the barracks. Doors were being painted different shades of dark colors. Potted flowering plants were even showing up on the edges of the barracks that rimmed the yard where we spent so much time standing at attention, receiving lectures and work orders.
During the last assembly, we’d been told that we needed to learn some songs, so we could entertain the visiting dignitaries. The commander informed us that we would start our music lessons soon. I couldn’t imagine what songs they would be teaching us, and which, if any of the guards, had singing voices good enough to teach music to children. I never thought of the guards as people who might enjoy singing. I only heard them yell. The hollering started in the morning, continued throughout the day, and ended at night when we were in bed. I often wondered if that was the only way they communicated…by yelling. In my imagination I saw a small town in Germany where all the inhabitants yelled. They hollered their greetings, they screamed their goodbyes, but no one knew what anyone was saying because there was so much noise they couldn’t hear! I smiled at the picture playing in my head. I suppose if you could holler, you could also sing.
The last time I sang in a choir was so long ago. The memory of it planted another smile on my face. Several Christmases back, I sang in the children’s choir at church. I could carry a tune, butwas genuinely shy when it came time to sing in front of anyone. On the day of the performance, instead of a small church with family and friends, the building suddenly took on gigantic proportions. The people-filled pews stretched as far as I could see. I didn’t recognize anyone I knew in the rows and rows of faces staring at me. The room began to grow warm. Nervously, I took my place for the presentation, but didn’t get the chance to perform. I stepped forward to sing my part; but something was wrong with my eyes. The words and notes swam around the page; the music didn’t sound right, either. No singing was coming out of my mouth. My mouth was open, but my throat was dry. Sweat was rolling down my face and I had to keep wiping it away so I could read the music. Sensing my anxiety, the teacher had another child step in to sing my part. I stood there looking at my feet, afraid to move and draw any more attention to myself.
Wearing my disappointment like an old hat pulled low on my face, I stood while mama hugged me and told a story about the time she’d done the same thing as a child. My jaw ached from holding back the tears. Mama’s hug took away the defeat and replaced it with empathy. Everything was good now, because her hug repaired the distress.
The beautification program was completing the many objectives in their plan. There were rumors of classrooms being constructed with actual desks, books, paper, and pencils. After dark, the barracks were buzzing with whispers about the changes coming our way. Excitement spilled over in the boys’ barracks, causing a ruckus now and then, usually ending in some form of public humiliation. Too bad the Red Cross couldn’t witness that.
Before the war, I wasn’t very fond of school, but now it seemed like a good idea to sit in a desk, and listen to a teacher talk about science or geography or any subject for that matter. School was easy compared to twelve hours of work in a factory.It wasn’t a real school, but in this setting, during this time, you took what you could get. Even attending for a few weeks would be a welcome diversion from the repetition of factory work. More than likely, the school in our town was still open. However, not many of my old school friends, if any, were still living in Kostrzyn.
Plenty of funny stories from my school days waited to be plucked and dwelled upon. The exciting thing was until now, I hadn’t really thought about them. I realized I had a whole new chapter from my past to entertain and sustain me.
After our country was attacked, families tried many different
During the last assembly, we’d been told that we needed to learn some songs, so we could entertain the visiting dignitaries. The commander informed us that we would start our music lessons soon. I couldn’t imagine what songs they would be teaching us, and which, if any of the guards, had singing voices good enough to teach music to children. I never thought of the guards as people who might enjoy singing. I only heard them yell. The hollering started in the morning, continued throughout the day, and ended at night when we were in bed. I often wondered if that was the only way they communicated…by yelling. In my imagination I saw a small town in Germany where all the inhabitants yelled. They hollered their greetings, they screamed their goodbyes, but no one knew what anyone was saying because there was so much noise they couldn’t hear! I smiled at the picture playing in my head. I suppose if you could holler, you could also sing.
The last time I sang in a choir was so long ago. The memory of it planted another smile on my face. Several Christmases back, I sang in the children’s choir at church. I could carry a tune, butwas genuinely shy when it came time to sing in front of anyone. On the day of the performance, instead of a small church with family and friends, the building suddenly took on gigantic proportions. The people-filled pews stretched as far as I could see. I didn’t recognize anyone I knew in the rows and rows of faces staring at me. The room began to grow warm. Nervously, I took my place for the presentation, but didn’t get the chance to perform. I stepped forward to sing my part; but something was wrong with my eyes. The words and notes swam around the page; the music didn’t sound right, either. No singing was coming out of my mouth. My mouth was open, but my throat was dry. Sweat was rolling down my face and I had to keep wiping it away so I could read the music. Sensing my anxiety, the teacher had another child step in to sing my part. I stood there looking at my feet, afraid to move and draw any more attention to myself.
Wearing my disappointment like an old hat pulled low on my face, I stood while mama hugged me and told a story about the time she’d done the same thing as a child. My jaw ached from holding back the tears. Mama’s hug took away the defeat and replaced it with empathy. Everything was good now, because her hug repaired the distress.
The beautification program was completing the many objectives in their plan. There were rumors of classrooms being constructed with actual desks, books, paper, and pencils. After dark, the barracks were buzzing with whispers about the changes coming our way. Excitement spilled over in the boys’ barracks, causing a ruckus now and then, usually ending in some form of public humiliation. Too bad the Red Cross couldn’t witness that.
Before the war, I wasn’t very fond of school, but now it seemed like a good idea to sit in a desk, and listen to a teacher talk about science or geography or any subject for that matter. School was easy compared to twelve hours of work in a factory.It wasn’t a real school, but in this setting, during this time, you took what you could get. Even attending for a few weeks would be a welcome diversion from the repetition of factory work. More than likely, the school in our town was still open. However, not many of my old school friends, if any, were still living in Kostrzyn.
Plenty of funny stories from my school days waited to be plucked and dwelled upon. The exciting thing was until now, I hadn’t really thought about them. I realized I had a whole new chapter from my past to entertain and sustain me.
After our country was attacked, families tried many different
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