Growing Up (1), An Unfortunate Son
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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 or could have become of me in a slightly more supportive environment. These feelings arose from the environment and surroundings influenced by my parents—one violent alcoholic and the other a violent Nazi—more than from my own transition from childhood 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 mainly because of their own lack of education, personal issues, and shortcomings—they both failed miserably!
Without any wrongdoing of my own, I was thrust into a world lacking love and affection and was regarded as a problematic or troublesome presence by my own parents. My mother would constantly mock me 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 some adults, such sentences might be seen as humorous or simply just sick, while for a child, this psychological terror from the one who carried this new life in her womb for nine months could be so depressing to think of ways to end this still hopefull young life before it even has started. Her reasons were in her very own word to 'break me down', in answer to my question, 'why would a mother talk 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 a 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 anything of what was going on around me even after the first time I opened my eyes and observed my surroundings. Like all other newborns, love, care, and nourishment quite literally in the hands of others, relying on them regardless of their feelings and emotions.
While my father worked as a truck driver, delivering beer and providing for the family, my mother naturally took on the responsibility of caring for the children. Our family included my half-sister from my mother's first marriage, my older sister, and me. Later, two more younger sisters were born, making us all part of the baby boomer generation.
My mother's struggle to manage the dual roles of being a mother and a housewife, combined with her psychological limitations, increasingly revealed that the situation was simply too much for her to handle. Meanwhile, my father justified his absence not only by working but by spending longer periods away from home with women and friends, or rather drinking buddies and lots, lots of alcohol. My mother channeled her frustrations onto her children, expressing anger and often rage in her duties as a mother—whether in managing the household, dealing with her children, or coping with her unreliable and unfaithful relationship with her husband.
Throughout the 20 years we lived together, I can't recall ever seeing a genuine warm smile or any other gesture of happiness from her. However, she would laugh heartily at the misfortunes of her children, friends, and neighbors. I never saw her engage in or initiate any 'healthy' fun; instead, she was often consumed by anger and took a peculiar pleasure in gossiping about others, especially those who had found peace and success. To me, this behavior reflected her own insecurities after she realized she would never achieve anything similar.
Moving to the Suburbs
To cope with the baby boomers during the German economic miracle or Wirtschaftswunder after WWII, 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, the 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. In fact, one of my earliest vivid memories was from when we moved from the city to the new social housing complex; everything prior to that I learned from listening to stories and viewing pictures in the family album.
These practical homes were so new that I recall a bare, earthy hill with unplanted grass behind the house, surrounded by a few bushes and the road to the city. Yet, despite my very young age, I somehow understood the transformative nature of this significant, life-altering event. I clearly sensed the excitement of every family member moving into a new apartment, but more importantly, into a brand-new environment that promised so much hope for a better life and brighter future. There was a flurry of activities around me, and I was likely more focused on playing with my two younger baby sisters than actually being helpful.
The government deserves recognition for its attempts to find solutions for low-income individuals. However, consolidating a diverse group of people with various challenges into a single residential block has created more problems than it has resolved. Although residents gained access to affordable housing, they continued to face their own personal struggles. Efforts to address family issues, improve interpersonal relationships, and support those who are mistreated or abused were still in their early stages, and the sheer number of cases I witnessed as a child was simply overwhelming.
A life-changing abusive experience
After a long day of moving into our new home, we finally went to sleep. As the youngest boy in the family, I had my own room for what felt like the first time in my life. With others around, it didn't seem particularly special. However, when I was alone, the room felt very large and overwhelming.
Across my bed was a white-painted wooden-framed door with stained glass. I believe the purpose was to ensure the room wasn't too dark. However, the shadows cast by people moving in front of it left plenty of room for interpretation in the mind of a small boy, alone in a room.
I still vividly remember 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.
After what felt like an eternity, I felt the need to seek human companionship and decided to get up. Holding my teddy bear in my arm, I courageously walked through the darkness to the living room. I needed to tiptoe to reach the door handle and finally could reach it.
