Eine kleine Einführung in den amerikanischen Teen Alltag

     Die durch Film- und Fernsehen so glamourös hingestellte amerikanische Highschool reicht von der neunten bis zur zwölften Klasse, wenn die Schüler zwischen vierzehn und achtzehn Jahre alt sind. In Amerika gibt es keine Trennungen wie Hauptschule, Realschule oder Gymnasium, das Wort gymnasium oder kurz, gym, wird aber für die Turnhalle benutzt. Alle Schüler gehen zusammen durch das gleiche Schulsystem. Der einzige Unterschied besteht im Schwierigkeitsgrad der Pflichtfächer und an der Wahl der sekundären Fächer. Von Einfach (Basic) bis Fortgeschritten und Begabt kann man Mathe, Englisch, Weltkunde, Chemie, Bio, Gesundheitslehre und Physik belegen, und dann je nach Interesse, Berufsziel und Intelligenz verschiedene Sprachen, Haushaltslehre, Werken, Kunst, Chor, Sport oder Tanz dranhängen. Dazu kommen am Nachmittag und Wochenende die außerschulischen Aktivitäten wie Theater, Football, Tennis, Baseball, Schwimmen, Wrestling, Debattieren usw. Je besser die Schule, desto mehr Angebot und Andrang. Kommt der überförderte Teenager dazwischen nach Hause, packt er seine Tasche für die nächste Aktivität wie Ballet, Musikunterricht, Girl Scouts oder seinen Halbtagsjob, den fast jeder Sechzehnjährige braucht, um sich Benzin, Versicherung und Raten für seinen Gebrauchtwagen leisten zu können. Spät nachts kommt er dann endlich heim zum Hausaufgaben machen. Viele Freunde meiner Tochter schaffen es erst um zwei Uhr morgens ins Bett. Gegessen wird meistens im Auto.

     Seit dem Columbine Highschool Massaker in Colorado, und natürlich den Terroristenanschlägen vom 11. September, müssen alle Schüler eine ID Karte mit Foto um den Hals tragen. Diese dient weniger dem Verhindern von weiteren Anschlägen als zum Identifizieren des Opfers nach einem Attentat. In jeder Schule sind Polizisten praesent und Innercity Schulen haben metal detectors wie es sie auf den Flughaefen gibt. Nach jeder Unterrichtsstunde werden die Klassenzimmer gewechselt und zum nächsten Lehrer in einem anderen Raum gepilgert, was natürlich die endlosen Gänge mit krakeelenden und gestreßten Teenagern und totalem Chaos verstopft. Es bedeutet auch, daß man täglich mit ständig neuen Klassenkameraden zusammentrifft, die man letztes Jahr noch nicht mal gesehen, geschweige denn gekannt hat. Das Mittagessen wird in der schuleigenen Cafeteria eingenommen, zu dem man entweder ein in einen braunen Papierbeutel gehülltes Mitgebrachtes ißt, oder für $2 bis $3 von einem sich täglich ändernden Menü sein Lunch kaufen kann. Lunch in der Cafeteria ist der wichtigste Teil des Schultages und bestimmt das Sozialleben der Schüler durch eine in Stein gemeißelte Rang- und Sitzordnung, die vom Aufsichtspersonal machtlos überwacht wird. Für Außenseiter der untersten Beliebtheitsstufe ist es natürlich eine unsagbare Qual.

     Jede Schule hat eine Krankenstation mit Betten und mindestens eine zuständige Krankenschwester. Diese ruft die Eltern an, wenn ein Kind wegen Krankheit oder Unwohlsein abgeholt werden muß und sie ist die Einzige, die während der Schulzeit die vom Schüler mitgebrachte Arznei verabreichen darf.

     Schultänze sind nur mit einer vorgeschriebenen Anzahl von Erwachsenen und einem wohldressierten DJ erlaubt, der den Anwesenden genau vorkaut wie sie sich zu bewegen haben, wann sie in Stimmung zu sein haben, und wann es 23 Uhr ist, denn da ist jeder Tanz zu Ende. Die Erwachsenen sind dazu da, um auf genügend Abstand zwischen den tanzended Paaren zu achten und daß um Himmelswillen nicht geraucht, geküßt, gekifft und getrunken wird, was natürlich überhaupt nichts bringt. Viele Highschool Schüler werden noch vor ihrem 18. Geburtstag schwanger, drogensüchtig, alkoholabhaengig oder landen vor dem Jugendrichter.

     Das Führerscheinalter in New Jersey ist sechzehn Jahre, in manchen Staaten sogar fünfzehn, wird aber meistens stufenweise erreicht. Der theoretische Teil wird als Unterrichtsfach in der Schule täglich ein Quartal lang unterrichtet, danach wird die theoretische Prüfung gemacht, welche zugleich eine Note im Zeugnis ist. Bei Bestehen bekommen die Schüler einen Fahrerlaubnisschein, mit dem sie sechs Übungsstunden ($300) durch eine Fahrschule belegen und danach bis zur praktischen Fahrprüfung am siebzehnten Geburtstag mit einem Erwachsenen, der seit mindestens drei Jahren den Führerschein hat, üben können. Ab siebzehn und dem Bestehen dieser Prüfung dürfen sie dann bis Mitternacht und wieder ab fünf Uhr morgens mit nicht mehr als einem Fahrgast die Straßen unsicher machen. Versicherungen wollen verhindern, daß der noch unsichere Fahrer durch andere im Auto abgelenkt wird.

