Grandmas

Both of Chris’ grandmas celebrated their birthdays over the last couple of weeks. One was 75, the other 89. They both have been an integral part of Chris’ entire life, and he traveled back to Alsbach (an hour and a half away) to celebrate each of them.

I was just reminiscing this morning about how much these women both mean to me. Both have had their arms open to me from the beginning. People are amazed that I am so well accepted into the Herpel household, that someone who was a young lady, and adult, during the Second World War, could, today, be accepting the gay boyfriend of her grandson as one of their own. But, it’s true. Mariechen (89) and Sissi (75) are both loving people who, it seems, have always had a special place in their hearts for Christoph. And, now that Christoph has found someone that will be with him for a long, long time, they are happy for him.

On a side note, I accompanied Chris on his visit to Sissi’s 75th. I have, up to this point, used the “Sie” (the polite form) of German with them. (It is a form you use for people that you don’t know, or that you respect because of age or social standing. Your boss would be a “Sie”, for example.) And, traditionally, I would use that form with Chris’ parents, also. To use the more familiar form, you have to be invited to do so. For instance, someone will say, “Not ‘Sie’, ‘Du’”!, or “You can say ‘du’ with me.” Well, Chris’ parents invited me to the familiar form a long time ago, but with grandparents that you see much less often, and who are more traditional, one normally never changes to the “du” form. At Sissi’s birthday, though, I was sitting at the table, and asked her,

“Who will be sitting at the end of the table in that chair?”
“Opa.” (The word for grandpa), she said.
“Oh,” I said “Herr Schmidt will be sitting there.”
“Nein. Opa. Fertig.” was the reply. (No. Grandpa. Period.)

So, then, in an instant, I was invited to the familiar form, and to not only begin using the Christian names of Sissi and Horst, but, rather, to even go a big step forward and call them Grandpa and Grandma.

Of course, I miss my own immediate family a lot. My parents and sisters will always be close to me. But, I never really had a grandma when I was growing up. My mother’s mother passed on when I was very young. I barely knew her. I have very fond memories of her, of course, but they are early childhood memories that play out in my head like a dream sequence of some kind. The mother of my father is still alive, but, for whatever reason, a vehement hatred of my mother, I suspect, she has wanted nothing to do with us for our entire lives. In other words, I have had no grandma. But, now I do. Maybe I feel overly sentimental this morning, but I really have love in my heart for these two, loving German grandmas of mine. I am only sorry that I will only be able to enjoy them for this part of my life, and not to have had them through all those years when I could have used that kind of unconditional love escape.

Fetal Positions

I was just thinking the other day about how completely frustrating that must be to be a baby and then come out of the womb, into the cold air, the noise, the lights, etc., after having lived in a wonderful, nurturing environment for 9 months. I can only imagine it must be just about the scariest thing ever. And, cuddling up to the mother’s breast, in warm clothes, being held and protected must, indeed, be one of the most bonding moments in the life of a human being.

Even after we are grown, many of us still sleep in the most comfortable position, the fetal one, in the form that we once knew in the womb. It is the most comfortable to us, especially after a hard day, to just curl up into a ball, and allow sleep to calm us and ready us for the next day.

How must a butterfly feel, emerging from the cocoon? After having so many real growing pains and then, just getting too big for his home, having to branch out and spread his wings. Many exalt this moment as one of the crowning glories of God’s kingdom. But, I’ll bet it is not this feeling of waking up after an extremely restful sleep for the butterfly, I’ll bet it is extremely scary to have to come out of that warm, safe nest, to spend that first 2 hours so vulnerable, unable to fly because your wings are too wet. Just sitting there on that branch, drying, afraid some bird will eat you. Crowning moment of God’s kingdom, well, yes, but, nonetheless, scary as Hell, I would imagine.


Even though I am a grown man and have statistically no reason to be a worrier, I am. It is just an aspect of my personality to be extremely tightly wound. Sometimes I find it hard to go out into the world and function, pretending to be a regular, average Joe. I’m not saying I am anything special or better, it’s just that I have always had an inherent mistrust of my fellow man, a fear of crowds of nameless people, a need to stay, balled up, in my cave until the search for food made it inevitable to venture out.

I don’t know why I feel this way. For being such a sarcastic hard-ass most of the time, I am sure people would be surprised at how vulnerable I actually feel much of the time. But, it’s true. I am too sensitive for the world. Overall, I would say that my existence here in Europe, in my profession is idyllic. Yet, I find myself rather hating my colleagues much of the time, because they are so tough, and resistant to any kind of negative tension. I wasn’t really made for show business, I guess, except that I have something to say. Often the people that have something to give to the art form are consumed by it. I guess that’s why we have so many hacks on the stage.

I try to be a pragmatist when it comes to understanding life and philosophy. So, now that I know this about myself, that it will always be hard to survive, what is the pragmatist’s solution?

An even sparing touch

An even sparing touch,
would to me great warmth.
A fleeting brush against me
brings light to cavernous
imagination, yet unlit

And your glance.
Beneath,
like hidden joy
hiding to be found,
I see you.