History

I don't know about you, but some dates and situations just stick in my memory - like the day Stalin died. They were playing classical music on the radio and a girl in my class cried her eyes out and I wondered what the hell for. Didn't her parents tell her the guy was not very nice? That was in 1953. Sure dates me, doesn't it?

Then there was the day my father died: 21 June, 1956. It was the day my cousin Andras' dog bit me. And it was the day I turned my back on JC forever. I had made a deal with the big JC to save my father. But he died. Well, that was the end of JC for me. What does he know, if he can't save one lousy human life, right?

But I digress. Of course these memories return, because today is my cousin Gabor's birthday and his sister Cathy turned 60 yesterday. It is also the 50th anniversary of the Hungarian revolution. And I definitely remember where I was that day - in Buda with my cousins, celebrating Cathy's 10th and Gabor's 14th birthday. I couldn't go home for a week.

I can only guess the state my poor mother was in. Not only did she just lose her husband of 21 years, but two weeks before that she underwent thyroid surgery, and here she was, all alone, with me stuck at the other end of town and my brother out on the streets, blending in the crowd, playing the hero, like every other university student.

And yet she coped. Not only did she cope, but she also found the strength to organise our escape in December, to fulfill the pledge she made with my father: as soon as there was a chink in the Iron Curtain, they would leave.

People came to say good bye and warned her of the dangers of her decision to defect. They didn't have to tell her, she was already scared. But she persisted with her decision to leave. And when we discovered that the fishing boat had been disabled by a bullet hole, she decided to continue the journey.

I remember Mom was scared whitless as we huddled together, wet, in the leaking boat, with the sound of border patrol boats whafting towards us in the starlit night. She was sure they would come and get us.

Well, they didn't. Every watchtower we passed was empty and all the flares were too far away for us to be seen by the bad guys.

So, the lesson I take from all this is that no matter how terrifying a situation one finds onself, one should not give up on one's dreams.

As many of you remember, I had a pretty amazing mother. So, I figure, the least I can do is to emulate her example and take this cancer thing in stride, continue with my dream and write that book, screenplay and short stories. Making a living will take care of itself, somehow.