     Ich muß wohl nicht hervorheben, daß der amerikanische Teenager total überzüchtet und ausgebrannt ist, und oft an Depressionen leidet. Er ist eine Kreation von superehrgeizigen Immigranten, die ihre Familienwerte entweder beim Überqueren des Atlantiks von Bord geworfen oder gar nicht erst eingepackt haben, und die einem eigentlich nur Leid tun koennen.

     Amerika wird vom Dollar regiert, Gott wurde von den Schulen verbannt, und der Besuch von Shoppingmalls wird dem Besuch der Großeltern vorgezogen. Ich bin stolz, daß mein eigener Teenager, Allyson, abends um half elf im Bett war, in der Schule durchschnittliche Fächer belegt, nur während der Sommerferien arbeitet, und gerne Verwandte in Deutschland besucht.

Ich wohne nun schon seit zwanzig Jahren in New Jersey und erlebe das amerikanische Schulwesen und das ganze amerikanische System parallel durch meine Tochter und meinem aus New York gebuertigen Mann, Rich, mit. Allyson fühlt sich hier wohl und ist durch und durch amerikanisch, wenn sie auch eine Mutter hat die mit einem unverkennbaren deutschen Akzent spricht. Aber viele ihrer Freunde haben Eltern die in einem oft unverständlichen Kauderwelsch kommunizieren, oder die englische Sprache gleich gar nicht beherrschen.

How was it growing up during WWII in Germany?

What was it like growing up in Germany during WWII: The children didn't know any different. Growing up, young boys knew they would become soldiers and might have to go to war at one point in their life. They had to be careful whom they confided in because the underlying motto was always: Achtung, Feind hoert mit (Warning: Enemy is listening). But actually, my father (Reinhold) said it was a great time growing up during the war in a village, because it was a constant adventure. He and his gang snuck up on the soldiers' camps and stole everything they could find, even their toilet paper out of the 'bathroom tent.' They often found guns and ammunition. What an adventure for young boys! The parents had no idea of course. The boys knew it was dangerous, and oftentimes someone got injured or killed.

Scariest moments during the war: My father and his friends befriended a ten or twelve-year-old boy named Rolf Kletschen (use names, makes the story more personal!) from up North, the Rhein River area, from the city of Duesseldorf, who was sent to his aunts', the Graeser sisters, house in Kirchberg to be safe from the bombings in cities. Rolf and his aunts frequently went to the woods to gather twigs for their home fires. When the war was just over and the German troops fled from the US and Sowjet occupiers, they left a lot of their belongings behind in the woods, including guns, ammunition and grenades.

One day, as Rolf and his aunts were gathering wood, he found something on the ground, not knowing what it was. He showed it to his aunts. They said, "What are you carrying around? Throw it away, it's dangerous." He threw it.

Unfortunately, it hit a tree, exploded, and killed one aunt instantly. Rolf lay on the ground, badly injured. The other aunt ran into the village, screaming and crying. A man named Bergschneider hitched a horse to his wagon and the two drove back to the woods, to pick up the bodies. Rolf was brought to the nurses' station next to the church, where my father and his friends saw him lying on a makeshift gurney, bleeding from a gaping wound below his neck. They tried talking to their friend, but he barely responded. Somebody brought an old car and took him to the hospital in Memmingen, where he later died. Rolf's mother arrived by train a few days later to pick him up, not knowing that her son was killed by a grenade.

Another time, my father and his friends, who were always out and about, first of all because there was no TV yet, only radio, and school sometimes was cancelled for months, because the teachers were drafted as soldiers to fight in the war, so the kids roamed the village and surrounding woods from morning to night fall, found a Panzerfaust, which is a bazooka (that long gun you see in Saving Private Ryan, belief it or not!) in a potato field. They played around with it. One hoisted it on his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Luckily, he held it backwards and the shell went out back, otherwise he would have killed his friends instantly. But the firestream that came out the other end hit a boy who was wearing short Lederhosen and burned his thighs. His legs were covered with tiny blood specks and the boy was screaming in agony.

My dad remembers looking out the kitchen window one night across the street to his neighbor Buechele's house. Both their sons, Martin and Eugen, and the father had been drafted into the war. He could see through the curtain that the mother just received the message that Martin had fallen in the war and saw the mother's reaction. She screamed and cried, then collapsed. He said it was horrible to witness.

Anything positive happen to u during the war (befriending and helping soldiers, etc): the young lads soon found out that the American soldiers were much nicer than the French or Russian ones. The US GIs gave them cigarettes and chocolates, whereas the French, when they were done smoking a cigarette, begrudged the boys even the butts and ground them into the dirt with the heels of their boots. This just to show you the difference. To this day, my dad hates the French because they were so mean. The French of course hated the Germans because they invaded and occupied France during the war and plundered, stealing everything. But when the US soldiers occupied the village, it was actually fun.

