Vati

I just received word that my German father passed away on July 29th --the same day that Cici was born.

I was a foreign exchange student in Southern Germany in 1973-1974 and lived with the Pfunder family in Denzlingen. I went to school, Gymnasium Emmendingen, with two sisters and a younger brother.

My German mother studied architecture as a young woman but it pleased her husband that she did not need to work outside the home. He arranged for her to have a cleaning lady and I believe she struggled to find meaningful ways to spend her time.
The year I was in her home, I was her project. Mutti spent time with me on language lessons and was constantly looking for hobbies for me. There was a dark room in the basement for photography, a craft room with tools and supplies for making jewelry or painting, and a piano in the living room. When she saw that I was not interested in taking up the piano again, she arranged for lessons on an alto recorder. She felt unqualified to teach me more than basic cooking skills so she sent me to Tante Sofie to learn to make a Linzertorte. I regret that I did not absorb more of what she offered me during that year. But, alas, I was a teenager.
Mutti struggled with depression, alcoholism and tobacco addiction. This became clear to me only after my year in her home. She was hospitalized for a short time during my stay, though I don't remember the ailment. She passed away some twenty years ago.
She was a loving and devoted mother and a faithful wife. I could not have asked for a better host mother.

My German father was an engineer-turned-business executive for a firm that produced synthetic materials. He loved to bring presents to his children, liked to take his family on educational vacations or work in his garden. He was proud of his career, his home, his cars, his home grown vegetables, and his family.
After a business trip to Moscow, he gave each of his daughters a piece of jewelry, including a sapphire ring for me.
I worried that I disappointed him most of the time. I remember his correction when I left my bedroom window open during a winter day (to clear out the vapid air) or when I left my bicycle at a bus stop over a weekend. It was not there the next Monday when I remembered it but the trusty German police recovered it.
Vati wanted me to speak German well and would drill me on my umlaut U, specifically in the word "sprüdel". If he was ever satisfied, he didn't express it.
My husband and I visited him a few years ago. He still lived in the family home but had a new wife. The small bedroom I used had become her little study. I smiled as he gave us a tour of his vegetable garden and grape vines. He hummed as he grilled sausage and served us dinner, that included home-grown vegetables, on the patio.
It started raining while we were there and when it was time to leave, Vati offered us umbrellas and told us to keep them for other rainy days during our European stay.

Vati was a good and dutiful man. I look forward to meeting him and Mutti again some day.