When I think of Paczki Day, I think of Gram. And how she said that Jack was a Paczki Boy because he was born on that day.
She was the most Polish part of my life. I miss her and that connection. Now it feels like I’m the old lady who makes sure all her kids remember they’re Polish too.
I guess she was my last tie to the old country, to my heritage.
So I’ll keep making pierogi and interjecting random Polish words and sayings into conversations (Boze grodzi!). To honor Gram, at least.