Day 192 - Being Four Years Old Again

Slightly older than 4-year-old neighbors from Dudrey Court

Many times in my life I have said that I thought four years old was the perfect age - or at least it was my perfect age. At four years old, I hadn't started school yet, so I didn't have any routine to my life besides wanting to get up earlier than my parents and not wanting to go to bed when they told me to. I didn't have any homework to do. I only had one sibling to have to share anything, including my parents' attention. And I found it very easy at that age to meet someone new and become best friends with him or her instantly.

I was four years old when Margaret Simonitsch's family moved back to the house across the street from ours. They had lived there before, but then I was too young to have any memories of them. I still remember clearly the image of seeing blonde Margaret on the driveway of the house across the street, looking towards our house. She wasn't the first person in the neighborhood about my age, but she was the closest one to our house. And I knew right away that she was going to be my friend.

We often took drives on Sunday afternoons when Dad wasn't working a shift that had him at the Power Plant all day. And when we took those drives, I don't think even Mom knew where we were going to end up. Sometimes it would be at one of Mom's or Dad's sibling's homes on the farm. But sometimes we would drive somewhere else, like to Detroit Lakes, where high school friends of Mom or Dad lived. I recently learned that Dad's sister Myrt and her family lived in Detroit Lakes for a year or so. Perhaps that was the reason Dad drove that far from town just to visit. And I remember meeting another four-year-old girl in the neighborhood on one of those trips. I don't remember her name. I don't remember if she was a relative or the daughter of a friend. Perhaps she was just the child of a neighbor. But I remember being very comfortable playing all afternoon with her. Or maybe it was just an hour. An hour today seems so much shorter than an hour seemed at four.

Maybe it is because I have such good feelings about being four years old that I was so comfortable being around four-year-olds in Germany. Or maybe it is that I am an introvert who is more comfortable talking with just one person at a time and four-year-olds are a good audience for conversation in a foreign language. I had three experiences in three different cities with four-year-olds. And each brought back the feeling of being four myself.

The first was when my colleague Judith and I went to Berlin on a Thanksgiving weekend tour organized by the Armed Forces Morale and Welfare organization at Patch Barracks. In addition to all the site-seeing that was built into the trip, I took the opportunity to visit a couple I knew there whom I had met at a South St. Paul Romanian restaurant several years before. Martin* had been a visiting professor at the University of Minnesota that semester and his girlfriend, Marina*, was from Romania. They met in Berlin when Marina and her ex-husband arrived there after having driven across the border into Hungary and then Austria and finally into Germany. Marina and her husband saw that they had the opportunity to get out of Romania and while they knew they no longer had the basis for a relationship, they decided to make this last trip out of Romania together, after which they split up and never saw one another again.

Martin had heard about the Romanian restaurant in South St. Paul so when Marina joined him in Minnesota for his last few weeks, he took her there. It turned out to be an evening when the Romanian dance ensemble I was part of performed at the restaurant. After we concluded our performance, we always grabbed a few patrons at the restaurant to get them dancing with us. Marina and Martin joined us gladly, and that was the beginning of our acquaintanceship.

A few days after we met them at the restaurant, they called my ex-husband and me to ask if we would join them for dinner. They had a purpose for the invitation. They were hoping we could help Marina find a place where she could get a quick divorce. The German government wouldn't allow them to marry until she could produce a divorce decree. And she couldn't get divorced in Germany without her husband's involvement in the process, but she had no idea where he was. She knew that if she could get a divorce somewhere in the world, and then she and Martin could marry there, the German government would acknowledge their marriage.

Zephyrius and Amalyswintha

We weren't able to help them with that problem, but I stayed in touch with them, exchanging Christmas cards each year, even after John and I had gone through our own divorce. By the time I was assigned to Germany, I knew they had traveled to Denmark where Marina got her divorce and they were able to marry. They now had two children whose names I will never forget: Zephyrius and Amalyswintha. When I learned I was going to Germany, I got in touch with them and Judith and I made our way to see them during our Thanksgiving holiday.

Amalyswintha was still an infant, but Zephyrius was about four. While both Martin and Marina spoke very good English, Zephyrius only spoke German. Since my German was not much better than a fourth graders', I was able to converse quite well with Zephyrius. I was very interested to see how much his language skills had developed, so I asked him a lot of the W-questions - who, what, when, where, and why. I knew that children develop the concepts of who and what before they learn when and where and that why is a more complex concept. During our conversation, I observed that Zephyrius had wer (who), was (what), wenn (when) and wo (where) down pat. But when I asked him questions that began with warum, the German equivalent of why, he usually just repeated what he had last told me.

When Marina told Zephyrius it was time for him to go to bed, he looked up with a sad look on his face and said, "Aber wir spielen" (but, we are playing). I was reminded of my four-year-old self in that moment.

