Growing Up, part 10

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

   With the distance from home and the new beginning I've actively tried to find some new friends In secondary school. It did not quite work out to find 'true' friends but at least I've tried to put some steps out of the shadows of a broken family. I was still very cautious not to be trapped in false hopes and to give up my own opinion about what might be right and wrong. I did neither start drinking nor did something I thought would have serious consequences. I've tried to be responsible to myself and optimistic that one day I could brake free...
   Growing up alone 'without parents' had many disadvantage and uncertainties; it took many trials and errors to cover the mistakes of my irresponsible parents. As my beard was growing into a first fluffy mustache I've tried to shave it by myself. I used my father's cream, brush and razor and the result was - terrible. I cut myself several times but I took them as scarves of a teenager fighting alone with a never present father.
   Yes, a teenager should find his or her own way into society but it would be much easier if you don't have to do it all by yourself. My father was in charge to earn money, my mother in charge to spend money, nothing more. I don't remember that my mother ever gave me ever a hug, ever discussed anything or ever cared about me other than out of curiosity which she was excited to share immediately with her circle of friends. 
   A great subject of discussion was always my haircut. As I went to an Italian barber by myself, she found fault in whatever I've returned. I think it was not because of the haircut itself but she wanted to be in charge - her whole life. It might be part of lost youth without a father who was last seen during the Russian campaign, Operation Barbarossa, which was the code name of the Axis invasion of the Soviet Union on 22 June 1941. It is difficult to understand what's going on in the human mind or how different people deal with losses...
  From young I've tried to earn some money. My mother knew the caretaker of the school and, as my sister, I started to clean up in my former elementary school during the first days of holidays. It was a work of one week and paid very well for a 14 year old boy. As soon I've got the money I put in in my 'saving book'. A neighbor living on the 2nd floor delivered a paper once a week. As he grew older he gave me his route. To send the commercial newspaper I've spend three hours every Wednesday afternoon. The advantage of a confirmation in church is that relatives send you presents. As I've also saved some money by myself my parents agreed that I could buy a small 50cc motorcycle.
   This was the time when I've smelled true freedom for the first time. When my parents fought over nonsense I just jumped on my motorcycle and rode away. I didn't know anything about the movie 'Easy Rider' but I surely felt the same. In the beginning I rode with my friends but later mostly by myself. I could start and stop whenever I wanted, could eat whatever I wished and discovered many new routes on my own. I rode even during rain and snow, weather did not matter to me at all!

Rest on a motorcycle tour

   In the 1970s developed the disco music with something known as a synthesizer, 'an electronic musical instrument that generates electric signals that are converted to sound'. This created a new generation not only a musicians who did not even have to sing by themselves but also listeners who were open for simple dance beats. The Europeans had been very creative, the German producer Frank Farian formed Boney M, the Italian Giorgio Moroder produced Donna Summer, there was Dutch, French and even Spanish disco music. 
  The music was simple and the texts seemed to be written by a 3 year old. One example:

D.I.S.C.O [Repeat: x 3]

She is disco

She is D delirious
She is I incredible
She is S superficial
She is see complicated
She is O oh, oh, oh

(Ottowan D.I.S.C.O.)

   Not far from home we had a dance school teaching classical dance. Saturday evenings they had a disco for members. My friends learned classical dance and 'somehow' got me into the club. I was not very comfortable there because the music, which was not my taste and I even more disliked the people. They were, in my opinion, fake. From hair to clothes, from actions to behaviors it all seemed more a masquerade than a real pleasure. Each time I had to leave early because of a 'rule' of my mother; a rule which I was actually real glad about.  
   The rage was a new ice skating hall. Sometimes we just hang out. I was not very fond of the sport so we mostly watched others. Once a nice girl came along with a dog. While my friend was interested in her I very interested in the dog. She told me it's her friend's and she just walked it for her. So we talked about the dog and somehow I liked her very much. She was the kind of 'companion', a real friend without overdone make-up or anything artificial. A friend who would 'steal horses' with you, a trustworthy and down to earth girl. We've met later without the dog, had some nice conversation, danced together and occasional send her home with my small motorcycle, she holding me very tight. One Saturday evening I've got my first kiss in front of her door, a kiss I will never forget...

