In Memory of Dzia Dzia: 1914 - 2008

Last week, Joseph J. Zalenski - my grandfather - passed away at age 93. And while it's sad for my grandmother, for me, and for the rest of the family, he had a long wonderful life.

Dzia Dzia's life began in a time when the world was industrializing, when cars and phones were fairly new and televisions were yet to come. He was one of the "Greatest Generation" and in so many ways, his values reflected that. His devotion to his family and pride in the accomplishments of his children and grandchildren were unwavering.

He was a man of many names. The grandkids all called him Dzia Dzia (Polish for "grandfather"). His Army buddies knew him as Slim. My Busia (grandmother) and other people called him "Iggy." In recent years, I started calling him "Bonesy" - the nickname he gave me when was a teenager - because he became so thin.

Throughout his life, he had almost as many jobs as he had nicknames. He worked for a butcher; he played basketball - fantastically! - and worked for Great Lakes Steel; he was a cook in the Army in Europe during World War II; he was a police officer and detective with the Wyandotte Police; while at the police department, he was also a process server.

To me, though, the most important job he had was Dzia Dzia. And he was very good at it! I have so many memories of the time that I spent with him while growing up. Walking to St. Stan's to get the basket blessed on Easter Saturday. Watching t.v. and eating sunflower seeds at Busia & Dzia Dzia's when we spent the night. Dzia "fishing" (umm, napping!) at Kensington while Bill and I ran around like little "monsters." Eating the world's best pancakes - nobody but Dzia could make them so good. Going to polka festivals and watching Busia & Dzia Dzia dance and dance and dance. Taking a "short cut" on the way to serve papers.

The family always had our little jokes. Dzia Dzia would always moan that we were sending him to the poorhouse when Busia and I went shopping, and that he still wore the socks he got married in. So one Christmas, I gave him a pair of socks. Another Christmas, he got a football helmet to wear when he banged his head against the wall after hearing how much money was spent. It was that much more funny because he was always generous and willing to help out when someone, including me, needed to get past a rough spot.

I loved to hear his stories about his life. Especially in later years, he would talk about when he was in the Army. Some stories were funny, like when he stole the bike from the German. Others were sad, like knowing his baby son (my uncle) was sick and not knowing whether he was still alive. Every story told me about a different facet of him, about different experiences that he had lived through. Eventually, his stories inspired Bill and I (aka Team Crusty) to trace part of his tour of duty, to bring back to Dzia Dzia photos and video of the places he had never seen again due to his fear of flying. I'll never forget how amazed and touched Dzia was to see the video of the hospital he'd been in in Liege, and how happy it made me to be able to give that to him.

I'm going to miss Dzia Dzia terribly. He has given me, and others, so much. But - as trite as it may sound - I know that he will always be with me, in the stories he told and the memories I treasure. And for that I am grateful.