Chapter Two: Hop, Skip, and a Jump to Germany
PART ONE
My first moveMove #1 Worms, Germany
My Dad’s orders were delayed. He was supposed to leave Ft. Bragg in May but because my m
om was so close to her due date he got an extension until August. When I finally arrived my mom had to go bring me for a passport photo (I started young! First passport picture when I was only a few days old.) Apparently my mom had to sit on this hard wooden bench (stiff and uncomfortable and after just having a baby not any easy thing to sit on). They guy taking my photo (she had to hold me) kept giving my mom a hard time for not sitting up straight. She got the photo though. I have a copy of it somewhere.
Before my parents headed off to Germany I was baptized at St. Anastasia’s in Monroe New York. My Godparents were my Aunt Sue (my dad’s sister) and my Uncle Herbie (my mom’s cousin). After the christening it was on to a plane and off to Germany.
Let me give a brief background on my family.
My Family
It’s not very big. My dad was the oldest of three and my mom an only child. My dad had two sisters, my Aunt Sue (middle child) and Aunt Patty (youngest).Aunt Sue married Uncle Jodi sometime when I was in grade school (I think I was in 4th grade). I was a junior bridesmaid. We were living in Kansas at the time and so just my dad (who was a groomsman I believe) and I few out to NY. Uncle Jodi died when I was in Germany (it had to have been only a few years later. He had cancer.) I remember VA and water guns but my memories of him are few and very faded.
Aunt Patty married Uncle Mike when I was in 3rd grade. I was the flower girl. She had three children—all boys. Christopher who’s 15, Matt who’s 7 and Ryan who’s 5. Those are my only cousins—immediate cousins. I have some other family that I see rarely and don’t know that well.
On my mom’s side there is Aunt Ann Marie, Uncle Herbie and Jessica. My mom’s dad died when I was young and my mom’s mom wants nothing to do with me or my brothers and sister (it’s a frustrating story for me, I’ll get to it at a later point when it actually affected my life). The only other person I know on my mom’s side is my Aunt Mae.
I love the story of my Aunt Mae. It’s a sad story ultimately, but I love it because of the history it portrays. This goes back to the late 1890s into the start of the 1900s. (I guess you have to remember I love history…especially about the style of life during the different eras in history—the mentality of the people, which is probably why I love this story so much)
1890s
(TO BE WRITTEN SOON I PROMISE)Thumb sucker
I was a thumb sucker (I blame that on my screwed up teeth…don’t worry I’ll get to that I had a new orthodontists every year…or so it seemed.) I didn’t like pacifiers or bottles—if it was rubber it wasn’t going in my mouth, much to my mom’s frustration at times.First word
“Dada” (sorry mom) As she says dada is easier to say than mama.My first Halloween
My mom dressed me up as Woodstock (the cartoon bird) for my first Halloween. I was ‘adorable’ (my mom’s words not me). It was the first and last costume she bought me. After that my mom always made our Halloween costumes. Not only did she make costumes she liked to make matching (or sister) dresses/outfits for my sister and I. I groan now. There are tons of pictures of my sister and I in similar (if not matching dresses).I ate. I slept. I cried…okay I screamed. The screaming result in my parents trying to do anything to shut me up. I liked car keys. So you can imagine that was given to me quite often. Well one time I ended up with both sets of car keys and my parents ended up locking themselves out of the car. They loved me for that.
I must have really been a trial for my parents. They were young parents (only twenty-six—my age. It’s hard to believe). I was the first child and I ate slept and screamed. My parents would joke with me that at times they wished they’d drowned me at birth (JOKED—they never meant it, they were just trying to portray how much grief I gave them). Anyway when I was six months old my parents found a babysitter (an eighteen year old neighbor—with her mother around to help if need be). They left me headed for Holland for four days. They didn’t call until the third day when they were heading home the next day anyway. They were afraid the babysitter would tell them to get back home immediately she’d had enough of me. The first words out of my parent’s mouth were “How are you doing?” Not how’s Jennifer. They just wanted to make sure the babysitter had survived. Was I really that bad a baby? The good news I grew out of the screaming phase.