One afternoon, when they were about 12, Reinhold and his buddies snuck up on the US soldiers' camp in the middle of the village. The soldiers had confiscated the pre-war model cars of the towns' people and parked them alongside a street. Gas was rationed and at that time, there was no gas in any of the cars. But the boys waited until the soldiers left the camp and "borrowed' the car that was parked in front. One sat behind the wheel, the others pushed. This way, they 'drove' through the whole town, having a blast. Nobody stopped them. Downhill was easy. They went to the only place that would have gas, but they were still out, so they had to push the car back up the hill). They wanted to bring the car back so they wouldn't be yelled at. On the way up the hill, an American Jeep full of US soldiers passed them. Reinhold and his friends ran away to hide and left the car in the middle of the road. The US soldiers stopped and got out. When they saw the young boys hiding in the bushes nearby, they called them out. The soldiers thought it was funny that these little German boys thought now they had a car to play with. They hitched the car on their Jeep and pulled it up the hill for them. Everybody was laughing, that's how nice the American soldiers were. To them it was just kids having fun.

 The villagers stuck together. When the French occupied the village, they demanded a large part of their livestock to be brought to their camps so they would have fresh meat. They also demanded flour and other foods. You were in big trouble if you didn't declare everything you had to their commander. But the farmers were sly and stuck together. They hid cows and pigs and other food, and once a week, in the middle of the night, the butcher in town would slaughter a pig or cow and parcel the meat out to the families. It was all done in secret and with codes. The country folks had it a little easier during the war than city people like my mother (Omi) because the country had fields and livestock. People grew their own food. The city people were on rations and had to go begging at surrounding farms for an egg or a slice of bread.

Once Reinhold started middle school, he had to take the train to Memmingen, a small city about 20 miles away, where the school was. Sometimes, when the students got there, the building had been taken over by soldiers and turned into a hospital. If they were lucky, there was a note tacked to the front door to let them know where the teachers would be holding school that day. If not, they had to wait around until night to catch the train back home.

The city of Ulm, about 25 miles away where Omi and Albert Einstein are from, was almost completely destroyed during the war, except for the cathedral, which is famous for having the world's tallest church tower. The American soldiers flew over the cathedral and 'bombed' it with flour sacks, just to show the Germans that they could have destroyed it. But out of respect to God, they left it intact and only dropped flour on it to show they hit it.

As boys they often found guns and bags left behind by soldiers. That was always an adventure. Their parents never knew where they were, what they found, and what they were up to, because they always hit the guns and ammunition before they went home.

My young nephew, Moritz and his friends, then 8 years old, found mason jars buried in the woods a couple years ago, more than 70 years after WWII. In the jars were real hand guns. They looked a bit rusty, but also appeared to be in good working condition. They ran to Jochen, Moritz's father, to show him what they found. Jochen called Felix's dad, Thomas, a policeman, and told him about the guns the boys found buried in the woods. Thomas said he would be up there shortly, as soon as he finished his dinner…Turns out they were hand guns that the villagers hid whenever soldiers came into town and went through their homes, stealing everything they could.

Reinhold's father, my grandfather Alois, was drafted around 1942 or 43. He was sent to Balingen, a town in Germany near Stuttgart, where he first worked as a security guard for foreign prisoners-of-war who had to go out during the day and help out on farms, of which sons and fathers were in the war, then report back at night. Then he was sent to Krakow, Poland from where he sent them a letter. He also met one of his friends from Kirchberg there. Then he was moved to Russia to fight on the front. One night, he lay in a trench when an enemy soldier attacked him. They fist fought for a long time, trying to kill one another. At the end, Alois bit off the other guy's finger, and passed out. When he awoke with a head injury, he had no idea where to go, so he just started low-crawling away. He had no idea where to go or what to do, it was dark. He kept crawling, and arrived at the German soldiers' camp! They took care of him as much as they could, then he was sent back to Germany, to the university hospital in Tuebingen, because of his brain injury. Meantime, his commander had sent a letter of recommendation for his heroism and the Iron Cross for war injuries to his family in Kirchberg, but admitted he didn't know where Alois was. Weeks later they received a letter from him from Tuebingen. He was released from the Wehrmacht because of his injuries six months before the war ended. Ever since then, he prayed the whole rosary every day until he died in 1984.

When the US and Soviet occupiers arrived in the village after the war, Alois and other villagers destroyed their medals and the letters because if it would have been found in their homes, they would probably have been hanged for participating in the war. That's why no records and medals exist from that time in our family.

The Christmas Letters

     Dear family and friends:

     Another year has snuck up on us. It feels as if I just mailed out last year’s cards a month ago… I’m sure you feel the same way.

     Well, where to begin? We are all healthy, for which we are grateful, and I hope the same for you.

     Lizzy started sixth grade, easily transitioning from elementary to middle school. At first she was a little nervous, but with her amazing social skills and outgoing spirit she made so many friends already that she doesn’t even know what to do with them. Lizzie has progressed to the third highest level in Irish Dancing after only five years and she is taking three classes a week, which takes us all over New Jersey. We just picked out a new solo dress for competition. The price for these custom-made, hand-sewn dresses from Ireland has reached phenomenal heights, and therefore we decided to buy the new bedroom set next year. But if you want your kids to be successful, you have to pay the price, am I right? In Girl Scouts she has completed the Bronze Award and has nearly filled her vest to capacity with all the badges she earned. Of course she has made the Honor Roll again in almost every quarter and I think I will soon have the bitter-sweet pleasure of going bra shopping with my baby. Imagine!

