Some things are required and universal for those of Greek ancestry- First and foremost was the language... It was impossible not to speak or understand Greek. It was an ocean in which one was immersed - it was every where and on every one's tongue. Admittedly my Greek is not very good because my mother was not Greek though she did learn to speak a bastardized and entirely auditory dialect.. Hillbilly Greek some called it. And since my mother was a Southerner I got a double dose of hillbillism.. My mother's family being Floridians who traced their roots to the late 18th century. My mother's father was descended from the Oglethorpe Colony in Georgia. My Greek grandparents were also considered hillbillies and their dialect distinctive.
Some may have thought less of me because of my mixed heritage. Certainly my father's siblings and their children always projected a superior attitude because of their unfettered heritage. I thought it a great benefit to be both American and Greek... The clannishness of the Greeks seemed foreign to me... and summer vacations to Florida were the most welcomed time of the year. In my Greek world, Christmas as it has been practiced in America did not exist. Perhaps it was the abject poverty in which I was raised. More likely it was fundamental focus on Easter as the single most important holiday of the year.. holy-day, if you like.
I was born in Florida and then moved to a small town near Pittsburgh PA. I remember the flight from Jacksonville to Pittsburgh when I was three... and the harsh winters of that area. One memory of the nature of the cold involves my papou (Greek grandfather) feeding coal into the huge furnace in the basement of the family home. Trying to reconstruct the event plagued me for years until I remembered how brashly, vociferously I complained about the cold linoleum floor, the deep snows, the vicious winds and I guess my Papou decided to add warmth to the house. I recall his taking me by the hand and walking me down from the second floor to the basement. He opened the furnace door and the flames, the firey red glow both impressed and frightened me. Why and when we moved I cannot say because my mother was never very explicit about events and movements in those years.
For Greeks the home, the family and the church were the three most important aspects of life. These punctuate much of Greek life... Even making the sign of the cross is performed three times.. always three, three times around the altar and church in a Greek wedding. Three expectorations at christenings to stave off the Devil. And of course the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost though my memories of religious zeal always involved the Holy Mother- the Panayea as she is called.
I liked much about the closeness of family. Aunts, uncles, cousins by the dozens provided a security that many never know. But alas that early life in the transplanted Greek village was to change. When I was ten we moved to Greek Town in Baltimore, which ironically was more Greek than the little town where my Greek grandparents and their extended families had emigrated. In PA everyone was related. Baltimore was much the same except that the Greek community was larger and there were less relatives. Still there was the distinct flavor of a transplanted ethnic community. Most of the people in that small section of Baltimore were Greek... the difference being that in PA the first generation had come from Asia Minor and the island of Rhodes. In Baltimore Greeks from all corners of the Greek world came together... Rhodians Athenians, Cretans, and on and on. Dialects varied and my hillbilly Greek was often the butt of jokes.
Like all children of Greek heritage I was sent to Greek school. The elders attempted to keep the culture they knew alive, the language, the dances, the rituals. But I never liked Greek school because of its harsh authoritarian nature. Physical punishment was often inflicted and after several years of Greek school I decided at the tender age of 8 to drop out. Later while living in Baltimore I was sent to Greek school again... and again I made the decision not to stay the course my friends were following. After all I was only half Greek.. and I was living in America.
But that was the confusing part.. we were Greeks but unshakably patriotic.. all my uncles served in the military with both valor and praise be to God without being injured or killed.
Well that's not entirely true... my father had been irreparably damaged by his years in the Pacific.. he went to the Pacific theater with a sheltered and sweet nature and returned a frightened, angry and schizophrenic victim. So I was tagged with three terrible disadvantages (there would be more).
First I was a half-breed and few full bloods ever allowed me to forget it. Second my father was schizophrenic and third we were among the poorest of the poor in both communities because my father was never able to hold down a job. Add to that I was an only child until I was in the second grade...
My next major calamity cut short my manhood before it began. At sixteen I smashed an automobile into a wall and knocked out six of my front teeth. So I became a marginal man without a smile. My good looks, a damn curse, taken from me in an instant. I've spent the rest of my life suffering and ashamed. The misfortunes in my life continued when at age 19 I was left alone with my schizophrenic father during the high times of the 1960's. My mother took my brothers and left. Alone without guidance I drifted into the late 60's without advice or income. At age 20, almost 21 I followed suit and left my father's house, broke, broken and alone.
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