This is my parents' immigration story:
In the Family section of a Dayton, Ohio Daily newspaper circa September 1955, is a picture of a slim, dark-haired beauty who smiles at her sister, an apple pie tipped invitingly towards the photographer. The caption reads "Her First Pie: Norweigian Bride Learns to Bake American Dessert."
My parents grew up in Oslo and met in October 1954, and within two months, agreed to marry. They were on separate continents for the next eight months, finishing their educations, but married the next month in the Ohio home of my mother's sister, another recent immigrant.
My parents had survived World War II, and had learned what living in a Nazi-occupied country had to teach. My mother learned to smile like an angel when German soldiers asked how to get to the palace, and point them in the opposite direction. She learned to keep mum about the forbidden radio in her grade-school classroom. And she learned how sweet an entire spoonful of butter can taste when you haven't had any for years. My father learned to carry messages between members of Norway's Underground, knowing that he could be shot. He learned to operate a still in the backwoods, and holds an intense hatred towards the man who had captured, questioned, and tortured him.
As young adults, both my parents had been drawn to America as a place of unlimited opportunity for those who were willing to work hard. In October 1954, my mother had applied for a work visa, and my father was back in Oslo on a three-month leave from the Mayo clinic, to decide if he would practice medicine in the U.S. or in Norway. They met at a party, and within two months, decided to pool their talents and their love and move to the U.S. The popular view of America as a melting pot, and immigrants as ingredients to be swirled into the mix didn't bother them.
To this day, my mom couldn't bake a pie to save her life. In fact, her sister's mother-in-law had made that bridal pie. But at age 75, Mom cooks pretty much anything she chooses for my 82-year-old father and her three children and five grandchildren. She serves up leg of lamb, Cock-a-Leekie soup, Norweigian krumkake, French cheeses and Greek Mousakka. And she knows where to buy the best pies.
© Liz Husebye-Hartmann
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Comments: 21
I'm a mix of Swede, Irish, Scottish from my mothers side. Her mother was full Sweded and her father was Irish/Scottish. They both immigrated here, separately when they were in their teens. I don't really know much else about them.
On my fathers side, I've got Seminole Indian blood in me. His ancestory has been traced back to the early 1700's and have found that we had a Seminole princess as an ancestor. My dad also has Brittish?European blood in him.
I was raised in a military family and was stationed in many different places. We really never got a chance to know our grandparents or extended families very well. When dad retired, we settled in the Midwest. His family was in Georgia/Florida. Mom's family was in New England. We missed out on a lot growing up in the military.
my father was born in so. Africa, and left for native Britain at 10weeks. My mother from Cedarhurst, L.I., N.Y., of german immigrant (1830's) parents. and I was born in London England.
Have you ever been to Oslo? I was born in Stavanger and there is white a bit of climate difference between the two. Oslo is still the coldest place I've ever been in my life. I can see how many of the immigrants thought Minnesota was balmy...
Thanks for sharing!
I visited as a child, and as a teen, but haven't been back since. Mostly, the aunts come and visit us here--and we supply the cookies, Teresa!
One of the things I love about Americans is that the foods, customs and traditions of various countries are enjoyed, even by those who have no connection to that country.
We needn't be Italian to make spaghetti or to enjoy pizza.
I do know in my bible it show them in Russia and I was so confused. Russia promised that there would not be war as there was in Germany. Many Germans fled for safty reasons. This did not hold true as Russisa became embroiled in a nasty war as well.
I just spoke to my mother about this. She said her Great Great, Great Grandfather Linenberger was kidnapped by a tribe of (what we would call Russian Native Indians). A girl took a liking to Grandpa and left a horse for him. She told him she would signal when the time was right. He escaped and rode back to Germany.
It was my Great grandfather Anton and his brother Pete Kinderknecht that came to America. It was my Great grrandfather Andrew Linenberger that came over to America. All three came from Germany.
My dad is Irish, Native American, and German. I don't know much about his side. My only living Uncle has Alzheimers and is in bad shape. I do want to do research though.
This is my story and I'm sticking to it.
At some point, I will tell a lot more about my stepmother's experiences in Warsaw during WWII.