Growing Up (1), a true kind of short love story
- Gerhard Wanninger
- Oct 4, 2024
- 14 min read
Updated: 5 days ago
Reflecting on my childhood and youth still evokes a sense of melancholy, 'characterized by a deep sadness intertwined with thoughtful reflections and a gentle, tender sorrow'. The sadness comes from having grown up in a broken, chaotic, and often very violent family living in social housing, coupled with the sorrow of contemplating how much easier and happier my life would have been and what I could have achieved and or could have become of me in a little more supporting environment. These feelings arise more from the environment and surroundings influenced by my parents—one of whom was a violent alcoholic and the other a violent Nazi—than from my own transition into adulthood.
While the main goal of any responsible parent should be to educate and prepare their children with a crucial foundation for a positive and life-affirming future, my parents were unable to do so because of their own lack of education, personal issues, and shortcomings—they both failed miserably!
Without any influence of my own, I was thrust into a world lacking love and affection, was regarded as a problematic or troublesome presence by my own parents. My mother would constantly mock we from as long as I can remember with remarks like 'Why do you live, when Goethe (a German polymath whose works have profoundly influenced literature, philosophy, and science) had to die?'. For an adult, such sentences might be seen as humorous or simply just sick, but for a child, this psychological terror from the one who carried them in her womb for nine months could be so depressing to think about ways to end this young live. Her reasons were to 'break me down', her very own answer to the question 'why would a mother do like this'?
Born into a different World
Over 60 years ago, on a spring day in April, I was born in a bed of a rented apartment. My mother later told me she 'didn't make it on time'. So, instead of being born in a modern high rise concrete building called hospital, my first cries were heard in an older building in the shadows of a grand Gothic church built in the 13th and 14th centuries.
Someone must have tended to and wrapped this delicate new life, and it turned out it was a blessing for me not to have understood any of what was going on around me even after the first time I opened my eyes and observed my surroundings without remembering anything. Like all other newborns, love, care, and nourishment were quite literally in the hands of others, relying on them regardless of their feelings and emotions.
As my father was a truck driver busily delivering beer and supplying the family, my mother had to take on the responsibility of caring for their children—naturally. In our family lived already a half-sister, the daughter of my mother's first marriage, and my older sister. After me, there would follow two other younger sisters.
My mother's inability to manage and balance the responsibilities of being a mother and a housewife, together with her psychological limitations, showed more and more that this situation was too overwhelming for her to handle. While my father excused himself by not only working but spending increasingly longer periods outside their home with women and friends, or rather drinking buddies and alcohol, my mother projected her frustrations on her children, showing anger and often rage in anything she had to do as a wife and mother for the family; in the ways she ran the household, handled her children, and, of course, the frustration in the unreliable and unfaithfull relationship with her husband.
During the 20 years we lived together, I can't recall ever seeing a genuine warm smile from her. However, she would laugh heartily at the misfortunes of her children, friends, and neighbors. I never observed her engaging in or initiating any 'healthy' fun; rather, she was often consumed by anger and took a peculiar pleasure in gossiping about others, particularly about those who had found peace and success. In my view, this behavior reflected her own insecurities, as she realized she would never achieve anything similar.
Moving to the Suburbs
To cope with baby boomers of the German economic miracle or Wirtschaftswunder after WWII, the all city governments built social housing in the suburbs of the cities. As 'our' family has grown to four children plus our half sister from my mother's first marriage, they place would obviously become too small.
When I was still a toddler, my parents decided to pack up and relocate to one of the new five-story buildings constructed along the main road. One of my first vivid memories is from when we moved from the city to the new social housing complex; everything prior to that I learned from listening to others and viewing photos in the family album. These functional homes were so new that I recall a barren, earthy hill with unsown grass behind the house, bordered by some bushes and the road leading to the city.
But, despite my very young age, I somehow understood the transformative nature of this important, life-changing event. I clearly grasped the excitement of every family member moving into a new apartment, but more importantly, into a very new environment which promised so much hope for a better and brighter future. There was a flurry of activity around me, and I was likely more occupied with playing with my two younger baby sisters than actually being helpful.
