Home Lives With Us

One cold winter night in Czechoslovakia in 1964, my Babi’s family crossed the border of the “Iron Curtain” into Austria. She thought they were going away for a weekend, and she was 11 years old – the same age I am now. They were interrogated by armed soldiers, but all they had was $78 and a weekend’s worth of clothes, so they passed through the checkpoint. Then, my Babi learned they would not be going home again. They had escaped the Communist regime, and they were now refugees. They went into hiding in Austria for months, waiting for asylum status in another country. Finally, they received an offer from the United States and moved to New York City. My Babi lived in a tiny one-room apartment with her mom, dad, and brother. They had no money and could not speak English. Her dad worked in a factory to save money for a plot of land. They moved to Long Island and lived in a tent on their land, where they built their own house with their bare hands. They had to make their own clothes and my Babi was teased for her accent, and for not fitting in. Their family didn’t return to Czechoslovakia until it was safe for them, 30 years later. Instead, they made a home and new life in North America. They were supported by the kindness of strangers. A local church gave them money and food. They worked very hard, and eventually my Babi became a doctor. I’ve learned from my Babi’s life experience that a home is wherever your family is, in a country where you are safe together. I am very grateful for their sacrifices. Without them, I wouldn't have the home and family I do today.