My Story...
"They made the man wait until all the passengers disembarked the Boeing 747 before finally delivering his precious cargo. There she was, a little shorter than he'd expected, but well fed and cared for non the less, the red plastic airline packet hanging around her neck as if she were a tiny bill-board advertising that day's lunch specials. He got down on one knee and she ran into his open arms, and the last four and a half years without him-alas, the last ten and a half years in a place seemingly so far now-melted away and were mostly forgotten."
The date was Friday, May 13, l977, and that man was my father. He had immigrated to the United States from Hungary in l972, and I came to join him in the Land of the Free to pursue the American Dream. But since I've grown up in it, I realize that our country is not quite what the Founding Fathers had intended.
It was the summer of 1972 in the communist block of Eastern Europe. My father drove his small family-a five year old daughter and his second wife, Ilona-from the capital of Hungary, Budapest, to the countryside along the Yugoslavian border for a vacation. We stayed a day or two in a bed and breakfast, and one morning set out on an adventure.
I remember going on a long hike through dry bushes that scratched my legs and arms. I remember that it was very hot, and I complained about wanting to stop. I remember sitting on my father's shoulders, how he held my ankles as I held onto his ears and forehead. And I remember the sound of dogs barking in the background, realizing they're getting closer and closer. There are flashes of laying in a strange bed, not at home in my own, and drinking raw milk still warm from the cow in a little cup.
According to my father, I'm blending two separate instances into one. Evidently, he actually tried to sneak across the border on two occasions in the same summer. The first time was during the heat I remember, when the border guards and their dogs did track us down in the thickett. They took my dad away and had a talk with him-he said they beat him up pretty good. But I was pretty sick with a nice case of heatstroke, so after a round of bribes in cash and prizes-all the money and jewelry we had on us, including Ilona's wedding ring- they let him out the next day, and we were allowed to go back home. Dad said that made him even more determined than ever to leave, so he waited a few weeks until the weather cooled some and we tried again. This time he was better prepared with more water, better directions, and he carried me a lot of the way. The story goes that we did make it across the border this time, and were resting up at a little farm house on the Yugoslavian side-my memory of drinking warm, raw milk is correct. But soon some soilders showed up, and our friendly host got even friendlier with them, and my dad was again taken away. I was left at the farm while my step-mom did "whatever she had to do" in order to get him out and keep things off paper. He said she never told him about it, just that she did what she had to. I can just imagine...not a good thing. Anyway, he was eventually let go and we were escorted back across the border to Hungary.
My father left permanently in December of that year. He was very paranoid, and afraid that it was just a matter of time before the authorities came for him. He and Ilona were suprized to be awarded tourist visas to Italy for a New Year's celebration tour. I guess the bribed men kept their word by not doing any paperwork and my dad's name was not on any blacklists. He knew that he and Ilona would not be coming back, but by leaving me behind, the government felt they could be trusted to return. Once in Italy, they did claim political asylum and ended up in the emigration camps in Capua. From there he found his sponsor, a Hungarian in N.Y. who vouched to offer him employment and housing until he was able to fend for himself in this country. My dad delivered pizzas until he saved enough money to buy a car which he shortly proceeded to drive to California. He and Ilona separated while in N.Y., and my father soon found himself single in the USA. You know those two "wild and crazy guys" from SNL in the '70s? Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd. Well, I swear somebody saw my dad and his friend Janos at a disco one night, because that was totally them, down to the accent and the bling and the pointed collars. I cry from laughter just thinking about that!
I remained behind with my grandparents, finding out the truth in a phone call in the middle of the night. I still remember Grandma crying and wailing about how her only son is never coming back, how she'll never be able to see him again. I am very happy to write that she was wrong about that part-she did see him again, several times-but they were short visits with long intervals between them, as it usually is when people live on different continents and with different mindsets. I am here today curtesy of the International Red Cross, which negotiated my release from Hungary to be reunited with my father under a provision that forbids governments from separating families claiming political asylum.