     Brian and Marcus are in their junior year of high school and next year at this time we’ll be deciding on colleges. The two have a pretty good idea where they want to go and what they want to do, but things are still open to change. I mean, I’m not even sure what I want to do yet, haha. Life is full of surprises.

     Brian has been accepted to the National Honor Society of Art and wants to study something in that field, but we’re hoping to persuade him into going for a more traditional career. I think he would make a good dentist, with his fine hands, but we shall see. He has started a club at his school, teaching art to students one afternoon a week. He is quite the leader. His grades are off the chart and there is no telling how far he will go. In the fall and spring he is involved in drama club and will be starring as an angel in the upcoming musical, ‘Rent’.

     Marcus of course is still swimming and it is his second year as a team captain. He’s in incredible shape! He almost made the Honor Roll and is going to build a house with Habitat for Humanity during Spring Break. In addition, both boys are working on their Eagle Scout rank.

As you can see, we are very busy and Peter and I are reduced to little more than taxi drivers and human ATM machines. Just kidding. We enjoy watching the kids succeed and couldn’t be more proud.

We hope that all is well with you and your loved ones.

To a successful Holiday Season,

Love, the Hamiltons

     Two months later, on opening night for the rock opera ‘Rent’, Brian applied his own make-up and taped the microphone around his head.  He peeked out into the audience and saw his parents, Lizzy, and Marcus with his girl friend sitting in the front row. The curtain rose. Brian played the part of the flamboyant homosexual Angel Dumott Schunard surprisingly well.

When he came home that night, still glowing with the high after a great performance, his parents were waiting up for him in the parlor. The fireplace was cold but the floor lamp gave off a dim light in the darkness that engulfed the rest of the house.

     “Hey Brian, why don’t you sit down,” his father said and pointed to a chair. “We want to ask you something.”

     Brian knew what was coming. He sat down and looked his mother square in the face. The seconds in the grandfather clock ticked by noisily.

     “Brian,” his no-nonsense father said, clearing his throat, “your mother and I were wondering…are you…gay?”

     Tears shot into Brian’s eyes as he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, his fingers digging into the chair’s upholstered armrest. “Yes,” he nodded finally, “I am.”

     His mother pressed her hands to her mouth and stifled a sob, then pulled her legs up and lay on the couch. She buried her face in a pillow and covered her ears, trying to grapple with the truth that just entered their perfect world. His dad leaned against the mantle of the fireplace and stared out into the moonless night. Only the ticking of the clock metronomed the silence.

     Brian looked at his parents and said: “Now I want to ask you something. Do you still love me?”

     He went upstairs to wash his face. The streaked mask of a crying clown stared back at him from the mirror. Brian splashed hot water onto it, lathered it with soap, and rinsed for two minutes. When he looked at his face again it was scrubbed clean and pink and shiny. Before Brian retired to his room he heard his brother’s Mustang roar up the driveway.

     Marcus turned on the hallway light and dropped the keys onto the foyer table. His parents were still up, sitting in the dark.

     “Hey, what’s up?” Marcus asked when he walked in. He turned on the light in the parlor. “Where’s Brian?”

     His mother seemed upset but tried to smile and patted the seat next to her. “Sit down.” She brushed over his hair. “Did he ever tell you that he is gay?”

     Marcus took a deep breath, stretched out his legs, and folded his hands behind his head. “I watched it unfold. He had two girlfriends in middle school, which didn’t last long, of course. He went out with Brianna in junior high until she dumped him for a …you know…lesbian. Then he hung out with a guy who bragged about being bi. But no, he never told me. Is he upstairs?”

     Marcus knocked on Brian’s door and waited patiently until he answered. Brian had his back turned to him and stared at the wall. Marcus put his hand on his twin brother’s shoulder and said:        

     “Of course they still love you. They’re just worried, with AIDS and all.”

     “And what others will think.”

     “Well yeah, that too. They’ll get over it. They just had no idea, it takes time,” Marcus said.

     “And you?”

     “What about me?”

     “Did you know? Are you ashamed of me?” Brian asked.

     “I’m not ashamed of you, Bri. Hell, seems like everyone is coming out these days. Just be careful, okay. Aren’t you glad it’s out, though?”

     “No. I wanted to wait until college. It’ll be so weird around here.”

     Brian told Lizzy privately the next day and she gave her brother a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. He bent down and kissed her on the head.

     “Time for your dancing, isn’t it, princess?”

     A shadow crossed Lizzy’s face. “I don’t feel good. I don’t want to go today,” she said.

     “It’s not up for discussion, you already missed last week, I’m not paying for not going,” Mom said and dragged Lizzy out of the kitchen.

     A few weeks later, Lizzy struggled through her dinner.

     “What’s the matter, pumpkin? Hurry up, you have to get ready for your Irish dance class,” Dad said.

     Lizzy hung her head and put her fork down. “Mom, I want to tell you something. I…I don’t want to dance anymore. I want to play basketball like Hailey.”

