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It was an awesome obituary for an awesome life. Just 396 words that told you as much about 93-year-old Antoni “Antek” Miszkiel and his family as you needed to know.
Except that there was so much more.
Related
“A father, husband, grandfather, peasant, soldier, great tennis player, he sucked at baseball, BBQ fanatic, engineer, bad joke teller, reckless skier, unconditional dispenser of love, autobiographical author, political scientist, Canadian War Museum presenter, ballroom dancer, master bridge player, fisherman, sommelier, lover of manual labour, grower of beets, devourer of written material, most lost debates to his daughter, obsessive patron of Home Hardware/ Canadian Tire, cottager, Polish Combatant, altruistic admirer of others, community activist, Polish Parish patron, abysmal blackjack player, world traveller with humble roots, ferocious pride and tenacity … “
The obituary, published Thursday in the Citizen, was penned from notes Miszkiel’s son, Marian, scrawled on the flight home to Ottawa from Addis Ababa, where he works with the United Nations, then refined by daughter Basia (Barb), a Toronto architect. It even included a footnote referencing Miszkiel’s self-published 2001 memoir, Antek’s Odyssey.
“The funeral home said we couldn’t do that at first,” said Marian. “But we said, ‘Hey, we’re the ones paying for it.’ “
The Citizen sat down with Marian, Basia and Miszkiel’s wife of 68 years, Renia, to fill in the details.
Peasant — Miszkiel was born in 1922 in Vilnius, then part of Poland but overshadowed by the Soviet bear next door. He was the fifth child and only son — two of his older sisters had died as babies.
When he was two months old, his father died of gangrene. A few weeks later, another sister died of scarlet fever. He recounts in his biography how his mother once carried him down to the river, intending to drown him. He only learned the story late in life after pestering his only surviving sister, Wikcia, to tell him the truth.
“Nowadays we’d recognize that as postpartum depression,” Basia said. “But when you think of it. She had other kids — she couldn’t feed any of them — and his father had just died of gangrene. She thought this would be the best thing. And it was his sister (Wikcia) who said, ‘Don’t do anything. I’m going to look after him.’ ” And she did. (My father) grew up to adore her.”
Soldier — The invading Soviets deported the family to Siberia at the outbreak of the Second World War. Later, when Germany attacked Russia, Miszkiel was allowed to join the Polish army. He made his way across Asia to Egypt and eventually Britain, where he trained as a radio operator and paratrooper.
Tennis player — Basia: “He was a great tennis player and when he had to give that up it was one of the saddest moments of his life. He used to say that he missed tennis almost more than he missed sex.” Renia: “He used to say he wished he could be buried on a tennis court.”
Baseball player — Marian: “He was hopeless. We’d go together to the park for games. I remember he’d hit the ball and run down to third base. It was like he was playing cricket.”
Barbecue fanatic — Marian: “One of the passions in his life was finding the cheapest, most frail barbecue he could. The one we have now I think he bought for $43. It was part of my dad’s ‘economical’ approach to life.”
Bad joke teller — Marian: “He had no sense of humour. None at all. He simply could not deliver a line.” (Obviously not a family trait: The Miszkiel home resonated with laughter as the family remembered, honoured and praised their patriarch.)
Reckless skier — Renia: “He was kamikaze, actually.” Marion: “I think he broke three sets of skis (at Camp Fortune). Gravity was his guide.”
Unconditional Dispenser of Love — Renia: “To him, family was everything. He absolutely doted on his grandchildren.”
Ballroom dancer — Renia: “Oh yes, we loved to dance. He was a beautiful dancer.” On the frequent party nights at the Miszkiel house, Marian remembers helping his dad clear the furniture out of the living room, then lugging a roll of linoleum up from downstairs to protect the floor. “The foxtrot, the cha cha, the tango, he loved it all. We kids would be trying to sleep and we could hear the adults up ’til 3 in the morning dancing.”
Lover of manual labour — Basia: “We would come home for Easter and there would be 60 cubic metres of topsoil in the driveway. Dad would come out and say, ‘We’re going to be moving this into the backyard!’ And we would all do it and laugh about it.”
Marion: “He used to move boulders around the yard just to do it. If it could be done by machine, well, dad thought that was not the way to do it. If you had to mix concrete, it had to be done by hand. It helped him keep fit. Even at 50 or 60, he was shredded.”