PART TWO
Sprechen Sie DeutschesTrip to Spain
I get motion sick. If it moves (car, bus, train, boat, plane, rollercoaster (which I love), merry-go-round…you name it) I get sick. I’ve been like that since I was a baby. It’s a curse. I don’t know what I did to deserve this fate, but it must have been something bad. When I was about eight months old my parents to a trip to Spain. My Aunt Ann Marie was visiting my parents and came with us. We drove down there. Oh what a trip. I got sick every time we got in the car. My parents finally gave me some Dramamine. It worked. I didn’t get sick. It made me sleep all day. Then came the nights! If a baby sleeps all day she’s not going to sleep through the night too. My poor parents. They didn’t get much sleep.Walking in Worms
My Mom loved Worms. She loved Germany, but Worms she could walk downtown from where we lived. She used to put me in the stroller and go walking. Worms was quaint. I wonderful little town to walk around, visit the shops, the markets… Of course you could describe all of Germany as quaint. It’s really a beautiful country. The houses, the castles, the life.Christmas Trees
Ever since we moved back to the states after living in Germany we’ve had an artificial Christmas tree. My parents did live trees while living in Germany and they were EVIL trees. The needles loved to fall, but even worse they were sharp as knives and very painful. I would go walking around the tree and step on the needles and scream bloody murder. That was the end of live trees. Haven’t seen once since in our house…doubt we ever will.Italy
My first steps: Were almost on the leaning Tower of Pisa. ALMOST. I (as usual) decided to be difficult. What a great story for my parents to tell right? Nope not me. My parents were sure I was going to take those first steps. I was a year old (they’d been waiting awhile for this event) and decided I was going to wait a few more weeks. Then one day when we were back in Germany, a few weeks later, I started walking like I’d been walking all my life. It was up and go.Mom worked to get away from me for a few hours. (Do you see a reoccurring theme here?) Every story I hear involves me screaming and driving my parents crazy. I swear I’ve gotta have a few good moments! Somewhere? Anywhere? I couldn’t have been ALL that bad. (Oh well at least I know the rest of the story and there is hope for me yet!)
PART THREE
Little Willy (a.k.a. Villy): The blonde hair blue eyed BoyMove #2 Hanau, Germany
My parents love to tell anyone who’ll listen why there’s almost a four year gap between me and my brother—especially since they wanted four children. Ohh…just the thought gives me shudders. Two siblings was and is plenty.
It goes something like this—and I tell this story with much less joy than my
parents—As a baby I ate, slept and cried (I know I'm repeating myself). I do get brownie points for sleeping though the night, but apparently when I cried, I screamed and nothing my parents could do would shut me up. They take pleasure in telling me how they’d get looks of pity from passerbys. How complete strangers would come up to them and tell them it’d be okay.
There’s many stories such as the following…My parents went out to the officers club to eat one night, for a nice meal. They brought me. Apparently I decided to have a crying fit in the restaurant disturbing the other guest and not allowing my parents to get a bite to eat. The waitress took pity and them and offered to wheel me around in my stroller so my parents could eat their meal. They tell me they hope I have a child just like myself. However they say that to my brother too. All of us kids have given them grief at one point in life. I just happened to do it early on (I think I was trying to convince them they didn’t want anymore kids! I must have liked being an only child).
Anyway on November 6, 1983 William Joseph H. Jr. was born at Frankfurt hospital in Germany. “Little Willy, such a cute and lovable baby.” Harrumph! My parents take great pleasure in telling ‘The Laughing Story’. I’m tempted not to tell you, but alas that wouldn’t be fair of me. So as you know I slept ate and cried…I guess I never smiled and NEVER laughed, because one day my mom started calling for my dad to come see this: Willy was laughing. They say they didn’t know babies could laugh until they had Willy (who goes by the name Will now).
Willy was a strong, big healthy baby boy: blonde haired blue eye boy. Put him in a room with a bunch of other German babies and he looked more German than them.
Heritage
Dad’s Father: 100% German
Dad’s Mom: 100% Polish
--> My Dad: 50% German, 50% PolishMom’s Father: 75% German, 25% Irish
Mom’s Mom: 25% German, 75% Irish
--> My Mom: 50% German, 50% IrishMe (and brother and sister) = 50% German, 25% Irish, and 25% Polish.
I got the Irish genes. I have the palest or pale skin. My parents nicknamed me Albino. Kind of them I know. But I never go out in the sun and since I’m pale to begin with I really look white next to the rest of my family who has the darker skin of the Polish genes.
Back on track:
At this point (I was three) I’d started preschool and I’d found the love of my life. I loved school. I used to have screaming matches about going to bed each night. (jeez…I see my stubborn streak already…I knew I was stubborn, I just didn’t realize it started shining through so early in my life). I didn’t want to go to bed, however when I started school all my parents had to do was threaten not to let me go to preschool the next day if I didn’t go to bed and that was the end of the screaming. I liked school too much. God forbid I didn’t get to go. From all accounts I picked things up pretty quickly and was a happy child from then on out.Let’s play dress up
So when Willy was just a baby I decided to play dress up with a ‘real doll’. I dressed him up as a girl (dress, shoes and all…) much to my Dad’s horror and my mother’s amusement. Daddy didn’t find it very amusing to find his son looking like a girl. But hey! We were living in Europe at the time and the High-class families used to have their boys parade around in dresses until they were four! So he could have fit in. (okay, so maybe if he was living a couple hundred years prior to 1983…)I’m dying to see the pictures! Apparently it’s on a slide and I haven’t gone through those. One of these days I’ll pull them out and find the picture.
Dad’s Baby
No it wasn’t one of us kids. It was his 1984 new Mercedes Volkswagen. Before we left Germany my parents bought a car. It was my Dad’s baby for 20+ years. In January of this year (2005) the car met its maker. New England gets snow and we got a fair amount this year. My dad was driving to work and a lady went through a stop sign (slide through actually, couldn’t stop) and collided with my dad. That was the end of her. She couldn’t be salvaged. It was a sad day for my dad. He loved that car—300,000+ miles, it’d been all over Europe, went everywhere with us. She was a good car.