So, there you have it, I am technically a past fugitive and an illegal border crosser, twice caught. I can and do relate to those I see on TV 'sneaking' across our border-it is human to want to better your situation. It is correct to want better for yourself as well as for your children.
The date was Friday, May 13, l977, and that man was my father. He had immigrated to the United States from Hungary in l972, and I came to join him in the Land of the Free to pursue the American Dream. But since I've grown up in it, I realize that our country is not quite what the Founding Fathers had intended.
It was the summer of 1972 in the communist block of Eastern Europe. My father drove his small family-a five year old daughter and his second wife, Ilona-from the capital of Hungary, Budapest, to the countryside along the Yugoslavian border for a vacation. We stayed a day or two in a bed and breakfast, and one morning set out on an adventure.
I remember going on a long hike through dry bushes that scratched my legs and arms. I remember that it was very hot, and I complained about wanting to stop. I remember sitting on my father's shoulders, how he held my ankles as I held onto his ears and forehead. And I remember the sound of dogs barking in the background, realizing they're getting closer and closer. There are flashes of laying in a strange bed, not at home in my own, and drinking raw milk still warm from the cow in a little cup.
According to my father, I'm blending two separate instances into one. Evidently, he actually tried to sneak across the border on two occasions in the same summer. The first time was during the heat I remember, when the border guards and their dogs did track us down in the thickett. They took my dad away and had a talk with him-he said they beat him up pretty good. But I was pretty sick with a nice case of heatstroke, so after a round of bribes in cash and prizes-all the money and jewelry we had on us, including Ilona's wedding ring- they let him out the next day, and we were allowed to go back home. Dad said that made him even more determined than ever to leave, so he waited a few weeks until the weather cooled some and we tried again. This time he was better prepared with more water, better directions, and he carried me a lot of the way. The story goes that we did make it across the border this time, and were resting up at a little farm house on the Yugoslavian side-my memory of drinking warm, raw milk is correct. But soon some soilders showed up, and our friendly host got even friendlier with them, and my dad was again taken away. I was left at the farm while my step-mom did "whatever she had to do" in order to get him out and keep things off paper. He said she never told him about it, just that she did what she had to. I can just imagine...not a good thing. Anyway, he was eventually let go and we were escorted back across the border to Hungary.
My father left permanently in December of that year. He was very paranoid, and afraid that it was just a matter of time before the authorities came for him. He and Ilona were suprized to be awarded tourist visas to Italy for a New Year's celebration tour. I guess the bribed men kept their word by not doing any paperwork and my dad's name was not on any blacklists. He knew that he and Ilona would not be coming back, but by leaving me behind, the government felt they could be trusted to return. Once in Italy, they did claim political asylum and ended up in the emigration camps in Capua. From there he found his sponsor, a Hungarian in N.Y. who vouched to offer him employment and housing until he was able to fend for himself in this country. My dad delivered pizzas until he saved enough money to buy a car which he shortly proceeded to drive to California. He and Ilona separated while in N.Y., and my father soon found himself single in the USA. You know those two "wild and crazy guys" from SNL in the '70s? Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd. Well, I swear somebody saw my dad and his friend Janos at a disco one night, because that was totally them, down to the accent and the bling and the pointed collars. I cry from laughter just thinking about that!
I remained behind with my grandparents, finding out the truth in a phone call in the middle of the night. I still remember Grandma crying and wailing about how her only son is never coming back, how she'll never be able to see him again. I am very happy to write that she was wrong about that part-she did see him again, several times-but they were short visits with long intervals between them, as it usually is when people live on different continents and with different mindsets. I am here today curtesy of the International Red Cross, which negotiated my release from Hungary to be reunited with my father under a provision that forbids governments from separating families claiming political asylum.
So, there you have it, I am technically a past fugitive and an illegal border crosser, twice caught. I can and do relate to those I see on TV 'sneaking' across our border-it is human to want to better your situation. It is correct to want better for yourself as well as for your children.