Instead of warmth and understanding, the young boy was confronted by a sudden outburst of harsh and angry words, which were certainly inappropriate for a minor. Her huge body jumped from the sofa; she pulled me violently by my arm back into my room that I tripped multiple times. She forcefully tossed me onto my bed, reprimanded me, and aggressively warned me not to 'get up again'.
This was a truly shocking and brutal experience that took away my innocence as a child and would affect me for the rest of my life. I was, of course, terrified—not of the shadows, but of my mother! That night, I dared not move an inch, too afraid to wake this monster again.
Amidst my lonely tears, I realized that my teddy bear's ear was almost torn off. I felt terrible for him and admitted in a language only he would understand, that it was my own fault, my terrible mistake; I was so sorry!
A few days later, my mother fixed it and reminded me to be more careful with my 'toys'. This toy is the only one I still have in my 60s, a still reminder of how my life took shape...
No Fortunate Son
Only a few of us were born into a wealthy environment, raised in tidy and orderly homes, wearing the newest designer clothes without checking price tags, enjoying the latest gadgets, and receiving cars from our parents as graduation gifts.
Quite contrary, 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 upbringing turned her into a very dominant yet oblivious person, and unfortunately, she aligned with Nazi ideals. In contrast, my father became a weak and ineffective alcoholic, avoiding responsibilities while being unfaithful to both his wife and family, often squandering resources on both alcohol and women outside the family. Some relatives and neighbors from my father's generation exhibited a notably different attitude towards their family; I would attribute the lack of affection more to my father's character than to the war.
He got a job at a freight forwarding company as a long-haul trucker. This meant leaving on Sunday nights, coming back once a week, getting a few hours of rest, and hitting the road again until Friday. What seemed like tough work at first turned out to be a blessing in disguise for his wife and kids. While Dads usually feel sad about leaving his wife and children, my father clearly enjoyed his free, irresponsible life away from his family.
On Saturdays, all drivers are required to clean and service their trucks in preparation for the following week. Sometimes, we children would ride our bikes to the forwarder to help out, which was actually quite fun. After finishing the truck work around noon, he ended up in the company's basement where the beer machine was located. While he was working on his papers and Tachograph discs, he had his first bottle. When his colleagues came in, he had another bottle, followed by many others.
After he finally found his way home in late afternoon, we all knew that the weekend was over. Someone would shout the alarm, 'he is coming,' my mother would prepare, and the children would hide. We all watched him staggering drunk over the grass of the backyard through the window and knew what would happen: a violent and insulting man on the roll. His big hands could not only destroy things in the house but also hurt the people around him, physically and psychologically. To cope with the regular fear of Saturdays, my mother developed what I would call an appeasement policy. She attempted to defuse the situation by engaging him in the kitchen and making him go to bed early. This drunken Saturday was not a unique event but a regular occurrence over many years, profoundly negatively impacting all the children—a situation I would not wish on anyone, let alone children growing up!
While my father spent his money on women and alcohol, the rest of us lived in social housing and wore the cheapest clothing, ate the cheapest food. As the only boy, I was luckier than my sisters; they had to wear the clothes handed down from the older to the younger. To economize or stretch our budget, we would walk distances to a hypermarket to buy affordable food while my father's car was parked at the forwarder's parking lot. As children, we would share the responsibility of carrying a large quantity of discounted bread and storing it in the freezer.Even back then, there were inexpensive imitations of food brands we were very familiar with; we could only watch the originals on the shelves or in commercials during our traditional evening TV gatherings. We could remember and sing all the jingles when the products were being introduced.
My mother was responsible for managing our family's sanitary conditions, which were, frankly speaking, terrible and unworthy of a developed country. To save money, we were only allowed to brush our teeth once a day, bathe once a week, and had to wear the same clothes for multiple days. For me, this was especially humiliating when interacting with others, and I felt deeply ashamed when engaging with people, such as neighbors or at school.
