Bits of Kate: Grandma’s piroges
I wanted to take a second to talk about my Grandma Helen.
It’s not a really widely broadcast fact, but my Dad, aka “Sparky,” is actually my stepfather. He and my Mom have been together for most of my life, since I was about four or five years old. And, to be quite frank, he’s been the go-to guy in my life for as long as I can remember - taught me to ride a bike, soothed my wounds the first time I had my heart broken, walked me down the aisle when I got married, helped me move when I got divorced and has been present for all the major successes (and more than a few failures) of my life. The only thing he HASN’T had to do for me over the years is bail me out of jail (because, despite my protestations I’m a good girl, let’s just face it).
My Grandma Helen is my Dad’s Mom. And, though she and my Grandpa Ed (who died when I was nine) are/were very, very, very Catholic and do not believe in divorce — and, surely raised their eyebrows when their eldest son took up with a Protestant divorcee with two children — never in the 30+ years my parents have been together have either my brother M or I ever felt Helen thought of either of us as anything other than a cherished grandchild.
It was so important for us, M and me, on the heels of a horrible divorce between our Mom and our biological father (whom I am estranged from) that we be accepted into the Padak family. And, we were, wholly and unconditionally - from the moment they met us. So much so, that post-divorce, when I was considering changing my last name from “Kotler” to something else, the name I had chosen was Padak to honor my Dad’s family.
Anyhow — Gram is 85 and she’s still a spitfire. I’ve been lucky enough to get to spend a week or so with her on this trip, a week long overdue. One of the ways my Grandma (and her mother before her, my Great Grandma C) shows love is through feeding you. I’d say it’s a Polish thing, but honestly it’s also an Irish, Italian, Finnish and German thing, maybe it’s just a Grandma thing.
Of all the amazing things my Grandma has cooked me over my lifetime, my favorite by far is piroges. (My brother’s is Gram’s chicken soup and apple pie.) For years I’ve been begging Grandma to teach me how to make piroges: And, today, she did.
I know it doesn’t seem like much, but for me it is such an important moment that I’m going to cherish and replay in my head for the rest of my life. My Grandma’s hands teaching me how to roll out the dough and pinch the dumplings shut once they’re filled… it’s priceless imagery, really. And, it’s an honor, as next to my Dad, I’m the only one in our family she’s passed on the piroge recipe to — meaning it’s my duty to teach my niece and nephews how to make piroges and to make sure that the tradition is carried on through our family.
While I’ve always known that I did belong, nothing has made me feel it quite as much as this moment.
That’s all… silly, I know. But… still…
