Mladen Kekic

Continuing with the story I have to first tell you about my grandparents who had a lot to do with who I am today. My grandfather Josip and my grandmothers Milica and Vera. Deda Josip(Deda means grandfather in Bosnian) was a great man. He is my mothers father and was a very smart man. When he was a teenager his professors in school would go take a break and let him teach class. He was predominantly knowledgable in the History field. His way to success was paved for him but was cut short by his stepdad. His mother remarried and her husband was an alcoholic who never let my granfather do anything. He beat him daily and forbid him to go to school. He never went and never finished. It’s a sad sad story and makes me furious. He still was strong enough to pick himself up and have a wonderfull family. He married Milica and they had 5 kids. The first kid, ironicly was called Mladen, died as a baby. The other 4 are still alive and are scattered all over the world. My mother is the youngest of the 4. Baka Milica(Baka means grandmother in Bosnia) died before I was born. I wish I was able to meet her. I heard that she was a woman with a lot of compassion and love for God. On her funeral more then 500 people came, whom my mother didn’t recognize even 50. She must have touched many lives. Baka Vera was my step-grandmother. She is the one I remember very good. I loved her and never considered her a step-grandmother. One time my grandfather handed me some crayons and a piece of paper and asked me to draw Baka Vera. I sat there for minutes looking at her, looking at the paper, not drwaing a thing. My grandfather asked me if I was going to draw anything. My response was: “She is so big there is no way she could ever fit on this piece of paper.” Everybody died laughing and that story is told whenever the family gets together. Baka Vera died in the war. My grandfather died 2 years ago in a very bad state. I got to see him one more time when I went back to visit 3 years ago. He had alzheimers but he still remembered my sister and me. I will never forget that day. 

On the other side there was Deda Jovan and Baka Danica. Deda Jovan was a very strict man. My father and his 2 brothers were rebelious and got punished often. Grandfather was successful and lived on the road. He designed most of the tunnels that still exist in old Yugoslavia. He has medals and awards for his work. My father and my uncles were all born in different cities on the road. Grandfather traveled the world too. We have pictures of him in Chile and Peru. He looked like Al Capone, very sharp and handsome, but you could always sense his authority. He lost his hearing when a tunnel crashed down during construction. Many died but he survived and walked with a cane the rest of his life. He was able to retire comfortably in a beautiful home in Sid, Serbia. I remember the house very good. They had a huge garden with Apple, peach, plum, cherry, and walnut trees. I remember chasing the rabbits and the chickens outside and swinging on the swing they set up for us. The house had a wine celar that was in a very deep basement. It was build in the 2nd world war for protection from bombing. Later on it helped them survive during the war in Yugoslavia. Dada Jovan loved the nature, hence the garden. He made wine out of the grapes he collected every year. He loved hunting and playing chess. Inside their home you would find guns and medals from when he proffessionaly competed in chess. I always felt like I was his favorite grandchild. He had me do everything for him. “Mladen, get me this or get me that!” He also died after the war. I wasn’t able to see him before he died, which breaks my heart. I did visit his grave together with my sister.  

My grandmother Danica is the only one still alive. She is not doing well right now. If I could afford it I would go to visit her right now. The plan is to go see her next summer together with Christina so she can meet her. I pray that I can have that chance even though I know its selfish. Baka Dana, as we called her, is the most delicate person I’ve ever known. She is full of love. She spend so much time with me when I was young. I will always cherish those moments. Cookies and milk were always ready for me when I came to visit. She used to draw pictures of fruits, vegitables, and animals and had me tell her what they were. She went through a lot with my grandfather and her 3 sons. I admire her courage and strength.

All of my 5 grandparents played a major part in my life then and today. I will always remember them for who they were and the things they went through.

I hope this wasn’t a boring read. It’ll get more exciting, don’t worry.

I have been wanting to share my testimony for quite a while now. It is so extremely long though that it’ll have to be separated in Chapters. I hope that you’ll enjoy reading it and finding out more about how I became who I am today.

I was born in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina which was part of the old Yugoslavia before the war. Sarajevo is the capital of Bosnia and is a very unique city. It is encircled by six mountains and split by a river very long. Life there as I remember was wonderful. My parents owned a little apartment, which is usual in Europe, since houses are very expensive and hard to come by. When I say little apartment, I mean “little”. You walked in to a hallway and on your left was the living room and on the right the kitchen. That is it. My parents slept in the living room, on a couch that folded out into a bed. My sister and I shared a bunk-bed in the kitchen. It never really felt like we were poor. Maybe it’s because my parents were loving and caring, always making sure my sister and I were comfortable. I never spent much time at home anyways. After school you would find me outside with the neighbourhood kids playing sports or all sorts of other games.

In order to go on with my story I have to introduce you to a few vital people in my life.

My Fathers name is Nebojsa. He is the hardest working man I know till this day. Sometimes that’s where I think I get my work ethic from. He was the head lighting designer at the biggest theatre in Bosnia. He was not around much because his busy work schedule. A man in Bosnia is a provider for the family and that’s pretty much it. The wife normally does everything else and most of the time even holds a job. Dad has always been a handy man. He finished trade school and became an electrician but somehow branched off into theatre work. He designed some of the most recognizable plays across Europe. He traveled to Italy, Spain, Germany, Poland, Chech Republic, Russia, Turkey, Hungry, Bulgaria,  and even Israel. He went to Nazareth, believe it or not. Dad is my hero and you will find out later why.

My mothers name is Zora. She is the best mother a son could ever have. She was always there and I was glued to her like a stamp to an envelope. We were always so close and I was always known as moma’s boy. She worked as a secretary for a firm downtown. She cooked, cleaned, grocery shopped, took care of finances, and took care of us.  How she did it without ever complaining, I will never comprehend.

My sisters name is Tanja. She is 29 now, 4 years older then me. She once took an IQ test and scored so high the instructor told her she was a genius. Too bad things didn’t go so smooth from there on. Tanja got diagnosed with an eye tumor at age 10. It was so serious that my parents paid a lot of money in order to find the best doctor for her situation. They traveled to Zurich, Switzerland where they operated on her. They removed 85% of the tumor. The other 15% they had to leave alone in order not to damage any nerves. Right now she doesn’t see out of her left eye and can’t drive a car. I couldn’t imagine what she went through and even worse, what she is going through right now. I have not been the type of brother a true brother should be. She still, not even for a second, has stopped being a true sister to me.