     Mom turned pale and clenched her fists. She threw the napkin down and left the table.

     Dad found Mom on the bed, crying, and sat next to her. He rubbed her back until she calmed down.

     “Why are our children so stubborn,” she asked. “We offer them the best choices in life and they’re throwing them away.”

     “No, Leah, they’re not throwing them away, they’re trying to make their own. We have to back off and not live our lives through them. She doesn’t want to dance anymore, she said she only does it for you. If you like it so much, why don’t you take classes?”

     “With my two left feet? I can’t dance to save my life, you know that. I only like… oh, I don’t even know. I’m forty years old and still don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

     “Why don’t you think about it and figure it out?”Dad said.

     When the kids came home from school the next day, the dining room table was covered with fabrics and thread spools and needles and books full of quilting patterns. Mom sat on the floor, happily cutting fabric into strips.

      “What are you making, Mommy?” Lizzy asked and reverently touched the smooth, colorful fabric.

      “Well, when I was a little girl, I just loved to knit and sew. When my mother took me to the craft store I could have spent hours looking at all the beautiful yarns and fabrics. She always let me pick out a new ball of yarn. I would go home and knit little sweaters and blankets for my dolls, just the way my grandma taught me,” Mom explained while cutting. “One day I made a whole bunch of squares in all different colors and sewed them together into a quilt. It was too big for my doll and too small for me so I just had it lying around in my room. But I remember how happy I was working on it and I always wanted to learn how to make a real quilt for myself. I just never got around to it. So now I decided to learn and make many beautiful quilts in all kinds of patterns.”

      “Ooh, I want to make one, too!” Lizzie said with shiny eyes.

     Dear family and friends:

     Once again, another wonderful year is coming to an end. We are all doing fine. The twins have been accepted to their colleges of choice and are very excited. Marcus’s swim team took 2^nd place in the state and he’s leaving his last season on a positive note. Brian keeps growing so much as an artist and we have decorated the whole house with his amazing paintings. He and his partner are planning an exhibit before going to college and the two are working very hard at organizing the event.

     Lizzy is so happy playing basketball and never misses a practice. She has been working alongside me on quilts for her brothers to take with them to college, made from everyone’s old jeans cut into squares, sewn together, and backed with fleece (Tie-dyed for Brian, a soaring eagle for Marcus). This way they will always have a memory of home.

     And this leads us to what I have been up to during the past year: I’ve started taking classes on learning how to quilt and it has given me tremendous joy and pleasure. My new hobby has taken me to the Amish country to learn from the pros and I have created my own pattern, called ‘Mother’s Delight’. I will enter it in the county fair this summer and expect it to win ‘Best of Show’. I am so excited!

     Peter started running earlier this year and has built up to marathon level. As a matter of fact, he already participated in two, one in Pennsylvania and one in New York. His goal is to run a marathon in each one of the fifty states. I will save the t-shirts from the events and sew them into a quilt to hang on the wall in his office. What a great way to see your accomplishments!

     Well, we are happier and healthier than ever and look forward to every new day. I wish for each of you to find your groove in the coming year. It’s not too late to add to your New Year’s list of resolutions.

Happy Holidays, love and peace,

The Hamiltons

On my gravestone please inscribe:

Here lies

Uta Susanna Burke, geb. Kramer

Aged 100 years

Hath done what she wanted to do

From a gravestone in an old English churchyard

Adapted to my life

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not here, I do not sleep.

I am the journals from my youth

I am my poems full of truth

I am the stories in my books

I am my slowly fading looks

I’m in my lovely daughter’s sigh

I am the soul in my pets’ eye

I have loved and lived and tried it all

I can rest now in my fall

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there, I did not die.

Excerpt from my novel: “Immortal Link"

(Catholine had been raped by one of her older brothers’ friends. Louis wants to keep it secret to protect the mother and Catholine from further trauma, Charlie wants to kill Bastian) Weeks after the attack they have this conversation.

Charlie locked himself into the upstairs bathroom and, using his brother’s razor, sliced up the top of his hands in a wildly criss cross pattern. He didn’t feel the pain. His stomach was churning.

A minute before midnight he swung his long legs over the window ledge and climbed down the branches and trunk of the chestnut tree outside his window with the ease of a jungle cat. He disappeared unnoticed into the night.

The members of the Fight Club named after Tyler Durden in the movie were restless and itching to have their turn. Two guys stepped forward, took their shirts off, and began beating each other. The others cheered. Blood and penned-up energy were spurting out of the fighters until one lay on the ground and stayed there. Then it was someone else’s turn. The point of it was to get in touch with your primal male aggression so guys can be what’s been taken away from them in this world.

He didn’t want to fight tonight, just watch. It was not what he needed; the field and gym and ball park still offered relief. Charlie wasn’t yet numbed enough by a society reduced to shoppers when in truth a man was designed to hunt. In the beginning he thought it would help, but Charlie had to admit he was too young. Not to fight, of course, but to get the full effect of this new therapy. Even picturing Bastian’s face on an opponent only provided Charlie relief until he spit out a piece of tooth that would cost his mother a thousand quid to fix, and he decided it wasn’t worth it. Watching the fights was okay; he couldn’t sleep anyhow. Demons crawled through his mind at night when the world was at its bleakest, and problems just grew too big.

