On a trip to Europe, I was blessed to have participated in a day-long private group tour of Warsaw, Poland, exploring this historic city with our wonderful (and knowledgeable and equally passionate) guide, Iolanta. A couple of hours into our adventure, we were walking along a path through the old Jewish Ghetto, now a series of refurbished apartment buildings, when a mother and three children ages five to ten abruptly came out of one of the first-floor units and headed in our direction.
The mother was focused and intent on her mission, no-nonsense in her manner, and attentive to her three charges. In the perceived absence of a wedding band on either hand, my guess was she had found herself the sole caretaker of her little tribe. Her “mom” uniform consisted of bleached blond hair pulled back in two braids (revealing a half-inch of dark roots), a faded dark-blue spaghetti-strap camisole-style top, a pair of pink terry cloth shorts, and flip-flop sandals. Pushing a stroller stocked with a blanket and basics for their outing, she was followed by a shaggy-haired boy of about ten, a long-haired girl maybe a year younger, and a five-year-old towheaded boy, all dressed in a mix-and-match selection of play clothes.
The mother and two oldest children passed by us with the chaos that comes with herding children at a determined pace. The littlest of the three children was the last of the clan to pass by, and as he did, he turned to us. Rolling up onto his tiptoes and raising his arms in the air (appearing as if he might just leap out of his body), with a wide-eyed angelic expression and animated unapologetic enthusiasm, he announced to our guide at the top of his voice, “Wybieramy sie na lody!”
Iolanta (the only Polish-speaking member of our group) leaned down toward the boy and, matching his enthusiasm, rejoiced along with him in their native language.
With this, the little boy then turned and rushed to catch up with his family. Iolanta, with a twinkle in her eye and as much of a smile as her Polish culture would allow (and maybe just a little more), translated the child’s announcement for us: “We’re going for ice cream!”
Iolanta then translated her exchange with the boy, informng us she had acknowledged and celebrated his adventure, then had instructed him to catch up with his family, and, “Give your mama a big hug.”
That was it. I was a pile of Jell-O. This little ambassador of Love had instantly gotten me out of my head, which had been processing the intense history lesson I had been absorbing. I can only speak for myself; however, I imagine I was not the only member of our group whose heart flew wide open in contagious response to the boy’s delight. I took a moment to manage the lump in my throat, holding back what would most definitely have been an unapologetic ugly-cry of overwhelmed inspiration.
Watching the boy pull up alongside his mother (and give her a big hug), I became aware for the first time that she had tattoos on both of her calves: Mickey Mouse on the left and Minnie Mouse on the right. My inner Disney child smiled, remembering that Magic is where we create it.
During the years of WWII, 85 percent of the city of Warsaw was destroyed in bombing attacks. The Jewish Ghetto had been a place of fear and chaos as, daily, residents were separated and transported to any one of a number of death camps. The Warsaw of today, much of which has been rebuilt from the rubble remaining from the war, is, after thirty-plus years under Communist rule, in the early stage of reinventing itself as a democracy.
However, that day, in that moment, through the eyes of childlike wonder, Warsaw, Poland, was the happiest place on Earth because “Wybieramy sie na lody!”
