"Please, call me Gordon."
"OK, Mr. Lipsett," I responded, realizing that I would never be able to make the cross-over to the use of first names with people in my parents generation, and certainly not with the husband of my piano teacher.
That conversation took place about 30 years ago, when I was back in town from college for the weekend and was greeting the couple at church.
Sure, I have related this story several times over the years, and I always found it fascinating and somewhat humbling that I have still never been able to make this switch. I simply address people that I met during my childhood and adolescence as Mr. and Mrs.; it makes no difference how old we happen to be now. The gender gap still remains, even if I met these people 30 or 40 years ago.
My parents have made a few comments about this over the years. During my 20s and early 30s when we would be out and about together, I would frequently hear my father introduce himself to a friend of mine (in my age group) as Sam, which came as no real surprise. In fact, any time that I would meet a parent of a friend of mine that I did not ever know during my school years, I would also start in with them on a first name basis.
I remember one time that my folks and I were debating this topic at the Old Monk, and I turned to my buddy Pablo and said, "Hey Pablo, my dad has a question for you."
"Sure, Mr. Barlow, what would you like to know?" my friend asked.
10 minutes when Chris arrived to the pub, he greeted my parents with a big "Hello Mr and Mrs Barlow," which helped me prove my point.
"See, mom, it is not just me that does this," I explained, feeling really grateful that I was not the only guy who still seemingly acts like a little kid around adults. The actual age one is has less to do with it; for me, it's really more about the situation and the feeling.
True, I do recognize that it may sound rather formal when addressing someone as Mr or Mrs. I was recently in a meeting with a woman who is a few years older than me, and she pointed out that she expected to use the formal German communication, which puts us in the Herr Barlow or Frau So and So mode. Of course, this is pretty standard in Germany. It is normal that colleagues at work, regardless of their age, address one another formally.
I suspect it is partially for that reason that I still address a German friend's parents as Herr and Frau Losse. That being said, the feeling that I have always had with them is that they are both very nurturing and caring parents, which basically indicates to me that, had I met them 30 some odd years ago with the Herr and Frau bit, I would never be able to change to a first name basis with them, even if they asked me to. In fact, I think one time Nadja's mom did ask me to call by her first name, and I, of course, responded with, "OK, Frau Losse."
Maybe it is a bit of nostalgia, or perhaps it is just a bit of willful innocence on my part. But, despite not being a parent, I greatly respect the art of parenting and am particularly touched when I see how parents interact with not only their offspring but also the friends of their offspring. There is quite a bit of comfort I get from observing these relationships, especially when I can immediately see how much love exists.
We all have probably had our "roll the eyes" moments when our parents have done something to embarrass us, and maybe sometimes our opinions are not the same as our parents, but it is still family. Besides, I certainly am aware that I have embarrassed my parents on frequent occasions, though I hope that those times are becoming less frequent. Regardless, the love and the nurturing remains. This is really key for me and I have a lot of experiences recently which continue to keep me feeling warm and fuzzy.
As I have written in the past few weeks, the summer has been pretty good, almost exceptional. One of the events that helps bring the summer to a close is our local festival: Bernemer Kerb. This year marks the 410th (yep, you read that correctly) year of the celebration. I may have only participated in the past 10-11 years, but I got here as quickly as I could.
OK, the celebration involves rather large amounts of alcohol, but it is really a festive atmosphere, especially when the weather is nice and everyone comes out to enjoy the scene. Last Saturday, immediately after finishing my last post, I went to the gym, got in a little workout, then found myself wandering over to the pub to catch the second half of a football match. As much as I enjoyed having a few beers on an early Saturday afternoon, I realized that the early start would make things a little complicated later on the evening; the parade itself wasn't going to start for another few hours.
Na ja, it is afternoons like these when one simply throws caution to the wind (and the rain, as it were). By parade time, I was still holding up, but knew I would not be the last guy standing. Fortunately at that moment, I was still able to stand, and spent a few minutes catching up with some friends as we watched the floats pass by. Maybe float is not quite the right word, but at least we watched the wagons roll by, filled with revelers (many of which clearly started their beer consumption before I had) throwing various gifts to the crowd: candy, little trinkets, etc.
