The conversations were few and far between. They consisted of very minimal information. I often wonder what it was like in Germany during the rise of Hitler. My mother was there. She witnessed the events. She told me what she felt she wanted me to know.
My 3-year old daughter was taking a bath one evening and I sat on the small stool, watching her play in the tub. She has waterproof crayons that allow her to draw on the tub walls without leaving much of a mark. She was facing me and I couldn't see what she was drawing; I could only see her from the shoulders up--her face in plain view. She was intent on focusing on her picture. Her eyes wandered from side to side as she drew and her mouth moved as if it were helping her hands. Every once in a while she would lean back a bit to inspect her work then tilt her head forward as she drew herself closer to the drawing...intensifying her intent.
She looked like my late mother did as a child. I can still see the old picture that was taken in Germany in the 1930's.
Bath time was over and I went to pick Ava up. Her gorgeous eyes met mine and she showed me her picture. It was a huge smiley face with beaming eyes and delicate features.
I picked her up.
She was small.
She was light.
She was fragile.
Memories of my mother flooded my mind and I wondered what kind of childhood friends she had in Germany. I wondered if she ever saw them after her father sent his family away from Germany during the rise of Hitler. I wondered if those friends made it out.
The human condition is a fragile one. Our children are fragile. They speak to us in so many ways. Like the picture on the side of the tub, they long for happy times, for large smiles and beaming eyes. The world often offers these things and yet, it offers the opposite as well. As we protect our children as my grandfather did so many years ago, we must know that all of our actions for our children reside within them and within their children as well. I never knew my grandfather on my mother's side; but I do know I love him. I respect him. I thank him. For without him and his sense of protection and goodwill, I, as well as my children, would not be here.
My mother died a peaceful death at the age of 86 in 2008. She left this world with her children surrounding her as the birds began chirping to bring in the new day--this chirping, however, was meant not only to bring in the new day, but also to bring my mother home. Her childhood friends were no doubt, there to welcome her. Her father, no doubt, wrapped his protective arms around his little girl once again.
Copyrighted material of Michael C. Casten
My 3-year old daughter was taking a bath one evening and I sat on the small stool, watching her play in the tub. She has waterproof crayons that allow her to draw on the tub walls without leaving much of a mark. She was facing me and I couldn't see what she was drawing; I could only see her from the shoulders up--her face in plain view. She was intent on focusing on her picture. Her eyes wandered from side to side as she drew and her mouth moved as if it were helping her hands. Every once in a while she would lean back a bit to inspect her work then tilt her head forward as she drew herself closer to the drawing...intensifying her intent.
She looked like my late mother did as a child. I can still see the old picture that was taken in Germany in the 1930's.
Bath time was over and I went to pick Ava up. Her gorgeous eyes met mine and she showed me her picture. It was a huge smiley face with beaming eyes and delicate features.
I picked her up.
She was small.
She was light.
She was fragile.
Memories of my mother flooded my mind and I wondered what kind of childhood friends she had in Germany. I wondered if she ever saw them after her father sent his family away from Germany during the rise of Hitler. I wondered if those friends made it out.
The human condition is a fragile one. Our children are fragile. They speak to us in so many ways. Like the picture on the side of the tub, they long for happy times, for large smiles and beaming eyes. The world often offers these things and yet, it offers the opposite as well. As we protect our children as my grandfather did so many years ago, we must know that all of our actions for our children reside within them and within their children as well. I never knew my grandfather on my mother's side; but I do know I love him. I respect him. I thank him. For without him and his sense of protection and goodwill, I, as well as my children, would not be here.
My mother died a peaceful death at the age of 86 in 2008. She left this world with her children surrounding her as the birds began chirping to bring in the new day--this chirping, however, was meant not only to bring in the new day, but also to bring my mother home. Her childhood friends were no doubt, there to welcome her. Her father, no doubt, wrapped his protective arms around his little girl once again.
Mr. Casten
Feb. 18, 2011
Copyrighted material of Michael C. Casten