After watching three of four fights, Charlie walked down on Broadway before he cut back to his house. He still didn’t want to go in and planned to sit on the stoop for awhile. Louis was waiting for him. They sat wordlessly next to each other until Louis saw Charlie’s hands.

He gasped, but Charlie told him to stuff it.

“If a woman shows up with a bruised face, it’s automatically assumed that a man did that to her. If she has claw marks across her face, she was in a bitch fight. A man’s bruises are admirable. He got them in an honest testosterone-driven fight and he is a hero.” Charlie leered at him and his words sounded slurry. “But a bruised woman is an abused woman, damaged, you see? She has to keep it a secret, and make up lies about it.”

Louis stared at him blankly. “Have you been drinking?”

Charlie ignored him. “The first rule is, you can’t talk about it. The second rule is,” his voice rose, “you can’t talk about it.” He leaned into Louis’s face. “Fight Club is not the only one who can use this line, you see?”

“Keep your voice down, you’ll wake up the whole neighborhood. What is wrong with you?” Louis asked and tried to hush him.

“What is wrong with me? My hands are tied. By you. I want to kill that piece of shit, you know that. But noooo, big brother Lou says nooo, so little brother Charlie and little sister Mary Ella have to be a good boy and girl and do what they’re told, no matter if it kills them!”

Charlie got up. “We would have blood on our hands.”

“Yeah, better than him having blood on his prick, our sister’s! Lou, her honor. And all you worry about is not getting Mom upset. You promised Maer to take care of her, you haven’t done shit!”

“What can we do, huh? Who would believe us? His father is a big shot, our old man is a now-show, okay. Get that into your head.”

“There are tests to determine…”

“What, and drag her through the gynecologist’s office, everyone gaping between her legs, the cops, the press? What if we end up in foster care, huh, you ever think about that?” Louis’s voice was starting to fail him. “She’s healing, she’s not pregnant, she’ll be okay.”

Charlie looked incredulous. “Are you a total moron? What about her emotional state? Don’t you think this is with her all the time? Look at the way she dresses. She makes herself look ugly on purpose, to cover up her body and her shame. How can you be so stupid?”

“Let’s not imagine things that might not be true, alright. She knows she can talk to us any time she needs to, she doesn’t need a shrink digging around and making her re-living it. It’s the best for all involved right now, you have to trust me on this.”

“Yes, you’re right, it’s definitely the best for Bastian. Lou, listen to me. Let me take care of him, I don’t care if I end up in jail for the rest of my life. I can’t go on living like this. He sneers at us whenever he sees one of us, especially Mom, who has no clue what he has done. He’s making fun of our family.”

“I won’t let you ruin your future.”

“What future? Look at me, I’m going nowhere. I don’t even know if I can last through high school.”

“You’re not dropping out,” Lou hissed.

“Stop telling me what I’m not going to do, you’re not my boss. Step up to the plate and act like a man for once, will you?”

“You fucking jerk. What do you think I’ve been doing all these years since the old man left, huh? Who makes sure the bills get paid with the little money Mom has left over when his checks bounce, or that the car is up and running? I’m the one who fixes stuff around the house so it doesn’t completely fall down on us. How dare you tell me to act like a man?” Louis was crying now. “You have no idea what it feels like to be the oldest, responsible for you all going to school and have decent clothes on your back. Most of my paycheck goes to help Mom out and if it wasn’t for gram, we wouldn’t be eating half the time. How’s that for the truth, Mister-know-it-all, don’t you think I would rather hang out with the guys shooting pool or going to see a flick? Hell, I don’t even have time to cultivate a girlfriend. They think I’m a bore. All this acting responsible’s turned me into a dullard, okay?”

Charlie had tears flowing down his cheeks when he wrapped an arm around his brother and the two cried for a good while, not knowing that their sister knelt by her open window, listening in on their conversation.

Home Sweet Fatherland

And after all these years of longing for home, the time has come, as it always does, to heal most wounds, and home doesn’t beckon as much, and you feel new roots grabbing hold of you in your surroundings, and when you do go back to visit, you realize that

the familiar roads are not as wide and smooth,

the house you grew up in is not as big,

and the fashion not as hip

as you remember.

Your parents are old, the old ones gone,

and the young – don’t know you;

nothing stayed the way it was.

And one day, the time will come when you have lived in the New World for as long as you have lived in the Fatherland,

and then,

where do you belong?

Slieve Gullion

On the way to the gas station Joe passed Sergey on the opposite side of the road. He was walking in the rain, his long, dark blond fringe hanging over his eyes. Joe swung the car around and pulled up next to him. Rolling down the window he asked Sergey if he wanted a ride. Reluctantly, the teen got in and slouched against the door.

“Congratulations on getting your license,” Sergey said.

“Yeah, thanks. Where’re you going?” Joe asked.

Sergey vaguely gestured ahead, in the direction of the cemetery.

“You know… just trying to get out.”

“Want me to drop you off at the grave?”

 Sergey shrugged.

Joe pulled back into traffic and said: “You want to be alone then, right?”

“I don’t care. Whatever.”

