Hi,

It's my birthday this week.

I had no children two birthdays ago, one child on my last birthday, and two on my birthday this year.

I do not plan on continuing the logic of this sequence... 😅

Old man, young baby

All this parenthood malarkey has made me think about how my father Marek dealt with me as a tiny kid.

He wrote about me as a baby and toddler in his autobiography:

Adam is systematically demolishing our home.

He carries toys from one spot to another, chucking them into every corner. My jars of paint tempt him no end. He takes two at a time, always starting with yellow colours. He grabs those first and then places them in various places around my workshop.

He rips up newspapers and colour magazines. He'd like to tear up all the books too that he looks at with curiosity, turning them from cover to cover as if he were reading them frustrated that they don't do anything for him. He wants revenge on them.

"No!" I shout. "Adam, no!"

It is indeed quite exhausting being a parent of small children. I say that as I turn 40.

For those of you unaware, Marek was 74 when I was born.

The Swiss incident

How would Marek have dealt with me had he had me when he was actually around my age? We have some proof in this 1947 excerpt from his diary.

He was staying in Switzerland with his wife Halina at a hotel with lots of other international guests. Some of them included American children...

One day, the American boys were throwing a tennis ball to each other during lunch. The French averted their eyes. Their nanny smiled sweetly when the ball landed in my plate, splashing my soup everywhere.

I was mortified.

One of the boys - maybe around 10 years old - ran over to our table, not to apologise, Lord no, but to get his ball back. Like nothing had happened.

I told him sharply what I thought of his behaviour. The boy listened with interest, after which he took a swing and smacked me in the teeth.

The French guests were aghast. Halinka burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Finally somebody's given that dignified chin of yours what for!" she giggled, unable to restrain her joy. And that was what infuriated me the most.

I grabbed the kid by the back of the neck, threw him over my knee and spanked his bottom with all my strength. My hand even started to go red.

Applause came from all the French tables, while the American nanny avoided the situation by simply fainting onto the ground. The waiter, waiting to maintain Swiss neutrality, stopped mid-step and began shuffling backwards out of the room.

And the boy? When I finally let him go, he stood there frozen. He didn't cry and he didn't run away. He held his sore cheeks in both hands and stared at me with a stunned expression on his face, like he'd just seen a supernatural being.

From that day onward, both American kids were unrecognisable. Something had changed in them - or it had dawned on them for the first time that not everything was permissible. Every time they see me they bow with the greatest respect: "Good morning, Sir; How do you do, Sir; Good night, Sir".

At the dinner table, they've even become role models for the French children. Only their nanny looks at me distrustfully, as if at a criminal. She avoids me.

Maybe this episode was one of the reasons Marek put off having children until so late in life.

But I have to say, I'm quite glad he was too old to give me a hiding. Probably the one advantage of having an aged father...

Music video recommendation of the week

You don't often see Polish and English rapping combined into a single piece of music - who exactly is the audience for this bilingual hip-hop? 🤔 But I enjoyed this example of this rare occurrence. I do think that some people listening who understand both won't understand either here, but that's also part of the charm.

That's all for this week. Hope you have a good one till next time. And remember to hydrate.

Adam

p.s. Turning 40 means I'm also listening to music that very much fits my mood...

Adam Zulawski

TranslatingMarek.com / Procrastilearning.com / More stuff

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