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)