The next four-year-old was the son of a couple Judith knew who lived in Wiesbaden. John* was American and his wife Ulrike* was German. They were following all the advice at the time about one parent speaking consistently in one language and the other consistently in the other language in order to help their son, Jacob*, master both languages. So John spoke with Jacob in English and Ulrike spoke with him in German. In this case, I started asking Jacob the same set of questions I had asked Zephyrius, but in English. And I noticed the same thing. Jacob could answer the who, what, when, and where questions, but why questions stumped him. I decided both Zephyrius and Jacob must have barely turned four because between 3 and 5 years old is when most children begin to ask their parents all those why questions, so famously followed up with yet another why? Or maybe it is that they learn how to ask the question without necessarily having mastered the concept so they ask again, trying to figure it out. After all, once the first why question has been answered, the answer to the next one usually changes. How easy is that for a child to understand?

After we had a meal, the five of us - John, Ulrike, Judith, Jacob, and I - were standing in the kitchen talking and Jacob was trying to get his parents' attention when Ulrike suggested to him in German that he should go and play. He responded "OK," with a smile and then came to me and took my hand to bring me with him to play. That just about melted my heart.

My final four-year-old experience was when Pradeep and Parvani invited me to join them and several of their German friends at a celebration of the Indian holiday of Diwali, the festival of lights. In India, Diwali is a family holiday, but Pradeep and Parvani not only were far from their families, their families were still not happy with their marriage, so it is likely they would not have been welcome in the home of either of their parents anyway. So they invited all the people who had become important to them, and their children, to celebrate Diwali with them.

There were lots of children. I had spent several evenings with Pradeep and Parvani, but never with so many other adults. I think that is why I gravitated toward the children. In this event, there wasn't just a single four-year-old child for me to talk with; there were many children of a variety of ages. So I sat down on the floor with them and asked them questions - not the series of W-questions this time, but questions to get them talking about what was important to them. Some of them seemed bored to be at this event they didn't understand. I think some of the older children thought they might shock me with their answers - I'm certain some of their parents might have been shocked, if the children were honest enough to tell their parents the same thing. But I slipped right into being my 4-year-old or 8-year-old or 12-year-old self, albeit a much more confident version of those younger inner children, and kept the conversation going throughout the evening. If they mentioned something I didn't know anything about, I asked them to tell me more. If they mentioned something I knew something about, I told them what I thought, careful never to mix in any judgment in either my words or my intonation.

I don't want to be four years old again, or even 44 years old. But I hope I'll never stop being able to remember what it was like to be four.

*a name, not necessarily the right one

Day 30 - Orphans

This could never happen today. But life in small town Minnesota was simpler and safer back "then."

While I was in college, my boyfriend was away in the Navy. I still went out with my girlfriends to movies and even to dances, but I didn't go out on dates, because that would have been wrong, right? But I did want to go to events that my friends went to, even though they were on dates, so I came up with a scheme that I thought would work. It would be a way for me to go out, especially to sporting events, without really being on a date. But I am an introvert, so it took me a long time to think about my scheme before I did anything about it.

And all that time was probably the reason that the idea kept sounding better and better each time I considered it. I didn't share the idea with anyone else, so I didn't have a devil's advocate, or even a reasonable person, to poke holes in it. But in the meantime I kept thinking about the idea, working out the details - or at least the appealing ones - in my head.

Image by Bazule, via Flickr

I can still conjure up the image that was central to my scheme. He was about 8 years old, had blue eyes and curly blond hair. He lived in an orphanage. I imagined meeting him and taking him to basketball games and other events that I thought 8-year-olds would be interested in.

He didn't exist, of course. He was just in my imagination. And I imagined that if I met him and if I took him with me to ball games, he would sit next to me and we would share popcorn and soft drinks, and somehow spending time with him would turn into some type of "credit" for my future. I think I even let my imagination get so out of control as to think that once my boyfriend returned from the Navy, he and I would continue to take the blue-eyed, blond boy to ball games and maybe even end up adopting him.

I was so naive.

I didn't realize not every child living in an orphanage is actually an orphan. And I certainly had no idea that children living in orphanages came from families where children might be damaged, either physically or emotionally or both. My image of an orphanage came from children's books, or maybe even from fairy tales, where good little boys and girls were harassed by witches, trolls, or evil step-mothers, but the boys and girls always triumphed, still good.

Eventually, I did get up the courage to call the local orphanage.  I think the only reason the administrator there, or the social worker he put me into contact with, even listened to me was that the orphanage was sponsored by Lutheran Social Services and I attended the local Lutheran college. There may even have been a phone call or two that I wasn't aware of between the social services organization and the pastor of my church, to verify that I wasn't damaged. At least, I hope there was. But no one told me so.

I explained to the social worker that I was offering to take a boy from to a basketball game. I'm sure the social worker asked me more about my motivation, but I don't recall the questions or my answers.

