I read this story about a guard reuniting with his ex-inmates and immediately thought of the O's.
I became fast friends with Katja when we were in college at NYU.
She was so exotic, yet so down to earth. She always wore wool sweaters, scarves, and cool hats, giving her an air of someone having just blown in from an Alpine hike about her, which was a hard air to give off in lower Manhattan. She was down to earth but sooooooo much more sophisticated than my "raised in Richmond" ways- by the time we met, she had been raised as An American Abroad- living in Helsinki, Munich, and Paris before landing in New York.
My parents always wanted to come up to visit... I discouraged them. I had no desire to attend silly ceremonial things with my parents, like... I don't know... college graduation.
But Katja wanted to attend graduation, and her family was abroad.
So I handed her my parents and gamely followed to watch graduation unfold.
Little did I know how much her family would soon become such a part of my heart, forever.
But how I came to live with Katja's family is another story, and those many tales, for another day.
Living with the O's... I never felt such love. All the things that were frowned upon prior in my own life were instead embraced with laughter. Mr. & Mrs. O and her brother Karl made me feel loved, accepted, and better about myself than I had felt in years. Now, raising children of my own, I want to do what I saw the O's did for other people, I want to be That Family that lonely children flock to.
The O's became my family, and even though distance separates us, my love for them will never diminish.
Living in Paris in the staid 8ieme, at 66 boulevard Malesherbes, Katja & I would dress to go out, then walk into the kitchen to say our goodbyes. Mr. O would look me up and down in my thrift store clothes and... blatantly laugh, in my face,
"You're going out in that?!? Hahahahaha!"
I never felt so loved.
Living in Paris, going with the O's to visit his family in Linz Am Rhein, Mr. O would share tales of his growing up in a little town in Germany and how he came to America. And this is what I tell you.
He remembers being a little boy, high on a hill outside the village, watching the first American tanks cross into sight.
Because he spoke English, his dad was made a guard in the local German POW camp. After awhile, he started speaking with his prisoners about the chess they were playing. A relationship was formed over chess...
The war ended, and life continued on. Mr. O grew into a teen. And then, a letter: a former prisoner and his dad began correspondance.
Back then, you just couldn't come into the United States from Germany.
You had to have an American vouch for you, and be under their supervision.
That former prisoner stood up and vouched for young Mr. O. And the guard's son left his homeland to live with the former prisoner and his family in Chicago.
And that's how Mr. O came to America, began service in the American Army, gained citizenship, fell in love with a North Carolina girl, and ended up as the Director of Tourism and Trade for the United States Embassy in Paris.
I wish Mr. O could read this and correct me on everything I missed, that he could poke fun of me in the comments below. Mr. O died after a struggle with cancer in 2005. We all miss his laughter so.
...Here's some silly pictures I dug up of Katja and I in New York, Paris, and yes, Richmond I came across trying to find pictures of her family...
Now you can see why Mr. O laughed at us so much...
Here we are playing Charlie's Angels in my East Village apartment...
Below are some pics from my last night before I went back to the States...I was so sad...
Some more pics of us going out with friends - our friends were French *and* American, but we spoke fluent French so most people didn't know Katja or I were American.
And the last picture set is Mr. & Mrs. O at The Marine Ball, we all had a great evening that night.
I wish I had taken more pictures during this time... I guess we were always so busy running off we rarely thought to take a camera.
I became fast friends with Katja when we were in college at NYU.
She was so exotic, yet so down to earth. She always wore wool sweaters, scarves, and cool hats, giving her an air of someone having just blown in from an Alpine hike about her, which was a hard air to give off in lower Manhattan. She was down to earth but sooooooo much more sophisticated than my "raised in Richmond" ways- by the time we met, she had been raised as An American Abroad- living in Helsinki, Munich, and Paris before landing in New York.
My parents always wanted to come up to visit... I discouraged them. I had no desire to attend silly ceremonial things with my parents, like... I don't know... college graduation.
But Katja wanted to attend graduation, and her family was abroad.
So I handed her my parents and gamely followed to watch graduation unfold.
Little did I know how much her family would soon become such a part of my heart, forever.
But how I came to live with Katja's family is another story, and those many tales, for another day.
Living with the O's... I never felt such love. All the things that were frowned upon prior in my own life were instead embraced with laughter. Mr. & Mrs. O and her brother Karl made me feel loved, accepted, and better about myself than I had felt in years. Now, raising children of my own, I want to do what I saw the O's did for other people, I want to be That Family that lonely children flock to.
The O's became my family, and even though distance separates us, my love for them will never diminish.
Living in Paris in the staid 8ieme, at 66 boulevard Malesherbes, Katja & I would dress to go out, then walk into the kitchen to say our goodbyes. Mr. O would look me up and down in my thrift store clothes and... blatantly laugh, in my face,
"You're going out in that?!? Hahahahaha!"
I never felt so loved.
Living in Paris, going with the O's to visit his family in Linz Am Rhein, Mr. O would share tales of his growing up in a little town in Germany and how he came to America. And this is what I tell you.
He remembers being a little boy, high on a hill outside the village, watching the first American tanks cross into sight.
Because he spoke English, his dad was made a guard in the local German POW camp. After awhile, he started speaking with his prisoners about the chess they were playing. A relationship was formed over chess...
The war ended, and life continued on. Mr. O grew into a teen. And then, a letter: a former prisoner and his dad began correspondance.
Back then, you just couldn't come into the United States from Germany.
You had to have an American vouch for you, and be under their supervision.
That former prisoner stood up and vouched for young Mr. O. And the guard's son left his homeland to live with the former prisoner and his family in Chicago.
And that's how Mr. O came to America, began service in the American Army, gained citizenship, fell in love with a North Carolina girl, and ended up as the Director of Tourism and Trade for the United States Embassy in Paris.
I wish Mr. O could read this and correct me on everything I missed, that he could poke fun of me in the comments below. Mr. O died after a struggle with cancer in 2005. We all miss his laughter so.
...Here's some silly pictures I dug up of Katja and I in New York, Paris, and yes, Richmond I came across trying to find pictures of her family...
Now you can see why Mr. O laughed at us so much...
Here we are playing Charlie's Angels in my East Village apartment...
Below are some pics from my last night before I went back to the States...I was so sad...
Some more pics of us going out with friends - our friends were French *and* American, but we spoke fluent French so most people didn't know Katja or I were American.
And the last picture set is Mr. & Mrs. O at The Marine Ball, we all had a great evening that night.
I wish I had taken more pictures during this time... I guess we were always so busy running off we rarely thought to take a camera.
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