(to be continued) 

Growing Up, part 9

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

   With moving up to secondary school came many big changes. As I came from primary school 5th grade I repeated the 5th grade in secondary school. I was one of the oldest students but had some classmates were downgraded from grammar school.
   Secondary school was further away, it took me 15 minutes by bike one way and nearly 45 minutes by bus because I had to change the bus at least once. The school was not far away from my grandmother's house but I've never went there before or after school. She, my mother's mom, lived in Eastern Prussia, before and during the war a part of Germany. But in the winter of 1944-1945, as the Russian advanced, they fled Königsberg (or Kaliningrad as it is known in Russian today) in fear of retaliation. As my grandmother told us they left everything there except for the things they could carry, and were never allowed to return. 
   They fled in a train full civilians which was attacked by the Russians. As she protected her children one bullet shattered her left arm and grazed my mother's back nearly destroying her lungs. My grandmother's left forearm had to be amputated, my mother felt the pain especially after sudden changes in weather in her back for the rest of her life.    
   As I had already two semesters in English I was one of the best in class. My most memorable teacher during the whole secondary school (the next 6 years) had been this  female English teacher. She was very interested in my miserable family life and spend a lot of time to listen and to encourage me. She was the first who recognized that I developed a kind of hump which all of my sisters have too. I did not walk nor stand straight, my shoulders were bent forward. My mother said that we inherited this posture from my father but children without confidence living in a discouraging environment see no reason to be proud about themselves...
   In the beginning of the 1970s smoking was big in Germany. The secondary school had a 'smoking corner' where teachers and students alike could smoke. As my father was a heavy chain smoker I did not have interest in doing so myself. As a truck driver he seldom took shower on the road, as long as I remember he carried the 'aura of cold smoke' with him. In his car he had a real lambskin which he rarely washed, the smoke stuck heavily in the fur.
   The relationship between my parents did not change at all. My mother was still dominating while my weak father drunk his youth and his responsibilities away. Sometimes I wondered how my mother, a real miser herself, could afford coats made of real fur. It was not until my elder sister told me that each time, my father was caught with a girlfriend, he bought a coat to appease her. For a few weeks they tried to get along until the volcano exploded again...
   My father was Catholic and my mother, a reformed Christian. As a child I was baptized but have to attend a confirmation (lat. 'consolidation', 'recognition') in my teens. This means that I had to go to church for class once a week for roughly 9 months. In this class we had been taught in the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, had to learn some church rules, the meaning of Christmas and Eastern but also Whitsunday (or Pentecost) etc. I liked to attend the lessons very much; the pastor was also my religion teacher. He was an 'open' Christian, I remember the outrage when he let a band play in church.

Day of confirmation as a full member of the church, 

me standing beside of the pastor 

   From him I've learned not to count on humans but to trust in the Lord. He told us that everyone and everything has a reason, might it seem good or bad in the moment. He also encouraged me to attend the Sunday worship which I did without the consent of my parents. I let them argue at home, my own joy and 'salvation' came from God himself. Many elder church members asked me why I come alone - I did not know how and did not want to answer. Writing this I still believe my foundation of the faith was build right there between God and me, a very lonely teenager in much need of affection.

(to be continued)       
   

Growing Up, part 8

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

   While my mother was a true Nazi in every aspect of her life there was a counter movement among the leftist youth in post-war West Germany. They perceived the denazification as a failure and ineffective; former Nazi held posts in government and economy. Radicals regarded the conservative media as biased including all of the most influential mass-circulation tabloid newspapers. What started with a fire in a department store to protest against the Vietnam war developed into the 'Red Army Faction' (German: Rote Armee Fraktion), a far-left militant organisation founded in 1970. The Red Army Faction engaged in a series of bombings, assassinations, kidnappings, bank robberies and shoot-out with police over the course of  the following three decades.
   My family was opposed to anything else than political right, especially my mother was against anything foreign, even if it might be English or American, if it might be protests against any war, jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, long hair and even chewing gums were signs of the 'sinking moral' in Germany and strongly opposed.
   During my primary school school I did not much care about the political situation in Germany, did not know what is the difference between 'left' or 'right' and had no idea about terrorism. Until today I do not understand the logic of terrorism. Killing innocent people to justify your cause against the status quo? At that time I just tried to figure out how to come through the day and how to avoid to upset my mother and the severe consequences. My elder sisters of course had different opinions.
   My stepsister lived with us but was not really a part of the family. My mother tried to separate her 2nd husband and her daughter with her first husband, mostly successful. This sister had only a very basic school education and, like all of us, had a vocational education. This means that you have to learn on the job, part time in a company (to get working experience), part time in a trade, craft or technical school (to get an education). My stepsister made the mistake to learn 'Freight Forwarding Clerk' in the same transport company; she worked in the office and my father driving the truck.

