Growing Up (1), a true kind of short love story
- Gerhard Wanninger
- Oct 4, 2024
- 10 min read
Updated: Nov 12
Some Background
Not many of us were born into wealth, living in tidy and well organized households, wearing the latest designer fashion, posessing modern gadgets, and driving around in cars gifted by parents on their adult birthdays.
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 turned into a very dominant yet oblivious Nazi, while my father became a weak and ineffectual alcoholic, avoiding responsibilities and being unfaithful to his wife and family with both money and women.
My father was a trucker, he had two kind of income, a 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. the rent and the food. Unfortunately, my sister discovered while learning at the same forwarding agency that my father had requested the company to apply the average 3% annual wage increases to his expense account instead of his salary, leaving my mother puzzled as to why there hadn't been a wage increase in the last 20 years.
While my father was spending his own money on women, we lived in social housing, wore the cheapest clothes, and went never on any vacation. We always rode the least expensive bikes or the bikes handed down from older siblings. I've never received pocket money from my parents, earned some through a Wednesday paper route when I was 15. One year earlier, I began cleaning my old school on the first days of our 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 privileged classmates, people might think I would consider my own life as unfair or unjust, as my would mother put it. Someone in the same shoes relating to my obvious hopeless situation would start to question his or her general purpose in life and would conclude that their existence might be seen as a misunderstanding or, even worse, perceive themselves as a burden on family and society.
In my harmful environment with uneducated parents inclined towards violence, all of us children inevitably endured ongoing mental and often physical abuse. I, however, never came to the point when I felt discouraged and somehow knew, there are these positive signs out there that encouraged me to go on and inspired me. I firmly believed that there was something greater out there - I only had to look hard enough. Positive individuals have a different view, can see and recognize seemingly insignificant things which others would just ignore. These small things, like a warm word, a kind gesture, a gentle touch, motivated me to hope for something greater and more meaningful in my very nebulous young life.
While serving serving the homeless as a part-time pastor in a church for 2 1/2 years in my 60s, many of these childhood traumas resurfaced, but this time I looked at them from the perspective of a mature adult. I observed firsthand, how many individuals would chose a wrong path by encountering difficulties and gave up on too easily on the valuable gift of life. People often think they have seen and experienced it all, leading them to abandon the pursuit of change; rather than continuing to search and hope, they become negative, focusing on complaining about things they never possessed or even 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 immerse themselves 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 it, 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 her 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 brought his dirty laundry, created chaos, took showers, enjoyed being pampered, ate, and prepared to depart once more. In 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 him '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.
I was still a child, depending on my parents and had find ways to swallow the pain living with them - whether I wanted to or not. My mother's favorite quote was "As long as you put your feet under my table, you have to do what I say". These few words summarized not only my relationship to her but also described her dominant character very accurately.
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.
Underneath this unstable and even violent environment or surface, I knew that I have to prepared myself for an independent life when my time would come. Once I had my own income, I would be able to break out, could go my own direction, make my own decisions. I tried to see the all the responsibilities and consequences that come living freely as a challenge, I knew that this one day would come 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. For instance, I was impressed by a neighbor's cousin who was very mature at a young age but she headed back home too early. A teacher at church, likely only two years older than me, became a role model for me. On a field trip, she was the only person in my life who ever 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 I study in a more advanced class. People like them were my rocks in a very challenging life, they somehow recognized me and, perhaps unintentionally, gave me reasons to go on, while my own grounded parents failed bitterly.
When my parents argued, I taught myself to detach 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. Had Robinson Crusoe given up hope on that deserted island, he would have died from starvation, and without initiating contact with Friday, he would have 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. 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 a very different country and culture which was much more interesting to me than the sport itself. Only once in Junior High have 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.
Both of my parents were uneducated but full of frustration, anger, and an unexplainable hate towards themselves. To compensate for that, my father had many girlfriends, while my mother had only one friend for knitting and chatting! Life for them was clearly a punishment, and they made sure the children knew and felt it. We ate the cheapest food, wore the cheapest clothes, and lived in social housing. There was continuous violence in our upbringing, including child abuse, as all of us children were mentally and physically punished for our parents' wrongdoings. One evening, we children seriously discussed how we could run away. I wanted to live in the forest by myself, while my sister wanted to report to the police. We all hoped that we would end up in an orphanage somehow, but unfortunately, it never happened. Some might put it as child's play, but for me, it was very serious!
Despite all these problems, I can't explain why or how I've noticed positive signs in my young life. These small things were hard to notice at first but changed my perspective and influenced me profoundly. Things that 'enlightened' me in a very special way. Some of these inconspicuous situations or occurrences caught me immediately, some took a while to impact me, and, as a result, gave me directions in life.
For example, one of our neighbors had her cousin visiting from Bavaria, who was only a few years older than me. I realized that she was very different, much more mature than any of us. Not only her dialect was contrasting from ours but she had something that I would call 'fire' in her actions and words, difficult to explain. I liked to be around her and that's when I noticed that there must be other people unlike those I knew out there - for the first time. One day, when I learned that the person whose company I enjoyed so much had returned to her home, I felt truly sad.
The purpose of this blog is to 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 by his own mother found his way in life, surprised about his his 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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