I was standing with 3 couples who all had young children, ranging in age from 6 months to 6 years.
Not only do I know these kids, but I also know their parents, as they have been around since my arrival in Frankfurt 11 years ago. Back then, we spent a lot of time closing the bars and staying out too late. As fun as that was at the time, I quite like the way things are now, where these new parents are more interested in nurturing their little ones. This may be seem like a very normal thing, but over the years I have sadly realized that it is not something to be taken for granted, and the facts are: too often what I always assumed to be a normal relationship with parents and their kids, a relationship of love, is not necessarily the case.
At any rate, watching the kids laugh and clap their hands (OK the 6 month old was taking a nap) as they tried to catch the candy being tossed to them was quite endearing. They were in their own little worlds, but a world where they knew their parents were right there with them, loving them.
I happen to have met the parents of all three couples, and although I don't know all of them that well, I always had the feeling that those parents are similar to my own; loving, caring parents. To see their children (my friends) behave in similar fashion does not really surprise me, but it still impresses me.
Feeling comfortably numb (part beer, part nice family experience), I continued celebrating the Saturday evening, chatting with everyone who came out to the festival. It is always a nice chance to see old friends while making new friends at the same time. Sobriety is optional, and what is always funny is that everyone seems to double their normal intake without getting completely waxed.
That being said, my shutters came down around 10pm, which, looking back, wasn't THAT bad of a run, since I had started about 2pm.
Of course, Sunday morning I woke up feeling like I would need to stay in bed for most of the day. Unfortunately, I had made some plans to meet up with a colleague during the early afternoon, and I also had tentative plans for dinner. It took a lot of effort on my part, but I found myself back in the pub Sunday lunch time to watch a match with a friend and his wife. I opted for water instead of beer, which created a lot of confusion for the staff of the pub; this was highly out of character.
However, I noticed that most of the staff were also looking a little tired, so they appreciated my condition. There was a certain amount of hangover that was contributing to how I felt, but I was also very keen to avoid a repeat of the previous day, where by 17h30 I was already 6 beers in. At this point, I was still expecting a text message from Chris's parents telling me when they would get to town.
During half time of the match, I stood outside talking to one of the girls who works at the pub. She had come up with her own kids to enjoy a little Sunday afternoon sunshine. This girl is rather striking and tends to receive a lot of attention from the male patrons of the pub. As pretty as she is, what I particularly like about her is how she handles being a mother. Her kids are one and seven, and the daughter was running around helping to serve drinks to other customers, reminding me of last month when SC was doing the same thing. The one year old was just being cute and cuddly, keeping his mother occupied as he played with anything within his reach.
While I haven't met Anna's parents, I get the feeling that she, too, grew up in a loving family environment. It is not just that she is a nice person, but it is how she is a nice mother.
One of my other friends who also works at the pub, another of my favorites, equally strikes me as coming from a very loving family background. She was overjoyed to meet my parents during their recent visit, and went out of her way to introduce me to her father when he visited Frankfurt. Her father doesn't speak any English, but as we conversed in Spanish I realized why Maria is how she is: a really really nice person who clearly grew up in a loving environment. And, the way she dotes on kids tells me that she will continue in the same fashion should she become a mother.
The positive vibes I was getting on Sunday (combined with multiple glasses of water) helped me feel much better than I had earlier in the day, but I was still rather relieved when Mr. McKee phoned to tell me that they would NOT be able to come across town Sunday evening after all. Instead, we made plans to meet up on Monday afternoon.
I was looking forward to seeing Chris's parents. It may sound a little strange, but it is a nice feeling to show people that you have known for a long time a different side of yourself. In my case, I have known Chris's mom and dad since 1988, not long after I first met Chris. I can remember sacking Mrs. McKee's groceries (we both worked at a grocery store. Albertston's - it's your store), just like Chris remembers checking the groceries for my mother. Over the years, we saw each other regularly, especially since I was living onsite at Goliad, usually there every time the McKees came to visit.
