Echoes of Tattered Tongues: Memory Unfolded

 CHRISTMAS IN THE CAMPS I wanted to write something about Christmas for the Dziennik Zwiazkowy this year that I hadn’t written before.  I’v...

My dad didn’t drink during World War II.  He was a Polish slave laborer in Buchenwald Concentration Camp for four years, and in the camps th...

The Day I Was Born in a Refugee Camp after the War My mother washed her face in cold water, tied her hair back, and put on an old dress.  S...

Only the  Dead   At first, the men of the burial battalion had tried to bury the dead.   They dug big trenches and deep ditches, and threw t...

 Talking to My Mother I remember one of the last conversations my mom and I had about the war. I had come to visit her in Arizona where she ...

“DON’T PICK YOUR NOSE!” When I was a kid, I heard this all the time.  I heard it from my parents and the nuns and my friends.  I heard it in...

My Books I saw an article recently about the ten things that guys like to collect.  It was an interesting list because – for the most part –...