Stray can

My mother always insisted that our family was cursed, as if we were born in a Márquez story. My great-grandfather arrived to Ohio in the '30ies with a group of Hungarians, or as they were called, with the 'Hunkies'. He became an industrial worker in a factory then he started a family and he no longer wanted to go home. Here, he could aspire to somewhat more than in Europe. They were poor in the US too, but not pauper. He could never purchase a house, he moved from rented apartments to rented apartments until he died. My grandfather did not want to live like this, without any stable points in life, he wanted to find his absolute zero point to which he could return no matter what happened. Finally, this wish manifested in the form of a trailer, so what he longed for came true in part. My mother was born here, they have been straying around with the moving sardine can – as she called it – until she became 17 years old and they managed to save enough money to buy a house. Things were getting better. They did not have to move to the warmer states each winter and look for casual jobs in the south during harvest time in summer. Then the famous family curse raised its head again. My mother got married and after I was born, my father found a new occupation instead of work. He started to marinate his liver with the light wine he made in the shed, he was a real redneck. The whole family preferred to let him go so that he no longer block my mother's life. We were broke but at least we lived in peace. 

When my grandfather died I inherited the can which had been standing in the backyard for decades. It was perfectly maintained, maybe it was still his true home. Few times a year, he packed his stuff and went to fish, sometimes we did not seen him for weeks. In summer holiday, I joined him too. For me it was a shelter, not a can. I lived in it during university so we did not have to spend on my accommodation. After I graduated as a photographer, I started to travel the country and it became my moving photo lab. I joined the Travellers in Colorado and documented their lives. This temporary project became long term as I married into the community. When we visit my mother from time to time, she always asks what I like about this life, where I only know what a flush toilet is by hearsay. We both laugh at it. Today she agrees that the curse does not exist, it is nothing more than dumb decisions that influenced the history of our family.

The blog entry was written by the students of Kepes György Special College at the Roma Heroes workshop of Independent Theatre.