The social worker suggested that the evening would be more successful if I brought two boys with me, so that the boys would have someone they each knew with them for the evening. I wonder now why she never suggested that I take a girl or two instead of boys, but I don't recall that option ever coming up. Because I would be picking up two boys, I asked one of my girlfriends, Lynne, if she would come with me.

The basketball game was between two local college teams. I attended one; my girlfriend attended the other. We picked up the two boys at the orphanage and went to the game.

Image by theirhistory, via Flickr

One of the boys may have been a little older than the other. Neither of them were blue-eyed blonds. And they were both very clever, a more than even match for my naive self, in spite of my 10-year advantage in age. On the ride over to the field house, I learned that neither of them were orphans. Each was living at the orphanage because his parents were unable to care for him. No details about the reasons for parental unavailability were shared.

When we entered the field house, the older boy suggested I get them something to eat and drink. Since that was part of my imaginary scheme, I bought them something. I don't think more than five minutes passed after we sat down before the older boy suggested that he and his friend might want to sit on the other side of the court. Well, now this wasn't part of my imaginary scheme, but I didn't know how to insist they stay with us, so I told them they had to come back to where we were sitting at half time. At least I hope I was smart enough to insist on that.

Image by TheImageGroup, via Flickr

After the game ended, the older boy suggested that we get something to eat before going back to the orphanage. He was big on suggesting. We went to a drive-through fast food place, probably King Leo's, for hamburgers and soft drinks. And then we drove back to the orphanage and dropped off the boys. They both said thanks and that was the end of the evening. And of my scheme.

As I said, those were simpler days, days before there were stories in the news about children being abducted or assaulted by adults who should have been their protectors - teachers, scout leaders, even religious figures. I am so glad I grew up in that simpler, safer time in that simpler, safer place. Sometimes I wonder now why I ever wanted to leave it behind.

Warming Up - Exercise 12

White Christmas

 This Christmas is turning out to be something very unlike what I imagined for this year. Alex and I had just moved to San Diego in August, so I was looking forward to a green Christmas. I lived in California before, 40 years ago, so I already knew that grass is green in the winter and brown in the summer - a reversal of what is customary in Minnesota. But here I am, back in Minnesota for a white Christmas.

Right now I am sitting in my sister-in-law's living room. The two dogs, Max and Kirby, are settled down, as if I weren't here. Scruffy the cat is nestled down under the Christmas tree - a place he prefers but couldn't get to while the presents were still there. We followed the Minnesota tradition of opening all the presents on Christmas Eve, giving Scruffy the best present ever - his resting spot under the tree. Lily, the other cat, has never warmed up to me, so she is probably in some soft place enjoying some of the 20 hours per day that cats spend sleeping.

So it looks like Christmas both inside and out. But in addition to the joy of Christmas, my family is waiting for news of a Christmas miracle. My baby brother's only grandson, Cole, is in the hospital, seriously ill. The first diagnosis was that his organ failures had gone too far for there to be any hope. The family was left with only the ability to wait, and to pray. Then yesterday afternoon, a small dose of good news came when the doctors announced that Cole's blood pressure had gone up enough for there to be some hope. Cole is a fighter, so while the doctors aren't expressing optimism yet, there seems to be hope that Cole will have some time for the doctors to try to counter the organ failure. We have only prayers, hope, and time to wait.

I didn't go to church with my sister-in-law and her family. I must have known I needed to be at home for my sister's call. Cole has taken a turn for the worse, so my brother Bruce and his wife Kathy are heading back to the hospital.

This isn't the way I had expected to spend Christmas. But if there is a silver lining in any of this, it is that we are all focusing on the message of Christmas and the hope that God will grant a miracle on this most precious day for our most precious angel.

Warming Up - Exercise 11

26 Acts of Goodness

Allison Wyatt, 6

I just read an article about NBC's Ann Curry's initiative to encourage everyone to commit to doing 26 Acts of Goodness, one for each of the children and adults who died in Newtown, CT. In her blog she said,

"I know the truth: if you do good, you feel good. It’s the most selfish thing you can do. Right now, this country wants to heal. I think the only thing comforting in the face of a tragedy like this is to do something good with it if you can. Be a part of that wave."

I'm in. I don't know that I want to start counting to keep track of whether I'm at #19 or even #27 - I just want to start doing something, and I don't want to stop.

Emilie Parker, 6

One other step I plan to take is to use the 26 Sandy Hook individuals as inspiration for the pieces I write when I begin my Project 365. My goal is to write at least 500 words each day to post here. I had always planned to write descriptions of people and places, to warm up to the idea of pulling them all together into short stories, essays, and maybe even something longer. I knew that I could use my own experiences, the people and places that have become part of my life as inspiration. But the photos of the Sandy Hook children are so amazing, evidence of the amazing lives that were cut short; these are the inspiration I will use instead. And I'll use their names so that I will never forget them.