“My parents decided that I was committing a misalliance. At every step they tried to disgust my husband, because he was >> an ordinary robot

photo: Adobe Stock, LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS

I don’t remember how many there were, but certainly a lot. Some Marek, some Piotr, some Andrzej… They all had one thing in common: my parents loved them, not me. They studied, they were literate, cultured, from good homes, quite handsome; just budding singles. Until today, I don’t know what they were missing. But something must be missing, since I didn’t fall in love with any of them.

Janek didn’t show up. He was real

Janek didn’t lack that “something”. This compensated for the lack of education, the lack of a good formation and the lack of reading. Not in my parents’ eyes, of course.

– What do you see in it? Father asked bluntly.

Perhaps my husband’s most important characteristic was and still is sincerity. He never claimed to be anything other than what he is. He didn’t even try to. Of course, my parents took his authenticity for laziness. They said he just didn’t want to be a cultured, cultured man.

It was enough for me that I felt good in his company, that we spoke well. The most important thing is that we kept quiet. Perhaps because he did not seek, like my other colleagues, to impress with his snobbish taste, to flaunt his reading, etc.

The second thing that comes to mind is the nickname my father gave him: “Mr. Golden Hand” – they used the acronym PZR in their conversations with my mother. Initially in conversations with me too, but I pushed my head off when I realized they were being ironic.

At first they called it that to pay tribute, but over time, for some reason, they started laughing about it. Today, I think my father did it out of jealousy. He couldn’t even replace the seal on the water faucet himself, so he scoffed at the non-plumber’s ability to do it as easily as he drank his evening glass of cognac.

My parents were passionate about Janek earning more than them. They once fought for the free market, and once they won it, they now blame builders, not Polish philologists.

“You should have learned,” I told them when they were so angry at social injustice, “but something useful.”

– You are unfair – more so in defense of my father that my mother spoke then. – Thanks to people like your father, PZR can read the drill manual.

– Mom, I asked you not to call Janek that – I warned her.

My parents tried to disgust Janek at every turn. I thought they would recover, but it got worse. My father’s fury reached its peak when one day Janek arrived in a much better car than my father’s.

– He probably borrowed to impress us – he then said to my mother, thinking that Janek hadn’t heard him.

“I had it postponed,” her husband replied calmly. – I don’t like to borrow myself.

– You’re going to hide with him! – my mother poisoned me

My father blushed with anger, but said nothing. It wasn’t until Janek left that he said:

– This boy has no culture. He should have pretended not to have heard my attention.

“Dear dad,” I said. – Culture is not the ability to use the past.

I fought so that my parents finally appreciate Janek, and above all, so that they understand that not everyone is guided by criteria like them, and that in true love, it is difficult to find rational criteria. Sometimes, as Kora sang, “you love for nothing”.

If even Janek was a failure, then their concern for their daughter’s fate would be understandable. But they could see that he was doing very well in life, he even had his own business! My mother explained it this way:

– I am not afraid for your material status, but for your social status. And cultural. You will hide with it and your friends will be limited to painters and masons.

– Mom! – I was furious. – Like you can say that at all. It’s just a new form of racism.

– Not new, my dear. It has long been known that such misallies …

– What are misalliances again? Do you have our family for some accounts?

Who would have thought, they went to a concert together!

Until that memorable day when Janek convinced his father. It was after dinner that my father sat down in the armchair and picked up the newspaper.

“Here,” he said at one point. – The Czechs can, we can’t.

– What exactly? Janek asked.

-PinkFloyd. Does that tell you something? Father twisted his lips in disdain.

– Sure. I like the Floyd. Although without Waters, it’s not that.

My father’s diary almost fell from his hands. There was no room in his narrow mind for the possibility of a mason liking Pink Floyd.

– What do you like best? He asked impatiently.

– Hard to say. They recorded so many great songs…

– Why don’t you try?

And Janek tried, and my dad’s jaw dropped. He knew perfectly all the discography. However, when Janek offered a joint trip to Prague, my father refused. First, because he ended up accepting.

He only insisted that he would pay for his ticket himself. The rest of the shipping costs were covered by Janek. They came back changed. PZR disappeared irretrievably, and its place was taken by… Janek. And it is still the case today. Sometimes I laugh that my husband bribed my stepfather with a rock concert.

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