The Furious Spinner

On this day in 1957, Agica Dragicevic, a young woman living in a Yugoslavian refugee camp in Italy, went into labor. She went to a nearby hospital and gave birth to baby boy. Agica was quite ill after giving birth and could not attend to her baby boy. He lay in another part of the hospital, crying, with no one to care for him. When Agica was finally well enough to stumble from bed and find her baby, she kicked some Italian butt when she saw what condition he had been left in. Back in the refugee camp, the baby boy continued to cry. He cried so much that the other refugees pooled their money to get Agica and her son a berth on the next ship going to Canada, so she could find Nenad's father. Before mother and son left Italy, the boy was baptized Nenad Mario Milosevic: Nenad for the name of a Serbian hero; Mario because Nenad was a pagan name, and the Catholic Church would not baptize a little pagan boy. So to the priest, he was named Mario after St. Mary, Queen of Heaven and mother of Jesus; to those of us in the know, he was named after a goddess.

As the ship pulled into the Halifax harbor, young Nenad enthusiastically grabbed his mother's bag, the one with the little amount of money she had in it, and threw it into the water. Agica did not speak English and did not know where Nenad's father was. Now she was penniless in a foreign country. In the dead of winter. By sheer force of will, the young woman found her baby's father.

That was the beginning of Mario Milosevic's life. When he was a young man in his early twenties, I met him at the Clarion Writing Workshop. I remember he was very pale and solemn. He hardly spoke a word. One night I wanted to take a walk on campus and asked if anyone wanted to come with. Mario was the only volunteer. He cranked about some wet grass we walked through, and I remember thinking, "City boy." Later, I decided I wanted to climb one of the old evergreens along the path. I went first. Mario climbed up after me. I think I started to fall in love with him at that moment: because he never asked if I needed help. He treated me like a capable person—and he followed me up that tree. We stood in the tree while people walked below us, oblivious to our presence.

After that, we were inseparable. We married a year later. A year after that, we moved out West. He is the best person I know. He is the funniest, smartest, most interesting person I have ever met. Without him, I would never have made it this far. I am grateful every moment of my life that I love and am loved by this man. On his birthday, I usually thank his mother for giving birth to him. (On my birthday, I always thank my parents for having sex. It never fails to absolutely unnerve them. I'm a bad daughter.) Mario doesn't like a fuss on his b-day, so I best not go overboard. I have said enough. I am sooooo glad he was born.

So happy birthday, sugar. I love you.

P.S. I'm really glad your parents had sex.

Mario Milosevic has two divine poems in the stunning Endicott Studio Journal of Mythic Arts Autumn 2003 Issue (along with my two essays). 0 comments

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All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.