MARITAL LAW DECLARED IN POLAND

When I was a little girl, I loved sitting at my father's elbow at the dining room table as he ate lunch. He worked just a few blocks away, so would come home for lunch, and while he ate, he would read the paper—the Chicago Tribune. I would, too. In between articles, I would watch as he ate his soup, transfixed by the little indentation in the side of his forehead that would appear and disappear as he chewed. Everyone has this indentation, but I didn't know that then, and to me, it was just one more amazing thing about my amazing father.

The Polish Solidarity movement was a big story—huge—in Chicago. The city had the largest population of Polish people anywhere in the world—more Polish people, even, than in any city in Poland. The pope was also Polish, and Ronald Reagan was President. You put these ingredients together and present them to a Catholic household and man were we hooked: it was the second greatest story ever told, practically! Every day, the latest developments in Poland splashed across the front page. My father always read that section first, and I would read "Tempo," the lifestyle section, until he was done.

It's hard to believe with today's fast-moving modes of communication, but when I was growing up, the newspaper usually had the very latest information about any developing news story. Even the radio news announcers got their information from the newspapers. I waited with anticipation for lunchtime to come and for my father to unfurl the newspaper, just so I could get a glimpse of the headlines and know what had happened in Poland.

One day, my father snapped the paper open after he had read the front page. Reading from the side, I saw a headline in all capital letters, "MARITAL LAW DECLARED IN POLAND." I could tell from the hugeness of the words that this was a big deal, but what did it mean? My mind worked on it. Given what had happened in Poland already, I figured it was some sort of new law that made it illegal for people to gather. Specifically, married people, since that's what "marital" meant. Since married people where no longer able to live together, because that would be a gathering, how did it work? Did the wife stay at home with the kids, and the husband went to his mom's house? What if his mom lived far away? What about mass? Would the husband and wife have to go to separate parishes? What about the kids? Wouldn't they miss their dads? It should be possible for the husband and wife to stay in the same house as long as they weren't in the same room, I thought, since that wouldn't be gathering, technically, but I figured those dastardly communists wouldn't allow it! So how would the Solidarity movement prevail if married people couldn't even be together? They were so bad, those communists!

Worried, I asked my dad, "What will the people in Poland do?" My dad answered that they'd have to meet in secret, and risk disobeying the law. My subsequent questions—about the logistics for moms and dads, and what would happen to couples who were engaged to be married—served only to utterly baffle him. Slowly, his face stopped looking engaged and started looking confused. My voice started faltering, so I started in about the kids, and how they'd miss their dads, and how the dads maybe didn't have a place to stay. Finally, my dad interrupted me and said, completely confused, "what are you talking about, hon?"

My eyes felt like they wanted to cry. "Well," I mumbled, "it says in the paper they declared marital law in Poland…" I snuck a peek at him and he looked even more confused. Slowly, his gaze left my face and started moving upwards, to the ceiling—almost as if he were sifting through all his brain parts to find the right tool to solve this conundrum. Suddenly, his face cleared, and he started laughing and laughing.

Now, my dad has many laughs, but this one was his big, booming one. It's his, "isn't life wonderful?" laugh. I knew when I heard it all would be well, but I also felt a rising panic. I looked at him with my own confused face. When he finally gained control of himself, he put his face right in front of mine and bellowed: "MARTIAL—MARTIAL LAW. Not—" and here he broke off, laughing again—"marital law."

"Ohhhh," I said, my own face clearing. I began to laugh.

Then I said, "but what does martial law mean?" After another fit of laughter, my dad put up his index finger and said, with a gleam in his eye: "pretty much what you thought it meant—but for everyone, not just for husbands and wives."