Live changing experience
After a hectic day, we finally went to bed. As the sole boy in the family, I had my own room, possibly for the first time. To a young child, it appeared vast and a bit daunting. I remember a door with a wooden frame painted white and stained glass, situated directly across from my bed. On my first night alone, my mother tucked me in, switched off the light, and instructed me to sleep. By then, I already had a teddy bear that I clutched tightly. Nevertheless, I struggled to fall asleep.
Some sleepless hours later, I decided to get up and walked bravely to the living room to tell my mother, holding my bear by one of his ears in tow. I needed to tiptoe to reach the door handle and finally could open it. But instead of kindness and understanding, this small boy got hit by an outburst of angry and bad, very angry words. She pulled me angrily by my other arm back into my room and threw me on my bed, scolded and violently warned me not to 'get up again' - a truly shocking and brutal experience lasting for the rest of my lifetime. I was too scared to move even an inch and too scared to wake up this mother monster again.
Teach your parents well
Their children's hell will slowly go by
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Teach Your Children
Then I realized that my bear's ear was almost torn off. I felt terrible for the teddy and admitted it was my fault. A few days later, my mother fixed it and reminded me to be more careful with my 'toys', the only one I still have in my 60s, not only reminding me...
No Fortunate Son
Few of us were born into affluence, growing up in neat and well-organized homes, getting dressed in the latest designer fashions without looking on the price label, playing with the latest gadgets, and driving cars gifted by our parents on graduation day.
In contrast, I was 'fortunate' enough to grow up in a broken and quarreling family with very limited parents unable to provide a home, earn a decent living, and, worst of all, failed to work on a functional family. Both of my parents were children of World War II—my mother's strict education turned her into a very dominant yet oblivious Nazi, while my father became a weak and ineffectual alcoholic, avoiding responsibilities while being unfaithful to his wife and family -with both money and women.
My father was a simple trucker, he had two different incomes for one job; monthly salary plus extra expenses to cover the costs while on the road. Somehow, both of my parents agreed that my mother would get the salary to cover all living costs for her and the children, incl. food and the monthly rent. Unfortunately, one of my sisters found out, while working at the same forwarding agency where my father was employed, that he had requested the company to apply the annual 3% increase to his 'expense account' instead of adding it to his salary. This left my mother wondering why there hadn't been a salary increase in the past 20 years.
While my father was spending his 'own' money on women and drinks, the rest of his family lived in social housing, wore the cheapest clothes, and went never on any vacation because 'it was too expensive'. We always rode the least expensive bikes or the bikes handed down from older siblings to the youngers. I or rather we had never received pocket money or monthly allowances from our parents, every cent meant wealth and had to be treasured!
When I was 15, I earned some money through a Wednesday paper route, One year earlier, I began cleaning my old school on the first days of summer holidays. To buy a small motorcycle, I had to put all my savings for the half of the price of a small motorcycle, my parents chipped the rest in.
When comparing my life to that of some of my more privileged classmates, people might get the impression that I would see my own young life as unfair or unjust, as my mother would put it. Someone in the same shoes relating to my obvious dependent situation would start to question his or her general purpose in life and might conclude that their existence seems like a misunderstanding or, even worse, perceive themselves as a burden on family and society and do some stupid things. However, I personally perceived it in a completely different way!
In this harmful environment where uneducated parents inclined to violence under the constant influence of alcohol, all the children inevitably endured continuous mental and often physical abuse. For myself, I never came to the point when I felt discouraged and somehow knew, that there are many positive signs out there that encouraged and inspired me to go on. I firmly believed that there was something greater, more meaningful out there - I only had to look and try hard enough to find it.
Optimistic individuals perceive things differently and can notice and appreciate seemingly minor details that others might overlook. These small acts, such as a warm word, a kind gesture, or a gentle touch, inspired me to aspire for something greater and more meaningful in my still uncertain young life.