We always rode the least expensive bikes or the bikes handed down from older siblings to the younger ones. I, or rather we, had never received any pocket money or monthly allowances from our parents; every cent she could save meant wealth and had to be treasured!
At the age of 14, I began earning some money by cleaning the school I attended during summer break, allowing me to save up. When I turned 15, I started making money through a Wednesday paper route. The largest gift I received was for my church confirmation, a celebration following a year of Protestant schooling in Christian values and the Bible that allowed me to become a full member of the church. I used all my savings to contribute half of the cost of a small motorcycle, while my parents covered the rest.
When comparing my life to that of some of my more privileged classmates, one might think I view my own situation as unfair or unjust, as my mother would say. Someone in my position might start questioning their purpose in life, feeling as if their existence is a misunderstanding or, worse yet, believing they are a burden to their family and society. This could lead them to make poor choices. I, however, looked at my situation quite differently!
In this harmful environment, where uneducated parents often resort to violence fueled by alcohol, misguided ideologies, and overwhelming emotions, every child inevitably suffers from both mental and physical abuse. From a very young age, I noticed this not only in my own family, but I often witnessed it and would be confirmed by neighbors of this social housing community - starting right next door.
To deal with it, I said to myself that I would never come to the point when I felt discouraged or down; I never started smoking to become a part of a group and never became more than a controlled, social drinker. Somehow, I noticed and knew that there are many positive signs in this obvious mess of my life, 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 them.
Back then, I already knew that optimistic individuals could perceive things differently and, as a result, would notice and appreciate seemingly minor details more than others might simply overlook. These small things, such as warm words, kind gestures, or gentle touches, inspired me to aim for something better and more meaningful in my still uncertain young life. I wanted to avoid the trap of continuous violence and vulgarity, I wanted to break this meaningless cycle for the next generation. I did not know how to do that, but I somehow had this in me...
During my two and a half years of part-time work as a pastor serving the homeless in my sixties, I found that many childhood traumas resurfaced as they shared their stories with me. This time, I was able to view these experiences from the perspective of a mature adult. I learned firsthand how these individuals often chose the wrong path during difficult times and gave up too easily on the precious gift of life.
People frequently believe they have seen and experienced everything, which can lead them to abandon the pursuit of change instead of continuing to search for hope. They can become negative, focusing on complaints about things they either never had or initially rejected. Many drift through life, seeking solace in questionable ideologies and idols. They embrace dubious theories, not only out of disappointment but also as a means to validate their own sense of 'destiny,' whatever that may mean. Unfortunately, many individuals become entrenched in stubbornness, alcoholism, and drug use, which can lead to loneliness or, even worse, a life on the streets.
Based on my experiences at my advanced age, I've come to believe that the main problems in life arise not from the issues themselves, but from how people perceive, handle, and learn from their situations, as well as how they confront difficulties.
My father, for instance, never addressed his own problems or those within our family; he consistently avoided discussions about them, failed to examine and attempt to change unfavorable situations, and never accepted his responsibilities. Like many so-called "real" men, he coped with his problems through drinking, resorted to violence, and preferred to blame others rather than solving anything!
After being involved in a car accident while intoxicated, he sent my mother to handle the situation. Upon discovering that the accident occurred because he allowed my mother's elder sister to drive without a driver's license, he attempted to appease her by giving her a real fur coat, which she gladly accepted. My mother took charge of everything—managing finances, overseeing operations, handling housework, and taking care of the children and her husband—while he did nothing.
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 conversations, 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-Mark coin onto the table, the same tip he would give to a waitress or someone helping him load or unload the truck.
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 very 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 a 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 to 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 had given up hope, he would have died from starvation, and without initiating 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 look 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 of writing 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 do 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 hadn'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 to the registration office in late September and deregistered my bike. To get to my work, I bought a monthly pass for the bus.
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