The only noise came from the windshield wipers scraping against the glass, followed by the sound of the blinker as Joe turned into Fairlawn Cemetery. He stopped a few yards from Sergey’s father and little brother’s grave and turned off the engine. Sergey grabbed the door handle and for a moment the two sat in silence, then Sergey opened the door.

“Look man, I want us to be friends, like we used to since kindergarten …” Joe said.

Sergey got out and placed both hands flat on the roof, sticking his hardened face between his arms. “You’re the one turning all crazy and shit. I can’t, like, relate to you since you came back from that retreat. You have plenty of reasons to believe. Me, I have shit.”

“I’m not turning religious on you, man, I just had a good time, that’s all. I want you to be cool, too.”

“I’m cool, don’t worry about me. Thanks for the ride.” Sergey tapped the roof and closed the door. As he walked away, Joe got out and yelled after him.

“Hey, my mother wants to know if you want to come to Ireland with us!”

They arrived in Dublin on Friday morning and took a bus to Dundalk. Mom, Joe, his twin sister, Ellanie and Sergey were more than welcome to stay with the parents of friends and excitedly gathered in the kitchen for tea. Tomorrow they would climb the highest peak in County Armagh, surprisingly only a little more than 570 meters high.

The day started off with rain, but by 9 o’clock the sun came out. After breakfast they packed lunch and were just about to leave when Hannah ran out with an armful of windbreakers.

“You will need them.”

Mom laughed. “It’s a hill, we’ll be back before noon. I feel funny enough wearing my husband’s woolen Army socks in August.  Five hundred meters, that’s a speed bump in the Alps.”

But Joe took the jackets out of Hannah’s arms. “We can keep them in the car; at least we’ll have them.”

The Hollywoods graciously lent them the old Volvo which sat unused in their driveway. Mom knew how to drive a stick shift from growing up in Germany, but had to adjust to the ‘wrong’ side of the road. Slieve Gullion was only fifteen minutes away and a narrow road wound its way up to the volcano’s parking lot. A herd of sheep greeted them in the middle of the road as they rounded a corner. They stared at them, then bolted, some running up the hill on the right, some running down on the left.

The whole ground was covered in peat and purple heather. The path consisted of loose rocks and as soon as they climbed over the fence’s stile it began to drizzle. Mom gave them a lecture about pacing and matching the ascent to their heart rate, and to stay together on the path. Then she blasted ahead. They followed the path until they reached a dugout, enforced with slabs of rock, and big enough to stand under. They waited until it stopped raining. The view was breathtaking. Mom took pictures of the three teens silhouetted against the green patchwork panorama in the background. All of Ireland, it seemed, lay stretched out at their feet. The path zigzagged uphill and whenever they thought they had reached the top, another wall rose before them.

“Mom, can we be done? We’re high enough,” Ellanie shouted.

“We’re almost there, there’s a cairn on top, it’s ancient,” Mom shouted back and disappeared from view.

So much for staying together. They came to a fork.

“Um, Mom?”

A rainwater rill had formed beside one of the paths and Joe suggested taking the path following it. Finally, after an almost vertical climb through the clouds they saw the summit of Slieve Gullion rise out of the mist. Mom stood on top of a stone pile and waved.

“We found it!”

They staggered around the huge cairn, searching for the entrance. Three quarters around and half way up was a hole. They had to crawl in on their knees but the inside was big enough for all. It was damp and cold, and rain trickled in through the skylight above. Mom unpacked the knapsack and handed out the sandwiches and granola bars, plus an apple for herself. They sat on wet rocks and ate, looking around the ancient burial place.

“How old is this?” asked Sergey.

“Since before Jesus walked the earth,” Mom answered.

“Jesus,” he said in awe and they laughed.

 “I’m so glad we have these jackets,” Mom admitted. “It’s freezing.”

“I thought you’re an expert on mountain climbing,” Joe said. “You’re the least prepared of us.”

 “Yeah, and stay together and don’t walk uphill too fast, what happened to that, Mom?” Ellanie had to rub it in.

“I think we can go, it stopped raining,” Mom said.

They crawled out of the rock pile into a gray sky with zero visibility. There were no signs or markers. Suddenly two sheep stuck their heads round the corner and looked at them.

“Baa,” said Joe and they ran away.

The path had become slippery and covered with puddles. They jumped and slipped and climbed over brush, unable to see a thing.

“Mom, we’re not going downhill,” Ellanie said.

“What do you mean? Where else are we going?”

“It was a lot steeper when we came up.”

“Don’t say that, keep going. It has to go down.”

Half an hour later Ellanie looked to her left and said: “Oh wow, a lake.”

“Shit,” Mom hissed.

“What?”

“There was no lake when we came up.” She looked around frantically.

At that moment the clouds opened to an unbelievable sight. The shore of a blue lake with gentle ripples appeared out of nowhere. They had found the crater.

“Don’t you want to take a picture?”

“No time, let’s figure out where we are before the fog comes back.”

 “Mom, are we lost on a mountain?” Ellanie asked.

“No, not yet, but we’re working on it,” Mom said to herself. She would tell them later, when they were safely home, that it was called the ‘Lake of Sorrows’.

“We have to go back to the cairn and start over, hurry, the fog is rolling in again. Sorry, guys.”

