Ciocia is the Polish word for aunt. However let me be very clear… I have aunts, and then I have ciocias. They are not the same thing. Anyone who is full or partially Polish knows this fact. I don’t have to explain to those of you who have a ciocia, because if you have a ciocia you KNOW you have a ciocia. For the rest of you, let’s dive into it.

As I said above, ciocia or ciotka translates to aunt in English. The pronunciation is “chee-OH-cha” and said quickly with little time spent on the e’s. Thanks to my mother (Babcia), I have several ciocias. I have aunts on my dad’s side of the family as well. I love them all, but there a differences between them. My aunts are more examples of genteel southern ladies, while my ciocias are boisterous, tough as nails women.

My aunts smile politely and have a sweet, soft chuckle. I learned how to be a lady from several of my aunts… my manners, polite conversation, how to listen quietly, how to care for those around me. My ciocias laugh louder than anyone else in the room. Ciocias are vibrant, colorful, confident, strong women and I’ve learned so much from them as well. How to stand up for myself, how to voice my opinion and not back down, how to be a hostess, how to work hard, how to enjoy a cocktail. Not to say that my aunts aren’t strong or that my ciocias aren’t gentle, but generally speaking those are differences between their personalities.

If you are ever lucky enough to be present in a group of the ciocias, you are in for a treat. Getting my mom and her sisters together has shown me some of the best times in my life. Imagine a room full of loud, independent, joyful women. They talk over one another, they jab at one another, they roast one another, they share stories of their youth, they cry together, they hug one another, they all laugh louder and louder until you feel the room may explode with love and hilarity. It is a true joy to see them interact and to know that I am a part of that. My heart is happy when I am surrounded by my ciocias.

I know as they all age (along with us ‘kids’) these times will be fewer and will eventually be gone. I want to take every opportunity to experience them and to savor them and to commit them to memory. I want to relish stories of the dances they had in their younger days, stories of how they met their spouses, stories of boyfriends and nights out on the town. I want to remember stories of escaping Poland and of survival, stories of travels and how they narrowly avoided incarceration or even death, stories of how they clung to each other as a family and overcame even the darkest of days together. I believe this is why they are so loud and joyous now; they are ALLOWED to be and they have SO much to celebrate and they will celebrate until they are no longer here. I hope my niece thinks of me the way I think of my ciocias. I hope I never stop celebrating for them in my lifetime and that I carry that torch and pass it on to my daughter.