the things you remember...

the greek civil war ended in 1949, resulting in the flight of thousands of greek communists to eastern bloc countries. poland accepted around 13,000 of them. my dad's dad worked with some of them. one once said: "once, when i cut off this one priest's head, the blood poured so much!"
my grampa said: "that's not something to brag about."

that same grampa went to a juvenile political prisoners' jail when he was maybe 14, for participating in acts of vandalism against rural communist agitators - they flipped their cars onto their roofs, and generally tried to make life harder for them. in this jail, he was subjected to unusual punishment such as having his foreskin nailed to the questioner's table, then being slapped in the ass with a large ruler; and being pressed on at the sternum with a huge, old key, with his back against the wall, while being questioned about something trivial, until he'd pass out.

that same grampa turned into an abusive father, who'd come home drunk and look for trouble. when my dad was small, he learned to recognise when his dad went into this mad frenzy, and learned to run and hide under the bed. this tactic didnt work for him when he was maybe 15, when his father learned from a neighbour that my dad skipped school that day with some girl. my dad had to walk using a cane for several weeks afterwards.

that very same grampa was born in france, where his father was able to find work as a miner. however, his father decided to go back to poland, apparently largely because his mother was over-indulging in what sounds like absynthe.

my mom's dad somehow ended up in siberia during ww2 in a forced labour camp, working on the construction of a rilroad. he saw people getting shot for trying to stuff their mouth with some grass while working. i wonder how it got to this, but apparently him and a cousin of his were able to escape naked through the snow while being fired upon. my grampa remained loyal to his abusive cousin more than to his own wife and children, until his cousin died a few years ago. my gramma took him back. her eldest son-in-law got so mad at her for it that he's severed all contact with her.

that same gramma got caught at the wrong place at the wrong time during ww2, and got rounded up with a whole bunch of other random ppl to be taken to a nazi labour camp. lucky for her, these germans were "civilised" enough to hold them in a corral for the rest of the day to give their families a chance to realise that their family members were being taken away, and to bring them some clothes and food and say goodbye. during this clothes drop-off and goodbye, she casually crossed to the "free" people side, and just kept walking, and started running as soon as she neared a corner. she's sure some of the guards knew what she was up to, but let her get away anyways.

my friend romek's grampa was captured and tortured by nazis, and when they thought they'd killed him, they dumped him out back on a pile of bodies. he didnt dare twitch until it got dark, when he crawled to safety.