Wedding photo of my step-sister

   It was also a time when I first-hand witnessed my mother's violent attempted to kill her by choking her with her bare hands while pushing her violently into the bathtub. The reason was an opened pack of cigarettes which my mother discovered in her bag. 
   Not surprisingly that much later she moved out. She invited us to her marriage which gave a very strange 'picture' of a family. A stepfather she had never close contact if any at all, a very violent mother, her own father who never had any contact to her at all and her four half-sisters and and half-brothers who still 'had' to stay in the family until they come of age.

(to be continued) 

Growing Up, part 7

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

   I sailed along primary school quite smoothly, did not much participate but followed attentively. 
   My parents were not only misers at home but also cut the school expenses wherever they could. Writing this I have to emphasize that the education in Germany is basically for free, from kindergarten to universities the tuition costs nothing! 

   As a low income family we could apply for allowance for books but my mother refused, she felt 'ashamed' to use the governments support which is a right! So she opted to rent books for the semester. This means that we have to take particular care of them because we had to return them at the end. The first work after receiving the books was to wrap them in a plastic foil at home. We had to keep the books very tidy and clean - no notes, no coloring, no torn pages, nothing! For notes we had notebooks! 

   When we needed school supplies my mother opted for the cheapest alternative all the time; if it might be a pencil cases, pens, notebooks etc. all was of the lowest quality and therefore cheapest price available. I have never seen a shop for school supplies from the inside, they were too expensive. Before the semester started a local superstore had back to school discounts and that's when my mother got very active. We had a long list for each and every child and then we went shopping like crazy!    

   I remember once my mother bought a school bag for me on sale. It was on sale because it smelled like leather - but really nasty. Because the whole apartments smelled after it we put the bag in the basement and treated it with different kind of chemicals and even stuffed a cloth with perfume in it for several days. But it still smelled during the first days of the school semester, even the teacher asked about it.

   As the German economy progressed in a 'miraculous' speed the local work force was by far not enough to supply the demand. So between 1955 and 1968 the West German government signed bilateral recruitment agreements with a number of countries like Italy, Spain, Greece, Turkey, Morocco, Portugal, Tunisia and Yugoslavia. These agreements allowed the recruitment of guest workers (Gastarbeiter) to work in the industrial sector in jobs that required few qualifications.

   I remember one day in class there was a rumor that we should get new classmates. And really, when a teacher was in front of the blackboard the principal opened the door and after him entered three Italian kids, two girls and one boy, the classroom. I was particularly interested in the girl not only because she was a foreigner but she was the first girl I've notice who had two different hair colors. From the top to the middle her hair was black but the rest was obviously red. I thought that this is very special until my older sister explained me that the black color is the original hair color and the red is the dyed hair grown out! I've never heard that there is dye for hair color before.

   The principal left with all three students and the teacher continued. During the break the teacher left and some students, out of joke, curiosity or even self-interest took the chalk and wrote 'Taker raus', a racist term spelled wrong for 'Italians out' on the blackboard. After returning the teacher was furious about these remarks and understandable punished the students. This incident happened at the end of the 1960s when 'make love not war' and the 'flower power generation' was en vogue. But these racist remarks confirmed also that not only my mother's mind was still haunted by the evils of the past...

   The day to graduate from primary school (in Germany 4 years) drew to an end. My mother actually had a very simple plan: to wait until each child receives his or her 18th birthday (the legal age in Germany) and, when the youngest reaches this age, to file for an divorce. This was her goal and it became true.

Graduation picture of primary school

   In my case the class teacher was not very found of the idea that I should continue 'just to finish school'. So, after the 1st year in general school she told my mother that I am too far advanced and that I should, at least, continue with the secondary school. I believe a lot of my teacher's high opinion had to do with that she somehow understood my bad learning environment at home and has experienced a very different student than the one my mother called 'the curse of the society'.
   Finally my mother gave in and I had to take another test for secondary school. I passed it easily and my future looked a little brighter than before.

