My first love called me princess and changed my diapers. Believe me, other men would have turned their heads from me, feeling disgusted by such an odd-smelling little creature. Not him! He was too wise. This man knew that the bond between the sexes starts with a gentle approach.
Four years later I gave "superman" my promise. I felt so rushed! If it weren't me, then my younger sister would probably marry him first. "Dad, promise that you are going to marry me, just ME!" "Sure, Liebling," he said in his softest tone of voice. In those day, I could not predict that just a few years later I might change my mind.
At the age of seven, everything was just the way it had always been. Every Sunday I remember going to church in woolen dresses that gave me skin rashes and hot flashes. I told my mother that I would rather wear slacks, but mother said no. My parents seemed to pay close attention to the fact that we children were well turned out to avoid the criticism of others. What were they afraid of? My seven year old mind was busy looking for proof of my assumption. I started to consciously observe and look for flaws.
My father was a composer and a conductor. Music was his life. Sometimes, when my mother asked him a question, he would answer it with a song. I remember one particular conversation when my mother wanted to talk about her favorite topic: money. She wanted to know whether my father had already received an outstanding amount that one of his customers owed to his company. My father's business policies were subject to his mood swings. Sometimes he, out of goodness, did things for free when he felt it was appropriate. My mother told me later that it was this goodness that made her marry him.
Being confronted with questions about money, my dad started to sing some stupid song. I still can see my mother's face turning red with anger, her eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and hopelessness. "How can I have respect for a man like you?" She leaves the room. The pressing silence stays, and with it the discomfort of being in a room with somebody who, according to my mother, doesn't deserve to be respected. No, after all that I didn't want to marry him anymore!
My father's supposedly careless action obviously infuriated my mother. Underneath the anger, I'm sure there was worry about being entirely responsible for the welfare of her family. Even deeper, there must have been doubt concerning whether she had married the right man. I hope that even deeper under that there was love.
Eighteen years later my parents are still living in the same town, even in the same house. I wonder if they would still send me to church in one of those terrible woolen dresses. I kind of like the thought. It gives me a feeling of familiarity, thousands of miles away from Austria. Even though I am living in a completely different environment, I can still feel at home, for my past travels with me as memories in a suitcase. And guess what? I might just consider my father a role-model after all!
Everything stays the same but myself.
Copyright © 1996 Sterling Rose Press, Inc.
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