A cold wind had started to blow. Ellanie’s usually perfectly styled blond mane stuck to her face, her makeup had already washed off.

“Here Mom, take my jacket,” Joe yelled against the gale and took off his raincoat.

Mom’s stiff fingers tried to pull down the zipper of her thin windbreaker and she had a hard time peeling out of it but she gladly exchanged it for Joe’s lined one with a hood. It wasn’t January and people knew where they were, and this was Slieve Gullion, not Nanga Parbat, but panic rose in her anyway. What had she done? She put her children in danger, not to mention a boy who had never been away from his mother and who was all that poor woman had left.

The twins walked around the cairn, trying to see which way they had come up. Sergey stood transfixed, like a statue, arms outstretched and facing the rain. He seemed to enjoy Mother Nature beating down on him. Then Mom saw his lips move.

Joe leaned over a rock trying to see through the pea soup like thickness of the fog. Mom started to pray, too.

Almost immediately the curtain of invisibility lifted and revealed the green stage of Ireland. The August sun bathed the fields in gold and warmed the soft bog which covered the mountain. The peat’s earthy aroma rose with the steam around them. And then they saw it: The road from town to the parking lot, where their rocky path picked up. Most of the trail was overgrown with heath and heather but some of the larger rocks glistened in the late morning’s light. It was their stairway to heaven and back. Ireland bowed one last time and the curtain fell. Mom knew there wouldn’t be an encore.

“Let’s go,” she urged, “before we lose the trail again.”

They held onto roots and shrubs during the steep descent. Mom explained how to test your footing by holding on to a plant and carefully stepping on the ground before putting your full weight on your foot, and pointed out some holes.

The rain turned into a downpour, changing the trail into a waterfall which cascaded over the now useless path. Suddenly Ellanie started running, slipped and tumbled a few feet down the mountain. Joe was beside her in a flash.

“Are you alright, El? Are you okay?” he screamed.

Mom was frozen in horror. She was relieved when Ellanie started laughing, stretching all four limbs into the air like a giant beetle on his back. Sergey pulled her to her feet.

“Why did you run?” Joe asked incredulous.

“I tripped and couldn’t stop.”

Joe ordered her to stay between him and Sergey and mom lead the troops. She turned around one last time, bidding farewell to Slieve Gullion. A sheep stuck its head over a ledge, barely visible in the haze, looking down on them. It was a comical sight. What idiots, it must be thinking.

But wait. Another, smaller head appeared next to it. The first one was a mama sheep, giving them her blessing.

Every now and then Joe grabbed Ellanie’s hand to pull her over an especially treacherous riffle. Sergey also needed help and Ellanie stretched out her hand to him. One time Joe went back to guide Sergey over a patch of brush and loose rock. Their shoes kept getting stuck in the mire and they had to carefully navigate around it.

Sergey looked pale.

“How is your asthma?” Joe asked.

“Can we take a break, Joe? Sorry, I can hardly breathe.”

“Mom, slow down, we need a break!” Joe yelled.

They were close to the dugout and huddled under it. Despite her guilt Mom was pleased. Joe, dark haired and tall, had his arm around Sergey who looked fragile next to him. He leaned against Joe’s broad shoulder while using his inhaler and when his breathing fell into a steady rhythm Sergey turned his head and burrowed into his friend. Mom could see that Joe was floored by this gesture and discreetly looked away. They had been drifting apart since Sergey’s dad and brother’s accident but now it must feel like old times, friends through thick and thin.

They finished the rest of the way in minutes.

Hannah opened the door and busted out laughing. Owen shuffled down the hall to see what was so funny. His wife was in hysterics.

“Owen, bring me the camera, quick,” she gasped.

Of course it had rained only on the mountain so the sight was unexpected. Their jeans were soaked up to their knees, their sneakers covered with twigs. The white stripes of Ellanie’s sweat shirt were dark brown and the windbreakers stuck to their bodies. Rivulets of water ran from their hair into their faces but they were beaming.

“So you made it all right, then,” Hannah concluded.

“Yeah,” Sergey said and winked at Joe. “Once we sacrificed that ram.”

The Man and the Animals go to Egypt

Here is an adorable bedtime story for children, dictated to me by my daughter when she was 7 or 8 years old:
There once was a man and he had a boat and with that he went in the ocean to go to Egypt. When he was about to leave the shore, there came a cat and she said: "Where are you going?"
"I am going to Egypt," said the man.
"Can I come with you?"
"Certainly," answered the man.
And in she went.
Then came a cow. "Where are you going?" asked the cow.
"We're going to Egypt," said the man and the cat.
"Can I come with you?"
"Certainly."
And in she went.
And when they were in the boat in the ocean, there came a robin and it said: "Where are you going?"
"We're going to Egypt," they all said.
"Can I come with you?"
And they said: "Certainly."
Then they came to an island and a monkey was on it and he said: "Can I come with you?"
And they said: "Certainly."
"Where are you going?"
"We are going to Egypt!"
 And on they went until they reached land and when they got on the land it was so hot they had to take off their shirts. Then came a man and he asked them: "Where are you going?"
And they said: "Here!"
The End.
(C) by Allyson Burke