(to be continued)  

Growing Up, part 6

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

   Mentioning Judo in connection with martial arts let someone imagine that there are a bunch of kids running around learning how to beat up each other but originally it's quite the contrary. Its more about self control than aggressiveness, its more about the mind than the body and more about the art than the martial. Or, to stay with a Japanese example, its more about a solemn tea ceremony than violent Sake drinking games.
   A quiet student is a very easy target for bullies. Once in the early morning one bully asked me to stop and we started to argue. He became physical and after a short struggled he fixed me with a headlock while we were still standing. I fought with myself if I should use my skills for several seconds and decided that it would be better to do so just to have my peace in the future. 
   I grabbed his shoulder, stepped on my the right and with a turn of my waist I let him fall over my left stretched out leg. Because of this unexpected movement he let my neck loose. I jumped on him and, like in training, my right arm went around his neck to fix his upper body on the floor while my left arm controlled his right arm (this technique is called 'Kesa-gatame' in Japanese). Not only his friends became suddenly quiet but also all other students on their way to school stood still for a moment. The school bell rang, we got up, I took his hand and, because I felt this way, said "sorry!". 
   It might sound strange that a son of a violent alcoholic and even more violent mother excuses to a bully but this might be explained by my 'soft' character. It's not like that you think that life is bad or there are many bad things are thrown in my way so I "have to do something". I am more a person who does to judge the person but asking "why does a person do or become like this". For example, we all agree that a bully is bad person. But I would ask "why did he become a bully?" I could imagine his family is broken too, that he got bullied by himself, that he had to show off in front of his so-called friends etc. So, I felt a kind of empathy; that's why I apologized to him even I was the clear 'winner'.
   Because of my parent's constant fights and my retreat into books I was very natural in German, one of the major subjects in primary school. Everyone touching the German language not only get some ideas about the complicated grammar but also about the spelling and particularly the rules when words are written in upper and lower cases. For me being tested by dictations or challenged by essays were tasks I've enjoyed tremendously.

 school excursion

   As I've progressed in elementary school I was shocked to learn that the reading skills of my father were very limited. Once I've visited him in his trucking company while he was reading the BILD newspaper, the cheapest, simplest and most dishonest daily paper in whole Germany. When I've asked him a questions why he reads this paper he brutally honest answered me "because I can't read others!" My mother could only help me with my homework until the 3rd grade then I had to ask my elder sister, classmates or friends...
   For a child it is very important to be taken seriously and to be supported, both I did not receive from my parents. But somehow I understood and accepted it, not blaming them. Even as a loner I've tried to do my best, others might see it as a failure.
   My first bicycle was one way to get away from the cage of my own home. I not only rode to school but also took rides further than the neighborhood. I've got an idea how to enjoy the wind, the speed and the freedom to choose which way to ride; any way just to stay away from home. At that time I've started to get interest in mechanical things, like how  bike shifters and gears work, how to make your bike comfortable etc. But I could not change an inner tire, this was the job of my father. 
   Once my father was not at home so my mother tried to fix my flat. In her rough way she took a pair of handy scissors to lift the tire from the rim, put in the new inner tube and fiddled the tire back onto the rim; all with the help of these scissors. But it did not work, as soon as I pumped the air into the tire immediately left with a 'pfffffffff'. So my mother gave me some money (!), I took of the front wheel and rode my sister's bike to a local bike shop. The elderly mechanic pulled out the inner tube, put on his spectacles, pumped up the tube and held it in a bucket of rainwater. After pumping and checking several time he counted 7 holes! With a worrying look he asked me: "What have you done?" I've answered honestly: "I did not take the scissors to exchange the tube!" With a smile he put in a new inner tube.

(to be continued)

Growing Up, part 5

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

   Primary school was a big change but an even bigger challenge for me. It was a time away from home, the first steps into an independent life. This means that many ‘daily’ challenges like finding friends, arranging your stuff and material, homework etc. depend solely on the student. But unfortunately I was very bad prepared for these things.

   Not only my mother’s education of children was, except for suppressing, controlling and scolding, nonexistent but she also did not participate in the school life at all. I was like that she did her part like getting us prepared for school, supplying breakfast was her obligation and after we left for school it was her leisure time. Returning from school we had to do the homework which was not her responsibility but ours. She never asked any questions or had only interest in the grades at the end of each semester. My father was even colder towards his children-we hardly talked about anything not to mention school or education in general.

