Across the street from my Grandparent's place was "the little red school house". It's where I went to pre-school. My dad went there too. When he was attending, everything was in German. When I was going to school there it was all English language. However, half of what was said at my Grandparent's was in German 'till I was 7 or 8 years old.
My Grandfather was a large man. He was very quiet. He laughed at most things. I remember him as sitting near his garden or somewhere usually outdoors, silently watching. Overall he was a very quiet person. He was a large presence, but didn't say much. When he did, I listened.
My Grandmother was a very strong willed and outspoken person. She was very political. She made A LOT of food. What she cooked, I ate. She scolded me when necessary and gave me a nickname no one but she ever used.
My Grandfather fought in World War Two. He was awarded a case full of medals, but to the end of his life he never spoke a word about his experience as a soldier, to anyone, that I'm aware of.
However, something curious, at least, did happen.
When I was ten years old a man arrived, who was expected, with his wife. They had travelled quite a distance by motor home to come to my Grandparent's house. I understood right away that this man and my Grandfather knew each other from "the war".
My Grandmother cooked a bunch of food, other family members brought more. Everyone was there to meet these two people. We ate. The ham. The raw beef with onions and crackers. Herring and bread. Pickles. Potatoes, hot, German style with vinegar.
Then my Grandfather and the man stood together at the end of the covered table in the basement, addressing us all. For the first time ever, I saw my Grandfather, this titan of a man, stumble with words and cry.
In 1944, my Grandfather was a part of a large "allied" force which had surrounded a building occupied by 64 German troops. The building was scheduled for airstrike preceeded by allied withdrawal from standoff. Understanding that there were trapped men inside, my Grandfather insisted that he have a chance at negotiation with the enemy combatants. Entering the building, he explained, in German, that the men could surrender now or the building itself would be destroyed, with essentially no probability of survivors. After a period of 45 minutes, my Grandfather emerged with a scattered collection of four German platoons giving themselves up as P.O.W's.
This man who came to visit was one of those men. He had reconnected with his wife after both of them spent 1-2 years in American concentration camps following the war. They had children, and grandchildren. They were German citizens, who, because of circumstance, became Americans.
When my Grandfather passed away, my Aunt and I contacted the couple who had come to visit, to let them know what had happened. That man had died three months prior. Back and forth, with the woman, we spoke about things quite a bit. She was an old woman, who had lost her husband, and had stories about her children and grandchildren to tell me.
