In the footsteps of my father
He is 17. He is in a new country with a one relative whom he has never seen. He doesn’t know the language, hasn’t finished high school, and owns only the clothes on his back. Who is he and how did he get there? The true story that I will share with you today is of my hero, my role-model, my father.
Before I can share this special connection with you, it is crucial first to explain my father’s background setting as a child in communist Hungary. Then I’ll share the fulfillment of a prophecy about him visiting America, and then finally life today - why he is my hero, and why I have chosen to follow in the footsteps of my father.
1. Background setting [family, birth date, war-torn country]
On the lovely, sunny, early spring day of March 28, 1956, Gabor Vecseri was born to Ibolya and Jozsef Vecseri. The only boy, he had one older sister named Agnes. Seven months later in October of 1956 the Hungarian Revolution broke out against the harsh communist rule.
As war was raging around them in the capital, Budapest, the Vecseri family went into hiding in the basement of their four-story apartment building. The basement had a dirt floor, low ceiling, it was cold, damp, dark and dirty and was used by some of the residents for storing coal in small cubicles for their apartments. Cooking there was difficult, smoke and smell had to be disguised so that the soldiers would not see and find them. Hygiene was non-existent. Water was scarce and the pipes were lead. Hiding there for an extended period of time took a toll on the baby boy. He became very ill with a stomach virus and neared death. His father, however, remembered an old wives tale and decided to venture out to find a cure for his son. At night he found a dead Russian soldier, put on the uniform and went to a city park in search of wild chestnuts to make brew out of them. It was this brave expedition that saved my father’s life as a baby.
As a child, my dad was weak and sickly, spending weeks in the hospital every year with his stomach illness. Otherwise a normal little boy, -quite cute from the pictures- he liked to play by himself, and was very attached and affectionate with his family. When he did not talk yet at age three his parents thought it must be the result of a head injury at age one, but thankfully it wasn't, he was just a deep thinker. In school he did well in math and science, not so good in language, but did better than average even in the hated Russian language. Thus began my father’s life of growing up in communist Hungary.
My grandmother, Ibolya or as we know her Nagymama, worked several jobs in the medical field under the communist regime. Daytime she was a nurse, at night she did pedicure in private homes, besides being a mother and cooking meals from scratch and washing clothes by hand. My grandfather, Jozsef or Nagypapa, was one of the most educated men in Hungary. As a matter of fact, he was the first secretary of the president of the railroad before World War II. The war brought in the Soviet rule, the communist party, which stripped Nagypapa of his high position because he refused to become a party member. He said he valued integrity more than to sell out his soul and become part of their ‘regime’. However, he was able to keep a job at the railroad because of his education and his exceptional work ethic.
While still in middle school, my dad visited his father’s work. There he helped with the homework of the other communist party members, who were still laboring to earn their high school education; and yet those “workers” sat around drinking and partying all day. They hadn’t even finished high school, yet they made more money than my grandpa. To you and me, it seems this would’ve created a harbor for bitterness against that kind of work, but my dad decided that he wanted to be a mechanical engineer working with trains. Instead of going to regular high school, he went to a Railroad Technical School. He planned to continue education at the technical university to become a Railroad engineer. However, shortly after he turned 17 and just before his senior year, an opportunity arose for him to visit his mother’s sister, Aunt Maria who had left Hungary to come to America during WWII. So it was arranged for my dad to visit the United States for one month, then he would come back and his sister Agnes would go. According to the plan, she would stay in America to have a better future. Little did everyone know, there was a different, divine plan at work. My dad’s Aunt Maria had a dream as a little girl that was yet to be fulfilled. But up until that point, it had been long forgotten.
2. The fulfillment of prophecy
In this prophetic dream, Aunt Maria was playing marbles with her sister, Ibolya. They both had a red and a blue marble. In the game, Nagymama’s blue marble rolled over to Aunt Maria and stayed there. This was a foreshadowing of the future, for when Gabor visited America, his one month visit quickly turned into months, then years until at last it became permanent.
His parents, being concerned about his future in a strange country, were very upset about him leaving home at such a young age. It did not fit their plan, but God had a higher plan.
With his aunt in Chicago, my dad learned several skills in the construction and real estate management industries. During this period of my dad’s life, God grabbed hold of his heart and he got saved. This was a fulfillment of countless prayers by his late grandmother who died before his birth. After his salvation, he traveled to several revivals and churches around the States to gain knowledge of God and the Scriptures. He learned from many spiritual giants and mentors.
For the next ten years, he worked with other Hungarians in Chicago. One such man of my Nagypapa’s age, Mr. Dobos, became my dad’s spiritual mentor, a second father. Little did they know that my dad’s parents in Budapest were hosting a Hungarian boy in their home who happened to be Mr. Dobos’s son. The two families became good friends and the Dobos’s have remained a second family to my dad.
After a series of unfortunate events at work, my father was reminded of his childhood dream of attending a technical school. His father's encouragement to continue his education motivated him to apply at a university in Tulsa, Oklahoma where he later received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Mechanical Engineering. There he met my mother, who was working towards her bachelor’s degree in Sacred Music. They got married after graduation and the happy couple two-stepped to Houston, Texas as a result of an excellent job offer for my dad. Two years later, I was born. My parents bought their first house and six other siblings quickly followed. As he became established, my grandparents at last gave thanks for the divine provision through which my dad could raise seven children, which would have not been possible in communist Hungary. We matured, our father began teaching us about our family heritage. He even took us to visit our grandparents and the places where he grew up in Budapest. This brings our story up to the present, and now I will share with you why my dad is my hero.
3. Present time - why he is my hero
During our last family trip to Hungary, my father pointed to an old black-and-white baby photo hanging in one of the bedrooms of my grandparents’ house. He asked me, “Who is that up there?” I looked at the picture, which seemed strangely familiar from my poor recollections, and I guessed that it was me as an infant. Dad turned to me and said, “That’s me.” Somehow, that occasion became the most precious event in my relationship with my father. We think alike, talk alike, and even look alike in those cute baby pictures! This may sound natural; after all he is my father. However, it was the defining moment in our relationship and the beginning of our special bond as father and daughter. Through my father's difficult childhood, his character was refined to make him into the person he is today. He works hard to provide the best that he can for us kids yet he reminds us of how privileged we are by using his experiences to teach us good character. My favorite example of this is our debate discussions that sometimes go long into the night as we try to piece a case together. My father's background provides insights to the arguments that I would not have come up with on my own. It is the little moments like these that I treasure. I stop and realize that the more I learn of my father’s heritage, the more I can relate to him because in growing older, I become like him.
I am 18, finishing high school and working two part-time jobs. This fall I am planning to go back to Hungary, to my father’s home country to learn the language and the culture of our people. I know my life’s story is being written by the Heavenly Father, while I am following in the footsteps of my earthly hero, my dad.