   I was not a slow learner; I was with in the first 5-6 students in a class of 24-27 students. My weakness was that I did not have any confidence at all and this triggered many other difficulties like being shy, passive and defensive. While others actively participated in class I was sitting attentive but did not take much part. When the teacher called my name I could answer the question but could not articulate them in front of others.

   Writing tests was a quite different subject. I’ve got a paper or a theme and just wrote for 40 minutes what came to my mind and that was it. Me and the subject and a paper – this was my way of learning.

   Each semester the teacher invited the parents to a parent-teacher conference two times. On these evenings the teacher informs the parents about their class in general and about the student individually. My mother never showed up. Later as an adult I’ve asked her why she did not attend any parent-teacher conference during my many years studying in various schools she seriously replied “because I felt shame about my children!” I never drank, never smoked, never took drugs, never ran away, never beat someone, did never steal etc.…Until today, in my 50s, I do not know and understand what I did to let my mother feel this way.

   For me it was not easy to connect to other people much less to find friend. I had one neighbor who was about the same age who sometimes showed some interest in my life.  He was the first one who invited me to his birthday party, his mother was very friendly to me. Sometimes we played the good cop and bad guy on bikes where we were chasing each others on Bonanza bikes, a rage at that time. We even liked the same girl living on the 2^nd floor... When his parents had a chance to move out from the social housing into the city this was a great personal loss for me.

My 3 speed 'Bonanza' bike ready for school

   While he was still living in our community his mother sent him once a week to learn the Japanese martial art Judo in the local Police Sports Club (Polizeisportverein). A club in Germany is a non-profit association for the benefit of the society. So my mother registered me there too. The fee was very low, as I remember she paid annually (!) German Mark 26 (=Euro 13.00 = USD 16.00). Another chapter and very different world in my life opened when I stepped into the gym.

   The first time I attended the trial training I did not have a judo uniform, just wore some sport outfit. Once I like it, my mother invested in the proper uniform which was not a small investment at that time. From this moment on I felt as a true Judoka, the proper name of a male student of this form of martial arts.

a Judoka

(to be continued)

Growing Up, part 4

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

I was born the 1960s which were one of the ‘best’ years in recent German history. The reason for this ‘Economic Miracle’ or Wirtschaftswunder was the reconstruction and development from the devastated West Germany into a solid country with a modern economy. The big but open ‘secret’ of this success was the adapted social market economy, “combining a free market capitalist economy system with social policies which establish both fair competition with the market and a welfare state” (wikepedia). 
   If I would single out one German ‘achievement’ to be proud of it would be this social market economy. The ideas can be traced back to Karl Marx (1818-1883) who published Capital, Critique of Political Economy (German: Das Kapital, Kritik der politischen Ökonomie) in 1867. The roots of the West German economy started when the Chancellor of the German empire, Otto von Bismarck (1815-1898), implemented the 'Sickness Insurance Law' for every German citizen in 1883 (!), the very same year when Marx died! 
   What a contrast between two men living in two different times: von Bismarck saw in 1883 the need for the government to "to provide sickness insurance" for the German workers while Donald Trump in 2017 sees the American worker as a profit center with plans to cut the expenses and turn them over to private insurance companies! 
   My father grew up in the countryside of Bavaria close to the Czech border. After the war there was not much work there so his sister encouraged him to move to Reutlingen to become a much needed trucker. At that time the area around this city was blessed with smaller and larger enterprises seeing a chance to earn their part in the recovery of West Germany.

Me and my father in the Bavarian countryside

   As mentioned my parents were legitimized to get a cheap apartment through the co-operative or non-profit housing association (Gemeinnützige Wohnungsgesellschaft) which was created to help and support low income and multi-child families. 

   Generally the idea to help needy families is great. But in our case the ‘low income’ community was created right in the middle of an area of proud house owners; in the front of our apartment were traditional houses while further behind the government developed a new area for private house owners. These owners were not very fond of the non-profit housing residents with their social issues and their noisy kids running around.

   Sometimes we played European football on the sloping grass in front of our house. Very seldom we kicked the ball over the fence into the neighbor’s garden. Once, the elderly lady refused to handle us our ball. I rang the door bell and, living on the 1st floor, my mother opened only the window to ask me what happened. After I explained her that the neighbor did not want to handle us the ball “to teach us a lesson” nothing could stop my 1.6 m short but 70 km heavy mother. She literally ran to the elder lady, a tirade of words exploded out of her and after a clear warning “not the do it again” we had the ball in our hands within a few seconds.

