
Q: I was talking with my dad the other day and the subject of my mom came up as it often does. Together we remember anew who she was to us. My father asked, "What did I do? Your mother was the spark."
A: Well, let me tell you a few of the things that matter to me, dad, as a way of saying "Happy Birthday" across a crowded country.

As I recall the stories you were the next-to-youngest in a Polish Catholic family. This is you and your mom on your First Communion Day. You were first generation American and you taught us to sing Christmas Caroles in Polish. Still today enough of the old language remains so you can read a Polish newspaper.
Your family, like so many others was a working class family. The least who could afford it took in the children who were orphaned by the flu epidemic. The Christmas you got a crystal radio set is still a highlight in your memory, as is the tangerine in the stocking. You taught us the value of generosity and thrift.
One of my favorite stories is how you and your brothers would go down to the rail yard and throw stones at the men on the coal trains. They would throw back coal pieces aiming to hit you and when the train rolled on you and your brothers gathered that coal to heat the house. You taught us to make use of what we had - and to be ingenious.
You and those brothers of yours all volunteered for millitary service in World War II. At one time all six sons were serving Uncle Sam. All six made it home safely - probably due to those candles your mother was burning at St. Hedwig's. Your example encouraged me to join the USNavy as a nurse in the corps. Those were some of my best years.
Your Polish heritage meant so much that you instilled in us the customs of Easter. Even after the local priest stopped making visits to the house to bless our Easter table you would carry a basket, a few dyed eggs, the loaf of babka to the rectory to receive the blessing. Decades later your 7 children have mastered kielbasa, Polish babka, mamacia's potato salad, and the cake in the shape of the Paschal Lamb, just like your mother Helen did.
You taught us that Christmas Eve was just as important as Christmas Day because of the preparation and the waiting. The straw under the tablecloth, the place setting for the unexpected guest, the blessing of the Christmas tree and Nativity were all a prelude to the magnificence of Christmas.
You were a dad of the 50's so a lot of your "job" was supposed to be going to work. Still and all you made it a practice to drive home every lunch time to have a quick fried egg or tuna sandwich with mom before going back to the "Labs." And when mom started to work your lunchtime became a stroll in the local park where armed with your camera you recorded on film the changing seasons as you saw them through your lens. You taught us beauty, imagination and creativity.
You loved our mother and there is no higher praise a girl can give a prospective partner than how well he loves his own mother. It's a clue to how well he will treat his bride.
Money was always tight. Yet, as mom reminded us, "We are rich; we just don't have a lot of money." We never went without. You found the resources to make sure we had what we needed. And a little bit more.
What's curious is that you were raised in a city. The closest you ever came to camping was a weekend on the property of the father of the actress Loretta Swit with other "disadvantaged boys." So what were we doing with a borrowed tent and sleeping bags in the rain in the Pocono Mountains? You wanted us to experience the outdoors.
Cashing in books of Green Stamps we accumulated first one and then another piece of camping gear: Coleman lantern, Coleman stove, sleeping bags, and eventually a tent that would house all 9 of us. You taught us to put up a tent, gather firewood, not wash our dishes (or our hair) in the lake, to appreciate the call of owls and the soft tread tread of deer - as well as the sight of black bears feasting in the local trash dump. You drove us there and you drove us back, mile after highway mile.
As a result of all those summers and autumns in New England 6 of the 7 of us went to college in one of its several states. I guess it became our second home.
You forged a partnership with mom as we hiked in those New England woods. As she bent to point out this or that flora and fauna you would shoot a picture. Eventually your photographs would hang in a gallery. Today they are a treasure trove of some 10,000 memories.
Few of those photographs have you in the picture. You were the one behind the viewfinder. So those we have are precious. And your skills at capturing a "Kodak moment" have found their way into others of us who shoot in digital now.
Many is the night you sat listening to finer music and chiding us about the radio tunes we enjoyed. All those arias paid off: my appreciation of music spans across the genres.
As does my love of food. You still say there are two kinds of people in this world, "Those who eat to live and those who live to eat." Food is family and enjoyment. What's a home-cooked meal without people to share it with? And be sure when you go to visit someone you take enough with you that you have to ring their doorbell with your elbows.
You taught me the importance of faith, family and friends. You taught me to dance the Polka. You taught me that even though I was the firstborn I couldn't be a heavy-handed Charles In Charge; that sometimes honey is better than vinegar. You have encouraged my hair-brained ideas; supported me when my marriage didn't go the distance; taught me the value of affection, compassion and human decency.
I could go on but I think for now I will wish you "Happy Birthday, dad, across a crowded country. We'll lift a brewski real soon. Meanwhile, make a wish on the candles." 
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