While working part-time as a pastor serving the homeless for 2 1/2 years in my 60s, many childhood traumas inevitably resurfaced when others shared their stories with me. This time, however, I viewed them through the lens of a mature adult. I witnessed firsthand how these individuals chose the wrong path by encountering difficulties and giving up too easily and too soon on the precious gift of life. People often believe they have seen and experienced everything, which leads them to abandon the pursuit of change instead of continuing to search and hope. They become negative, focusing on complaining about things they never had or initially rejected. They drift along until retirement, escaping into questionable ideologies and idols, and embracing dubious theories not just out of disappointment but more as a way to confirm their own 'destiny,' whatever that may mean. Many become entrenched in stubbornness, alcohol, and even drugs, ultimately ending up alone or, worse, living on the streets.
From my experiences at my now advanced age, I think the main problems in life come not from the problem itself, but how people view, handle, and learn from situations, how to confront difficulties. My father never confronted or addressed his own or, let alone, his family issues; he consistently avoided talking about them, never examined and tried to change unfavorable situations, never accepted his own responsibilities. But, similar to many 'real' men, he coped with his problems through drinking, resorted to violence, and preferred to place the blame on others.
Following a car accident he had while intoxicated, he sent my mother to manage the situation. Upon discovering that the reason for the accident was allowing my mother's elder sister to drive without a driver's license, he pleased her with a real fur coat, which she, of course, gladly accepted. My mother was in charge of everything, including managing finances, overseeing operations, doing housework, and caring for the children and her husband!
He was seldom at home, acting more like a sporadic guest who created chaos, brought his dirty laundry, took showers, enjoyed being pampered, ate, and prepared to depart again. In our very few conversation, he always portrayed himself as the hero, claiming sole credit for the German Economic Miracle in the 1960s, yet he overlooked simple things like his children's birthdays or, as Spiderman's uncle told 'with power comes responsibilities'. Once, during breakfast, his wife reminded him of my birthday in front of me. He reached into his pocket and tossed a Five German Marks coin onto the table, the same amount he would tip a waitress or someone assisting him at work.
As a child reliant on my parents, I had to find ways to cope with the pain of living with them, regardless of my desires. My mother's favorite Nazi-saying was, "As long as you put your feet under my table, you have to do what I say." These words encapsulated not only my relationship with her but also perfectly illustrated her authoritative nature.
I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but from a very young age, I began living in my own world behind an invisible wall, hesitant to fully engage with the outside world I was meant to live in. While I was part of the family, it felt more like observing a play from a distance rather than being an integral part of it. I chose to retreat and spend time alone in my room, surrounded by motorcycle magazines, books and things I found interesting. My mother often urged me to go outside and play with the neighbor's kids, but I felt insecure and didn't see much benefit in it. At school, making friends with other children was difficult. But deep inside, I needed and longed for a kindred spirit with whom I could converse, share, and discuss.
Beneath this unstable and violent environment, I understood that I needed to prepare myself for an independent life when the time came. Once I had my own income, I could break free, choose my own path, and make my own decisions. I viewed all the responsibilities and consequences of living freely as a challenge, knowing that this day would arrive as surely as the 'Amen' in church.
Since my parents were neither loving nor guiding, but rather violent and uneducated, I sought to observe, listen, and learn from my surroundings, from everything except my failed parents. I was much impressed by a neighbor's cousin who was very mature at a young age. I tried to talk and listen to her, and I was very fond of her - but she headed back to Bavaria too early. Or a teacher at church, likely only two years older than me, became a kind of role model for me. During a field trip, she was the only person ever in my life who asked me 'why I hunch'. I admired a younger pastor who explained the Bible in a very natural way and was open to questions of this young boy. I was very fond of an English teacher, who later informed me that my English skills were above those of my classmates and suggested that I should study more advanced class, of course my mother declined.
People like them were my rocks in a very challenging life, they somehow recognized me and, perhaps unintentionally, gave me reasons not to go astray but believe in the right ways, while my own parents failed in this regard bitterly.