   In my family there was only one choice of school: not far away from home. In primary school we had to walk for about 20 minutes (one way) including a railroad crossing. At that time there was a level-crossing attendant who lowered the gates still by hand after a warning signal. Later the government built two pedestrian bridge and a bridge for the railroad tracks just to save his one job.

   I remember my mother, in true Nazi-fashion, just showed me at the age of 6 the way to school only once (!), how to cross the roads and the railroad tracks - that was it, only one time!

   My mother was very clear about the school time table of each of her children. She knew exactly when we had off and calculated the time we have to arrive at home. If we were too late she took this as an offense against herself and would not let you go. I’d rather cut off my time with classmates or neighbors walking the same way home and even ran sometimes just not to offend her. I would rather have peace for the day, never mind the sweating from running home...

(to be continued)

Growing Up, part 3

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

18 The Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.”

20  But for Adam no suitable helper was found. 21 So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. 22 Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.

23 The man said,

“This is now bone of my bones
    and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called ‘woman,’
    for she was taken out of man.”

24 That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh. (Genesis 2)

   My father was a Catholic from Bavaria and my mother a Christian who came after the 2nd world war as refugee running away from Russian troops which closed in Prussia (German: Preußen or Preussen) which belongs to Poland today. I was the 2nd child of their 4 children and the only son born to them.

   When I was born my parents lived in an apartment in Reutlingen, a city in the southern part of Germany. This apartment was within the shadows of the reformed St. Mary’s Church (German: Marienkirche) which was built in the Gothic style between 1247-1343. According to my mother I was baptized together with my younger sister in this historical building.

   I was too small to remember this apartment. Once my mother showed me a photo when I was playing with a real rabbit in the floor of the living room. Not much later my parents moved into the suburbs after the city government finished building social housing for low-income and multi-child families.

   My real first own memory had something to do with this new apartment. My mother had the ‘gift’ to throw her children into the water just to see them to rescue themselves. As the only boy I got my own room before my kindergarten age (about 6 years old). Immediately after we moved into the new place my mother put me in the bed, turned off the light and closed the door. I was left alone in a new room in the dark and cried for a very long time holding my teddy bear real tight until I finally fell asleep still in tears!

   As long as I remember my mother liked to play the ‘whom I like and whom I do not like game.’ To my sisters I was the favorite of my mother which I did not like this at all. Every parent should respect and treat each one in the same way but my mother got excited to play off her children against each other. When, for example, I did something well she bragged about me in front of my sisters in a way that even I, as   t h e   shiny example, could not stand. The person who did good was allowed into her inner circle of ‘friends’ while the others had to remain on the outside and left with ‘a cold shoulder’ There was a constant competition between the children to gain the mother’s favor, in the process each put the other down or discredited one another in front of my mother who did not hide her pleasure about it.

The son of a trucker

   In this very unhealthy family there was a constant arguing and sometimes even physically fighting not only between my parents but was quickly picked up by the children. As I had my own room I turned this into my inner castle. I did not really join the life of my family, did not want to live and accept this environment of fighting and jealousy; I refused to join my sisters in the quest of favoritism. On the contrary I suffered a lot from the constant quarrels between my parents which sometimes turned really nasty.

   As long as I remember I had the habit to pray before sleeping; I don’t know when or how it developed. After going to bed I immediately put my fingers together and started “Father in heaven”…This habit progressed to a point where I’ve sent two prayers, one for me and one prayer in my teddy bear’s voice. Of course, the voice of a stuffed toy cannot be heard by everyone but by me and, that I was sure, God was listening…

(to be continued)

Growing Up, part 2

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

Preface (continued)
   In this environment (father: alcoholic, mother: violent Nazi) it might be easy to understand that I did neither had a happy nor exciting childhood or youth. I'd rather carried a kind of 'guilt' with me. A "Guilty to be born" or as my mother put it "Why did Goethe have to die and you are still alive?"