Sommelier — Basia: “My dad was really, really thrifty. Everyone would tease him about that. But he made something of himself because he’d save so much. He’d drive across the city to save a penny on gas, then he’d go out and spend a thousand times that on a bottle of wine.”
Master bridge player — Basia: “We had so much fun playing bridge. But he thought you had to play at a grandmaster level, even if you were playing for the first time. My brother and I would be sitting across the table sending all sorts of signals to each other and dad would always be saying, ‘That’s not the way you’re supposed to play! You’re supposed to have fun!’ We’d say, ‘Dad, we are having fun!’ To this day my father was always trying to teach me to be a better bridge player.”
Grower of beets — Marian: “He loved to garden. He was out in the garden the week before he went into hospital harvesting his beets.”
Most lost debates to his daughter — Renia: “They’d argue about anything. It could be a word. How was it spelled? What did it mean?”
Basia: “I’m sure I didn’t always win, but if felt like I did. I’m sure he’d go away feeling like he did. When he had a question about the ceiling trusses at the cottage, he didn’t want to go to me — I’m an architect — he asked my husband, who’s a lawyer. It wasn’t mean, it was just like an inside joke. It was the way we danced.”
Humble roots — By his own account, Miszkiel was a “problem child.” He was raised in poverty on a farm by an aunt and uncle and describes in his book how he once laid a spikeboard on the road outside his house to see if he could blow the tires of the passing buses. Another time he wondered why all the barnyard animals had straight tails except for the pigs. He sharpened up a kitchen knife and cut the tails off “eight or 10″ piglets, figuring they would grow back straight.
Altruistic admirer of others — Marian: “He was always praising other people. He’d say, ‘My, they’re doing wonderful’; ‘He’s a brilliant man’; ‘They have such wonderful children.’ He admired everyone else, he kind of forgot about himself. But he was so proud to be a Canadian.”
Antek Miszkiel, died Nov. 15 at the Ottawa Hospital. A Catholic mass was to be held Saturday at St. Hyacinth Church with interment at a later date at Beechwood Cemetery.
bcrawford@ottawacitizen.com
Twitter.com/getBAC
查看原文...
Except that there was so much more.
Related
“A father, husband, grandfather, peasant, soldier, great tennis player, he sucked at baseball, BBQ fanatic, engineer, bad joke teller, reckless skier, unconditional dispenser of love, autobiographical author, political scientist, Canadian War Museum presenter, ballroom dancer, master bridge player, fisherman, sommelier, lover of manual labour, grower of beets, devourer of written material, most lost debates to his daughter, obsessive patron of Home Hardware/ Canadian Tire, cottager, Polish Combatant, altruistic admirer of others, community activist, Polish Parish patron, abysmal blackjack player, world traveller with humble roots, ferocious pride and tenacity … “
The obituary, published Thursday in the Citizen, was penned from notes Miszkiel’s son, Marian, scrawled on the flight home to Ottawa from Addis Ababa, where he works with the United Nations, then refined by daughter Basia (Barb), a Toronto architect. It even included a footnote referencing Miszkiel’s self-published 2001 memoir, Antek’s Odyssey.
“The funeral home said we couldn’t do that at first,” said Marian. “But we said, ‘Hey, we’re the ones paying for it.’ “
The Citizen sat down with Marian, Basia and Miszkiel’s wife of 68 years, Renia, to fill in the details.
Peasant — Miszkiel was born in 1922 in Vilnius, then part of Poland but overshadowed by the Soviet bear next door. He was the fifth child and only son — two of his older sisters had died as babies.
When he was two months old, his father died of gangrene. A few weeks later, another sister died of scarlet fever. He recounts in his biography how his mother once carried him down to the river, intending to drown him. He only learned the story late in life after pestering his only surviving sister, Wikcia, to tell him the truth.
“Nowadays we’d recognize that as postpartum depression,” Basia said. “But when you think of it. She had other kids — she couldn’t feed any of them — and his father had just died of gangrene. She thought this would be the best thing. And it was his sister (Wikcia) who said, ‘Don’t do anything. I’m going to look after him.’ ” And she did. (My father) grew up to adore her.”
