The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister by Nonna Bannister, Denise George, Carolyn Tomlin Read Free Book Online Page A
Tags: Biographies
when they attended concerts or plays, but most of the time, we stayed home with our new nanja.
Her name was Varvara (Barbara), and I didn’t like her very much since she was always wanting me to sit on her lap or rocking me to sleep. I just hated the way she smelled—she used too much powder and she perspired a lot, and I never liked for her to hold me close—but who could complain? We were lucky that we could hire help, since it was against the law to hire domestic help of any kind.
8: A Day in the Park
----
Editors’ Note: In 1932, when Nonna was five years old, she wrote “A Day in the Park” with her mother. While she wrote most of her transcripts in the past tense, she translates this experience in the present tense. Since Nonna learned to read and write at a young age, and her father began her language studies early, it is possible that she wrote this event in her diary soon after the event. This snapshot of their life also showed the close relationship between mother and daughter.
----
Mama and I are walking and walking—but I skip at times. I am happy—so happy. It is 10:00 or 10:30 a.m., and it is springtime. The sun is bright and its warmth feels so good on my face and shoulders! Mama is humming a song quietly—something she does all the time. We are almost there. The park can be seen from the short distance. There are not many people on the streets this morning, but the nearly empty streetcars pass us by. Finally, I see the huge gates leading into the park. We walk through the gates on the wide sidewalk, and there are flowers (so bright with colors), and it smells wonderful!
My little feet are tired, and I ask Mama if we could sit for a while on one of the park benches, and Mama agrees because she is tired too. We sit on a bench, while on the ground there is a procession of ants moving very fast. I am so fascinated by the way they all march, carrying little bits of insects or whatever food they could find. Mama is explaining to me that the ants must be having a wedding.
“See these two larger ones at the front of the procession? They must be the bride and groom,” Mama says.
We sit there watching the ants, and it feels good to rest our feet. Then we start to walk again and are soon in the middle of the park. There are some children with their mothers, swinging on the swings. I want to swing, and Mama thinks it is a good idea so we swing for a while.
Soon Mama is ready to read her book, and I can do almost anything that I wish as long as I am in her eyesight. I pick some flowers—looking around for fear that I am doing something wrong. There stands my favorite bush that has leaves that I like to play with—you pull one off the bush and pull off the petals one by one saying, “He loves me—he loves me not.” There is a beautiful butterfly—so colorful. I want to touch it, but I don’t want to hurt it. Slowly I move closer and carefully put my fingers on its wings. I can feel the butterfly struggling to get away. It makes me feel sad. Quickly I release it, and I am glad to see that it can still fly. Mama is involved in her book, but I know that she is aware of where I am because I know not to walk away too far. The sun is getting warmer, and I am thirsty. Now Mama is ready for a fresh drink of water too. We walk down the path until we reach the water fountain—the water is so cold, and it tastes good.
There is a stage platform nearby, and Mama helps me up the steps. We dance on the stage with Mama singing to our dance. We dance round and round, and we laugh and laugh. Mama lets go of my hand, and she gets off the stage. She pretends to be the audience and starts clapping her hands and says, “ Brava, brava! The ballerina Nonna has performed beautifully!”
We both laugh and do not notice that there are some children nearby watching us—watching us and laughing also. We stroll around the park for another hour or so. Mama lets me put some flowers between the pages of her thick book and
Her name was Varvara (Barbara), and I didn’t like her very much since she was always wanting me to sit on her lap or rocking me to sleep. I just hated the way she smelled—she used too much powder and she perspired a lot, and I never liked for her to hold me close—but who could complain? We were lucky that we could hire help, since it was against the law to hire domestic help of any kind.
8: A Day in the Park
----
Editors’ Note: In 1932, when Nonna was five years old, she wrote “A Day in the Park” with her mother. While she wrote most of her transcripts in the past tense, she translates this experience in the present tense. Since Nonna learned to read and write at a young age, and her father began her language studies early, it is possible that she wrote this event in her diary soon after the event. This snapshot of their life also showed the close relationship between mother and daughter.
----
Mama and I are walking and walking—but I skip at times. I am happy—so happy. It is 10:00 or 10:30 a.m., and it is springtime. The sun is bright and its warmth feels so good on my face and shoulders! Mama is humming a song quietly—something she does all the time. We are almost there. The park can be seen from the short distance. There are not many people on the streets this morning, but the nearly empty streetcars pass us by. Finally, I see the huge gates leading into the park. We walk through the gates on the wide sidewalk, and there are flowers (so bright with colors), and it smells wonderful!
My little feet are tired, and I ask Mama if we could sit for a while on one of the park benches, and Mama agrees because she is tired too. We sit on a bench, while on the ground there is a procession of ants moving very fast. I am so fascinated by the way they all march, carrying little bits of insects or whatever food they could find. Mama is explaining to me that the ants must be having a wedding.
“See these two larger ones at the front of the procession? They must be the bride and groom,” Mama says.
We sit there watching the ants, and it feels good to rest our feet. Then we start to walk again and are soon in the middle of the park. There are some children with their mothers, swinging on the swings. I want to swing, and Mama thinks it is a good idea so we swing for a while.
Soon Mama is ready to read her book, and I can do almost anything that I wish as long as I am in her eyesight. I pick some flowers—looking around for fear that I am doing something wrong. There stands my favorite bush that has leaves that I like to play with—you pull one off the bush and pull off the petals one by one saying, “He loves me—he loves me not.” There is a beautiful butterfly—so colorful. I want to touch it, but I don’t want to hurt it. Slowly I move closer and carefully put my fingers on its wings. I can feel the butterfly struggling to get away. It makes me feel sad. Quickly I release it, and I am glad to see that it can still fly. Mama is involved in her book, but I know that she is aware of where I am because I know not to walk away too far. The sun is getting warmer, and I am thirsty. Now Mama is ready for a fresh drink of water too. We walk down the path until we reach the water fountain—the water is so cold, and it tastes good.
There is a stage platform nearby, and Mama helps me up the steps. We dance on the stage with Mama singing to our dance. We dance round and round, and we laugh and laugh. Mama lets go of my hand, and she gets off the stage. She pretends to be the audience and starts clapping her hands and says, “ Brava, brava! The ballerina Nonna has performed beautifully!”
We both laugh and do not notice that there are some children nearby watching us—watching us and laughing also. We stroll around the park for another hour or so. Mama lets me put some flowers between the pages of her thick book and
Similar Books
My Texas Sweetheart (book one)
Pauliena Acheson
Charmed by His Love
Janet Chapman
Cheri Red (sWet)
Charisma Knight
Through the Fire
Donna Hill
The Hen of the Baskervilles
Donna Andrews
Can't Shake You
Molly McLain
A Cast of Vultures
Judith Flanders
Wings of Lomay
Devri Walls
Five Parts Dead
Tim Pegler
Angel Stations
Gary Gibson