   When my classmates bragged after their summer holidays, their destinations and experiences I listened quietly in amazement because we as a family did neither go anywhere nor undertook anything at all. It seemed there was just a waiting that the free days will pass soon and we could go back to school. Holidays were like any given day just instead of going to school we stayed at home. 
   I spent most of the time in my room reading books. In a world of constantly fighting parents and a very dominant mother ("As long as you put your legs under my table you do what I say!") I somehow did not turn to violence, alcohol or even smoking to cope with it but rather I 'let it go' by turning into my world of books. 
   While the world of my parents might tare itself apart my room became a window to another, a loving, sunny and adventurous world. I lived with Robinson Crusoe on the remote island,  I understood and participated in the fights of the 'Last of the Mohicans' and traveled with Phileas Fogg in '80 days around the world' and visited with him the most exotic places in the world. 
   When I started reading I've tried to share with my family but soon realized that they were not interested. But I could not stop reading; in every book I found so many interesting thoughts, ideas and locations I've never heard of and were very hungry to discover more and more.
   Sometimes I caught myself, for example when we were eating, that I unintentionally looked at each and every family member still in thoughts of the last book and could not help but felt a kind of pity for them, especially my parents. I had the notion that I've found in these stories a key out of our misery of a broken and sometimes very violent family into a positive and magic world where people were of course fight too but also knew how to reconcile and to forgive each other. But they just seemed too busy fighting each other and overlooked this small but important key which could be a blessing for the own good. Despite all the violence and even hate in my family the feeling of empathy for others started at a very young age, when I was around 10 years old.
   Some people might think that my childhood and youth might be wasted time because the parents did not what they should do, to create a save and loving environment, to teach and take part in the growth of their children, support and encourage them. All of this my parents did not do or give to me. But from these years I could gain experiences which I would not only miss but were very helpful in my later life. From a very young age I've learned that I should not be discouraged through disappointments and setbacks but should learn from them and continue to walk upright.
   Watching my father drinking his responsibilities as head of the family away and seeing his own self-elected life as an excuse to drown in alcohol I was and still convinced that I should be grateful for the chance to be in this world and that people can have control to a certain degree over their life. 

My father and me

   My father gave up much too early to fight for himself but rather fought not only with this 3 (!) wives and 8 own and stepchildren. As a result he left this world alone with no one beside him.
   Despite of all the difficulties and setbacks in my childhood and youth I have always been an optimist and very thankful for my own family, my wife and my daughter. This gratitude turned this boy, who was, according to his parents, a 'disappointment' and 'useless' child, into a responsible husband and father and a successful entrepreneur. In my free time I am helping people to cope with their life and preach the Gospels. 
   As a young 'never-do-well', as my mother often called me, it would be unthinkable that I  will become against my parents odds that I would invite neighbors and church members in my own home to read the Bible together, to explain and discuss the words of the Lord and that he would be asked about his personal advice and opinion. This 'loser' would never imagine that people would wait for him like a teacher and shepherd not only helping but also healing people.
   Life can be so beautiful, when you just believe that each and every life has it's purpose, that everyone has his or her own talents, that everyone is originally the precious child of God.  It took some time not to trust in humans but rather to trust in this father in heaven and hold on to this faith with confidence when the going gets tough and feel alone.

(to be continued...)

Growing Up, part 1

A German Youth

Grown up in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s

Dear Reader,

   Deep from my heart I am grateful that you take your time to read my lines, stay with them for a while, might think about or even be inspired by them.

   I am very excited about the possibility to communicate through the medium of a blog for the first time. While I am typing I hope that you do not only find the pages entertaining but also discover something new and worthwhile for your, your family, your environment and your life in general. If I should be carried too far from the main subject please forgive me this in my excitement for my first publication.

Preface

   To understand me better I would like to introduce myself and my parents first. I hope that, especially between the lines concerning my time growing up, you will discover how important it is for parents to work responsibly on an intact family. While I write this the divorce rate in Taiwan, the country I am living, is at a staggering 50% in the first 3 years of the marriage!  The most who suffer under the quarrels, pain and separation of families are the one least guilty: the children.

   My parents got married after their previous divorces. Since their own relationship did not work either my mother permanently blamed us children for her ‘own misfortune‘ by telling us permanently that ‘we are the reason' why she is so misery. Not only with words but even more with the outright explosive violent character and reflexes of a child growing up during the 2nd World War she not only hurt my elder sister, me and my two younger sisters but also her daughter, or our stepsister, from her first divorce who lived with us, both mentally and physically.

