Yiayia's Journey Part 10

                                      
In 1945, life was evolving in my grandparent's New Kensington, PA home. Yiayia vigilantly oversaw the family wartime routine - enforcing nightly curfews, blackouts, and practicing air raid drills. "The Busy Bee" restaurant was booming with the constant stream of hungry military personnel. Chrysanthy, Anastasia, and now Tasso were thriving in the American school system. And while Yiayia couldn't help them with their homework academically, she imparted invaluable lessons in hard work and sacrifice.
                                              
                                                               My Thea Anne (Anastasia) 

 With her typical "Mi mas kanis rezili" (do not bring shame to the family name) - she'd send her brood to after school scrap drives. She helped them buy 10 and 25 cent stamps for their war bond booklets that, when full, could be exchanged for a $25 war bond. And amid rampant food shortages, she'd toil in her "Victory Garden", then share her bounty with neighbors in need. As she journeyed door to door, her gaze invariably fell to the inspirational but often painful symbol that adorned so many windows: War Service Flags. As she would learn, blue stars indicated a loved one's military service. Gold stars marked the ultimate sacrifice -- a fallen son or father. And more and more, Yiayia would see gold -a devastating reminder that "such is the life". The Americans she'd come to love were struggling to adapt and to endure as well. 

                                           

But a seed of hope soon emerged. Despite the death toll, the Allies made historic headway in the Battle of Normandy. That April, American troops liberated their first German concentration death camp (Ohrdruf). And while there was still no word of the beloved mother and siblings Yiayia had left behind, parts of Greece were being liberated. Yiayia and Papou suddenly dared to hope--could the end of this terrible conflict finally be in sight? But a few days later, their hope shattered as they stood by their kitchen radio. Their beloved President Roosevelt -- the man Yiayia prayed would ultimately free her loved ones under enemy occupation in Greece -- had suddenly died. As 7-year-old Tasso watched from the hall, Yiayia despaired. Papou wept. It was the first time he'd ever seen his father cry. 


My Thea Chrysanthy and my father, Tasso.

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