He was born and raised in Communist Poland; I grew up in the small town of Washingtonville, N.Y. He was sent to the store with the family rotation card to wait in line for Cuban bananas; I argued with my parents over making my bed. His mother was a solidarity labor organizer who narrowly avoided arrest during martial law; my mother was in the PTA. A pile of our clothes scattered on the floor of our Tarrytown apartment makes me so happy that I took that unexpected, unfamiliar trip to Katowice, Poland.
While we were warned that entering into a multicultural relationship entailed certain risks, we trusted that whatever it was that brought us together in the first place in 2004, in Poland-and had withstood transplantation to Tarrytown, where we moved a year later, would survive any tensions and miscommunications that arose. The fact is, were it not for those tensions and miscommunications, we might never have decided to be together in the first place.
When we met we literally......
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