Me and my 'loving' mother

   My father, who never wanted to be and whom I never considered a ‘Dad‘, was a truck driver. In Germany the work of a trucker includes cleaning, maintaining and preparing the truck for the next week on Saturday mornings. From this work he returned home drunken only to terrorize each and every member of the family with violence and insults until he fell exhausted into bed. On the next morning the drama continued with my mother insulting him the whole holy Sunday. The following weekend the same tragedy started all over again...and again...and again...

(to be continued)

Bike Trip from Xindian (新店) to Hsinchu (新竹) , Part 11, final part

Bike Trip from Xindian (新店) to Hsinchu (新竹)

2018/02/17-18, Part 11

My new bike pal and me did not ride into the center of Yingge (鶯歌) but took the dangerous Sanxia Big Bridge (三峽大橋) over the previously mentioned Dahan River (大漢溪). It does not feel save because there is a wall at the right side of the two lanes, leaving no space to move or no room for errors for the bike rider. Additionally there are many speeding cars and trucks over this bridge, seemingly pushing the bikes against this wall. It takes some courage and cost some nerves to cross it even for an experienced rider.

Dahan River (大漢溪) near Shihmen Water Reservoir (石門水庫)

Fortunately there was not much traffic on this early sunny afternoon but just in the middle of the bridge fell my chain off the bike! It was a fix of a few seconds with the help of a plastic bag protecting my hands from the dirty and sticky chain lube.

In Sanxia (三峽) we rode to the famous Old Street (三峽老街); I wanted to invite my partner for some shaved ice. Arriving there I could not believe how many people used the Chinese New Year holidays to visit this street. Seeing that it was hopeless by bike to ride through the crowd my friend suggested another place. Unfortunately it was closed...

Sanxia Old Street (三峽老街)

After he explained the familiar way home we finally separated. I gave him my name card in case he wants to initiate another ride some times later. When getting in touch with Taiwanese or Chinese you should not push too hard and give the opposite person some time. I am still waiting for the call... 

From Sanxia (三峽) is a mountain road to Xindian (新店), my home for some 25 years. I know the road very well so I've decided to stop at a 7-11 and have an ice cream first. As I've asked the shop assistant for the ice box I noticed a customer sitting in front of the window eating strawberry soft ice cream. I've ordered on and enjoy the cool ice on this sunny afternoon.

strawberry soft ice cream

The mountain road was nearly empty and therefore made good progress. Not far away from my home I've noticed a flat on my front wheel but did not want to repair it. So, the final 1km I walked home...

mountain road between Sanxia (三峽) and Xindian (新店)

I arrived around 3:30 at home, a little exhausted but very happy and felt great about my personal achievement. Still in a good mood I opened my luggage and threw everything to wash (sleeping bag etc.) in the wash machine. I took of my sweaty clothes and took a good hot shower. The dirty clothes I threw into the machine and let it wash together with my other stuff.

Looking back on these two days I was thankful for every pedal stroke I could experience. From the exceptional weather, the friendly people I experienced, the breath-taking views and the very smooth riding. 

We are living in a great time with all the amenities our fathers only dreamed of (internet, smartphone, GPS, credit card etc.). For me we are living in unbelievable rich times and it is amazing why people are still longing for the old times by discrediting the freedom of speech and suppressing other opinions like their own build protective walls which already came down in Europe in the 1990s. 

While I write this there is a very clear return to protectionism and populism; the ideas of the 'old guards' (guarding what?) are on the rise. People are freely giving up democracy for their own short sighted benefits, willingly to give up this freedom which their own fathers fought and died for. Why? I don't know...

Riding in the USA 10 years ago I've told and American that ..."the USA is a great place." He answered: "You think so?" At that time the word 'fake news' was not even invented.

I thank God that he created the island of Taiwan. As God has given the land of Israel to Abraham I am sure He gave this land to the great Taiwanese people - with a purpose. 

"Look around from where you are, to the north and south, to the east and west. 15 All the land that you see I will give to you and your offspring (Genesis 13).

Unfortunately many people in Taiwan refuse to accept this island as there home, they have been hurt by the history, have lost their faith into the government! Bless Formosa, the beautiful island, to face their past and not to return back but move forward to find their own way of democracy.

Do not put your trust in prices, in human beings, who cannot save (Psalm 118). 

May everyone be blessed and have a save ride,

Gerhard