. Hot, so, in some way, I feel that bond to her.

MomandDad’s hometown was a mix of immigrants outside of Detroit. They knew each other while in high school, but didn’t date. Mom worked as a secretary after she graduated and dated a guy that she thought she would marry. Things didn’t work out (thank goodness! there would be no Hotfessional [snort]) - they split and she started dating Dad. Her parents didn’t want a “mixed marriage” for their daughter (yes, it was the early 60’s), but eventually, my father won them over (he has that way with people). Dad was in the Marines, stationed in North Carolina when they tied the knot. I was born 10 months and 13 days after their wedding (honeymoon baby? I believe so.). He was gone for the first six months of my life, so my mother and I lived with her parents, her older sister and her youngest brother. I was completely and utterly doted upon. It’s a wonder I grew up as humble as I did [snort, again.]

My brother was born in 1965 and my sister was born in 1968. We’re all about as different as full siblings can be. They are olive-skinned with dark hair and dark brown eyes. They’re very much like my father - in their looks, beliefs and their actions. They are close to each other, but not to me. This isn’t a criticism or a complaint. I’m as much at fault (if there is a fault) as they are.

They both have large families (my brother has 4 and my sister has 5 children); they travel to each other’s homes on a regular basis. (They live over 600 miles from each other, so this is amazing to me. I can barely stand being in a car for an hour, much less 11 or 12 - and with children……they’re either drugging the kids or themselves. I’m convinced).

I am fairer. My hair was light brown/blond when I was younger (and before I needed help from my friend Emily…..). I have green eyes. I have one child and a stay-at-home dad husband. Me? Not too traditional, not at all religious. Put me in a room with more than 5 people, and someone will probably die. Painfully. Because I can’t deal with crowds. Put my brother, sister, their spouses and their children in a room together? It’s a freakin’ mob. A loud one.

Being Lebanese, my father’s hurt by a lot of what is going on in the world today. He’s Muslim, but is not fanatical. My mother, raised Catholic, follows my father’s faith except when it comes to covering her head and praying. They’re good people. They take care of each other; they love their children and absolutely adore their grandchildren.

So, you may wonder….what do you get when you cross a Lebanese man with a Polish/Slovak woman?

Well, other than a near-sighted lunatic with writer’s block? Someone who loves pierogis and falafel and can write her name in Arabic and say “Give me a kiss” in Polish.

—- Oh, and feel free, if you’re stuck, to use the above method to figure out a topic. Next time, though, I’m going to randomize from 1 to 201 and go pick one of Kristabella’s topics and write about HER! —-

Trackback URI | Comments RSS