Hot Under the Collar

"Music to My Ears"*

Some mysteries of life get solved later on. This is a repost with new information from a fellow Polish Detroiter. (The best kind of Detroiter.)

First some background . . .

My father was a good man. Raised to be a good boy. Obedient. Loyal. Trustworthy. Steadfast. Honest. 

All good traits. But, I suspect, he was good boy sometimes at the expense of his inner compass. Giving the expected "Yes" when in his soul there was a distinct "No". Such is the usual lot of the usual child growing up in the usual home.

"A good boy." In other words, doing what was expected instead of what his gut was telling him. I was raised in the same way. That's why I sometimes say my downfall was that I was a good boy.

Being good in others eyes is one thing. Fine. Being good and doing the right thing in your own self estimation is another. It's a balancing act, isn't it? But, when the time comes, let's have have the fortitude and courage to do as we see as best and right. What others may or may not think, be damned. 

My dad had a strong sense of justice. He was a Auto Union Man, so you can see how part of his outrage originated from how Labor was treated at one point in our history. Labor, in my estimation, is still being treated fairly poorly, but we've somehow become complicit in our our own enslavement. 

Anyhow, a roundabout way of getting to the point. 

My father when outraged by some injustice or other could become rather visibly irate. He was famous with me for his Old World Polish world-class expletive, which I render in phonetic spelling. I am unable to get an accurate spelling of the phrase; or translation (that changed shortly after the original post. See below):

"Tipsch Psha Cref Holletta, Yasni Pioron Chaz." 

Usually followed with the coda, "God Damn, Son of a Bitch. Damn it to Hell, Anyway."

Let's just say that the first phrase in that litany of outrage is such a vile and loathsome a thing as to even have no known translation in the Old Polish language. (Note: See below from that friendly font of information Ernest Kramer.)

If anyone reading this can bring some clarification on this, please. By all means.

* This, at last, exegesis from a friend, fellow Pollack, and erstwhile fellow U of D High School Alum. (A.M.D.G., brohim!)

Ah David, This phrase is music to my ears. My grandmother, when frustrated would use it on me when I was a smart ass teenager. She  assumed that I would never decipher it.

"Tipsch Psha Cref Holletta, Yasni Pioron Chaz."

Ty (you) psia (dog) crew (blood) (w =V)  blood of a dog

holera = cholera  = the plague

Or,  the Polish version of "son of a bitch, I wish the plague on you."

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