Soldier — The invading Soviets deported the family to Siberia at the outbreak of the Second World War. Later, when Germany attacked Russia, Miszkiel was allowed to join the Polish army. He made his way across Asia to Egypt and eventually Britain, where he trained as a radio operator and paratrooper.
Tennis player — Basia: “He was a great tennis player and when he had to give that up it was one of the saddest moments of his life. He used to say that he missed tennis almost more than he missed sex.” Renia: “He used to say he wished he could be buried on a tennis court.”
Baseball player — Marian: “He was hopeless. We’d go together to the park for games. I remember he’d hit the ball and run down to third base. It was like he was playing cricket.”
Barbecue fanatic — Marian: “One of the passions in his life was finding the cheapest, most frail barbecue he could. The one we have now I think he bought for $43. It was part of my dad’s ‘economical’ approach to life.”
Bad joke teller — Marian: “He had no sense of humour. None at all. He simply could not deliver a line.” (Obviously not a family trait: The Miszkiel home resonated with laughter as the family remembered, honoured and praised their patriarch.)
Reckless skier — Renia: “He was kamikaze, actually.” Marion: “I think he broke three sets of skis (at Camp Fortune). Gravity was his guide.”
Unconditional Dispenser of Love — Renia: “To him, family was everything. He absolutely doted on his grandchildren.”
Ballroom dancer — Renia: “Oh yes, we loved to dance. He was a beautiful dancer.” On the frequent party nights at the Miszkiel house, Marian remembers helping his dad clear the furniture out of the living room, then lugging a roll of linoleum up from downstairs to protect the floor. “The foxtrot, the cha cha, the tango, he loved it all. We kids would be trying to sleep and we could hear the adults up ’til 3 in the morning dancing.”
Lover of manual labour — Basia: “We would come home for Easter and there would be 60 cubic metres of topsoil in the driveway. Dad would come out and say, ‘We’re going to be moving this into the backyard!’ And we would all do it and laugh about it.”
Marion: “He used to move boulders around the yard just to do it. If it could be done by machine, well, dad thought that was not the way to do it. If you had to mix concrete, it had to be done by hand. It helped him keep fit. Even at 50 or 60, he was shredded.”
Sommelier — Basia: “My dad was really, really thrifty. Everyone would tease him about that. But he made something of himself because he’d save so much. He’d drive across the city to save a penny on gas, then he’d go out and spend a thousand times that on a bottle of wine.”
Master bridge player — Basia: “We had so much fun playing bridge. But he thought you had to play at a grandmaster level, even if you were playing for the first time. My brother and I would be sitting across the table sending all sorts of signals to each other and dad would always be saying, ‘That’s not the way you’re supposed to play! You’re supposed to have fun!’ We’d say, ‘Dad, we are having fun!’ To this day my father was always trying to teach me to be a better bridge player.”
Grower of beets — Marian: “He loved to garden. He was out in the garden the week before he went into hospital harvesting his beets.”
Most lost debates to his daughter — Renia: “They’d argue about anything. It could be a word. How was it spelled? What did it mean?”
Basia: “I’m sure I didn’t always win, but if felt like I did. I’m sure he’d go away feeling like he did. When he had a question about the ceiling trusses at the cottage, he didn’t want to go to me — I’m an architect — he asked my husband, who’s a lawyer. It wasn’t mean, it was just like an inside joke. It was the way we danced.”
Humble roots — By his own account, Miszkiel was a “problem child.” He was raised in poverty on a farm by an aunt and uncle and describes in his book how he once laid a spikeboard on the road outside his house to see if he could blow the tires of the passing buses. Another time he wondered why all the barnyard animals had straight tails except for the pigs. He sharpened up a kitchen knife and cut the tails off “eight or 10″ piglets, figuring they would grow back straight.
Altruistic admirer of others — Marian: “He was always praising other people. He’d say, ‘My, they’re doing wonderful’; ‘He’s a brilliant man’; ‘They have such wonderful children.’ He admired everyone else, he kind of forgot about himself. But he was so proud to be a Canadian.”
Antek Miszkiel, died Nov. 15 at the Ottawa Hospital. A Catholic mass was to be held Saturday at St. Hyacinth Church with interment at a later date at Beechwood Cemetery.
bcrawford@ottawacitizen.com
Twitter.com/getBAC
查看原文...