When my parents argued, I taught myself to detach myself from them and the atmosphere they generated, concentrating instead on my personal interests. I borrowed books from the library not only to escape reality but also to gain knowledge about life. If Robinson Crusoe on the lonely island would given up hope, he would have died from starvation, and without initiating the contact with Friday, he would have hidden and stayed alone forever.
To many, I may have appeared as a silent fool drifting aimlessly between realms. I didn't talk a lot because I didn't have confidence in myself or in anything I could say would matter at all. I had many things in my mind and often right on my tongue but the words did not come out. I would rather keep quiet and looked for reasons to escape conversations. Some would call me a loner, but I had many things going on. I've learned Judo and football. In Judo, I learned more about this very different country and culture which I found much more fascinating than the sport itself. Only once in Junior High I had to defend myself from a bully in front of a group of classmates - and I felt truly sorry about it, even I 'won'.
I listened to many foreign songs, in the beginning to be against my parents who never learned a 2nd language in their lives. Later, as my English partly improved through these songs in my ears. Over time, I gradually started to understand the lyrics and discovered that some songs resonated with me by addressing situations in my own world.
(Whitesnake - Here I Go Again)
Yes, I was very sure where I had been - and I knew what I did not want to turn into. I had no desire to transform into a heartless Nazi who would blindly follow traditions or irrational orders, or live a meaningless life as a cheating alcoholic. Surprisingly, despite the environment I was living in, I wanted to become a 'good' person with a positive influence on others, even though I did not know how I could become someone like this. But I believed there was this purpose I somehow followed.
The purpose why I write this all down is not to explain myself but share some of my more significant 'small things' that helped me to grow up to become a positive person, a good husband, and a responsible father. The son who was often called a 'failure' and asked 'why do you live when Goethe had to die' by his own mother found his way in life, surprised about his won abilities to adapt, accept, and improve. As for some of these results, I've studied in a seminary and became a part-time pastor supporting others while running a successful company based in the Far East for nearly 30 years. Life can be good!
Small Escapes
Riding my first bicycle just in front of the house gave me the first true experience of freedom or the feeling of it. While still wobbling around, there was the sensation that I could ride wherever I wanted, as long there is my bike and a road. Falling off the bike did not bother me, bloody hands and knees were a mark of honor for me. I did not cry tears of pain but felt sad when my mother called me home for lunch or dinner...
When I was a 16-year-old teenager, I naturally bought a small motorcycle. It brought me the distance I longed from a much-quarreling family - whether it was between the parents, the parents, and their children and even among the children, copying their parents. Many of these senseless arguments turned ugly not only with loud words but also saliva and violent hands flying between family members! I have to admit that I suffered a lot at this place called 'home sweet home' and looked, of course, for chances to escape. With this motorbike, I was able to cut the cord and I rode at any chance I could find. Sometimes I rode for three hours just to eat a hamburger - I needed objectives, however ridiculous they might sound.
I felt only alive when I had these small escapes, whether on a bike or into books. My life seemed senseless to others but I did not know another way - I had bad idols and did not better!
As I grew older, I bought bigger motorcycles on which I continued my trips - I'd rather choose the open road than stay at home. Unfortunately, with a larger motorcycle came a heavier weight, and slipping on icy roads was neither fun nor safe. So I rode this Yamaha (and later Suzuki) only for 1/2 of the year (from March to September), for the remaining months both of my motorbikes hibernated in the basement and I took the bus.
In the beginning of the 1980s, global warming hasn't entered the mainstream. Autumns and winters were traditionally harsh in the southern part of Germany - often with snow and even ice covering the land and the roads. I remember once slipping three times on icy roads on my way to work on an early winter morning. Some days, the weather was so bad that I preferred taking the bus over getting wet or icy on my motorcycle. To avoid getting injured and my motorcycle damaged I already went in late September to the registration office and deregistered my bike. To get to my work, I bought a monthly pass for the bus.
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