Probably the last time I saw them was about 4 or 5 five years ago during my stateside Christmas visit. It was a rather brief few minutes at Goliad, during which we did the quick "how are things going in Germany?" exchange, where one usually gives just a simple "things are great" response. Thus, to have the opportunity to actually show them my neighborhood personally would have a bit more relevance.
When I first received the email from Mr McKee, I did not recognize the name, pretty much because I do not recall ever having heard the first names of either of Chris's parents. It wouldn't have mattered much anyway, since I have always addressed them as Mr. and Mrs, for the reasons I gave at the beginning of this piece. When I responded to the email, I gave my mobile number along with my invitation that they head to my side of town from their hotel on Monday afternoon.
Mr. McKee phoned me around 16h Monday afternoon with the news that they were about 10 minutes away from me, so I quickly dried myself off (I had been in the shower), dressed and walked down to Bornheim Mitte to find them at the taxi stand. They had taken my instructions literally and were just standing on the street.
Another couple was with the McKees and after quick hugs with Mr. and Mrs McKee, I was introduced to them. They gave me their first names, which I expected, but unfortunately I almost immediately forgot both names. I hoped that during the course of the evening, Mr. and Mrs McKee would use their friends names so that I could quietly refresh my memory. This created a little bit of confusion for me, since I wasn't all together sure that I knew Mrs. McKee's first name, either.
In the end, it worked out just fine.
We spent a few minutes walking around the market plaza in Bornheim. I showed everyone where the younger McKees had resided during July, and pointed out a few landmarks. Fortunately, the weather was nice, but that particular evening there were not SO many people out and about for the Kerb fesitval. Said festival runs from Friday to Wednesday, with Friday and Saturday being particularly crowded days, followed closely by Sunday. Monday and Tuesday are more quiet, and then Wednesday erupts into a complete blow out. Being Monday, we had a better opportunity to visit and relax.
Both couples had been on a tour over the past couple of weeks and would be returning to the states the following morning. Understandably, they were a bit travel weary. Thus, I elected to have us meander down Berger Strasse, giving them a feel for the neighborhood. We got to my corner, where I showed them my apartment building, then we took a seat outside the pub and ordered a few drinks.
I had to chuckle to myself a little bit because everyone perused the menu to try and decide what to have. Mr. McKee jumped right into a Hefeweizen, his wife opted for prosecco. Mr. McKee's friend took my suggestion of a Kilkenny, and finally, his wife, who had asked me about a light beer, took a Helles. Again, I was momentarily confused, since American light beer (like Bud Light, Miller Lite, etc) is not available here. I did not want to insult someone I had just met by berating them on their beverage choice, but I quickly realized that she simply wanted a lighter German beer.
We had a nice visit chatting about their recent cruise through Austria, and I was able to give a little background on what I was doing in Germany. The two couples had known each a long time and I was reminded of friends who would travel with my parents from time to time. I am aware that not everyone travels the same way. Some people prefer a more structured (safe) environment, while others tend to go for the balls out adventure. These folks were perhaps a bit more conservative than my parents, but it is all relative at the end of the day. I am always impressed when someone at least shows the willingness. Clearly they had all had a good time over the past two weeks.
From conversations with Chris, I already knew which topics with his parents were best avoided, and when said topics came up anyway, I gently gave my perspective and quickly moved us along to safer territory. I fully respect that everyone has their opinions and despite the respect we have for one another, we will never always agree on everything, from our views of the world to something has simple as our favorite foods.
Mr. McKee and I had a second beer at the pub, which was really no surprise. Then, Mr. McKee correctly assumed that I probably was needing a cigarette break, so I slipped around the corner for a bit of a puff, leaving them to chat a bit with Anna, who was working that evening.
Upon my return to the table, someone said, "Bryan, she is cute."
"Indeed she is," I responded, "and she is also a really loving mother."
We paid up and walked a few steps to one of my favorite little German pubs, where we found a table outside. I explained the menu to everyone, we got the orders placed, and we continued enjoying our little evening in Bornheim.
I was not allowed to pay anything, which touched me. My parents do the same thing and enjoy treating my friends for the odd meal when they visit. But, the McKees and their friends were so thankful that I had taken time to show them a few things around the neighborhood. I struggled to express that I was equally thankful and glad to have seen the McKee seniors and to have met their friends.
For a last little moment, I trooped everyone over to a group of my friends who had already gathered for Kiosk Abend. Those guys had already seen the younger McKees the previous month, and I cracked up as the introductions (by first name and last name) were made.
"Hello Mr and Mrs McKee, hello Mr. and Mrs xxxx" said Teddy, Mono and Danny. Seems it's not just Chris, Pablo, and myself that do this....
A taxi was driving by, so I hailed it, and informed the driver to take my guests back to their hotel at the airport. We hugged goodbye, and I wished everyone safe travels, then tucked in to continue my Kiosk Abend. A very nice evening all around.
When Bernemer Mittwoch came around, I started cautiously. The evening tends to be long, and I wanted to try and pace myself. The problem has always been that the party happens right outside my front door. Thus, even if I wasn't out on the street, a few thousand people WERE. So, sleeping is not really an option.
I finished my work day around 6h15, and headed out to meet and greet. I ran into an old friend of mine who no longer lives in the neighborhood. We still see each other with regularity, but certainly not like we did when he lived around the corner. As it were, his mother was visiting from London, and it was nice to catch up with her. I first met Carol about 7 or 8 years ago when Damon first moved to Frankfurt. We had an interesting evening one night in the pub, where she expressed her appreciation that she was able to meet friends of her son in Germany. I was reminded of my own mother, since both of them live further away from one of their kids, but that never stops them from caring and wanting the best for their children. Once again, another sign of parenting at its best. Yeah, Carol is wacky and much more outgoing than my own mom, but her love for her son and his friends is felt just as strongly as the love my mother has for my sister and me.
On this specific evening, I mentioned that I had just had dinner with the folks of a friend of mine, and reminded her of our conversation from years ago. I appreciate it when parents want to be parents, and care about their kids and who their kids know.
A couple of hours later, there were many more people on the street and things were getting really crowded. I met up with Bettina and her daughter Elena. Elena was one of the mothers whose 2 kids were watching the parade the previous Saturday. Elena's partner is an old friend of mine that I met early on in my Frankfurt experience and we have remained friends through the years. He was one of the guys that I used to close bars with back in the early days. Now, he and Elena have two really nice little kids, and I see them quite regularly, fortunately because Elena's mother lives down the street from me. I am quite fortunate to know these people, as they are very genuine and pleasant. One of the most striking things is that Bettina, who is maybe 8 years older than me, is clearly a wonderful caring mother, and in turn, a particularly loving grandmother. The kids are both quite charming (though the 2 year old is obviously more communicative) and it is so apparent that they are being raised in such a nurturing, loving environment.
A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with Elena and her mother about parenting and about how cool I thought they were, particularly in their style with their kids. Seeing this in multiple generations just makes it all the more special. Sure, my sister is a very loving mother, just like her own mother, but it is still refreshing for me to experience this outside of my own family. Indeed, knowing people like this helps me remember that there is still a lot of good in the world, regardless of the age or the nationality of the people.
We have endured far too many really shitty things in the world in recent days, weeks, and months. The madness that took place in Virginia last week, or the awful attacks in Spain in the past 24 hours, none of it makes any sense.
I purposely try to think of the loving examples I get to experience, particularly to remind myself that I am so fortunate to be around people who are trying to help make the world a better place, despite the dark times.
I will keep these thoughts with me as we start the weekend. What else can I do?
see you out there
bryan
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