Giessen, Germany, circa 1964-1967
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” was one of the first expressions I learned while living in Germany. It means, “Do you speak German?”
My first through third grade years were spent at an American school in Giessen, Germany. My father had been stationed there years earlier while serving in the Army. When he returned with his family, his assignment was for three years.
It was, in many ways, both the best of times and, at times, the hardest. There were always children around, and friendships came easily. It did not matter who you were or where you were from. There was a shared understanding among us. We were all living away from what we called home, yet we accepted one another as we were.
Playtime filled most days. We gathered in the common backyard, taking turns on playground equipment, playing marbles, or trying out someone’s pogo stick or stilts. I especially enjoyed joining the boys for marbles. We went to the movies, explored new places, and tried foods that were unfamiliar to us. I remember dancing with a local German boy and spending time with friends who would take my brother and me along on outings. I experienced things that many children back in the United States never had the opportunity to experience.
Some of those memories were simple. Wiener schnitzel. Gummy bears, long before they were available in the United States. Others were reminders of the times we were living in, like air raid drills. We kept C-rations in our apartment for emergencies, but my older brother and I would sneak the crackers and peanut butter whenever we could.
Travel was a regular part of our lives. We often camped in tents as we made our way through parts of Europe. We visited the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, and Austria, along with many places throughout Germany. On a later tour, Italy was added to the list.
Even with all of those experiences, there were moments when I felt the distance from home deeply. After a few years in Giessen, I missed my grandparents so much that I would sometimes cry myself to sleep. It was a bittersweet feeling. I loved where I was and what I was experiencing, but I longed for my Momo and Papa back in Opelousas.
At school, a German teacher visited once a week. We learned songs and simple phrases. One song that stayed with me was “Guten Abend, Gute Nacht,” Brahms’ lullaby. I learned a few expressions and how to count to ninety-nine in German. It is interesting to me now that, growing up in south Louisiana where Cajun French was so common, I only ever learned to count to ten in French.
Toward the end of our time in Giessen, a family from our hometown of Opelousas moved into the apartment just below ours. My mother was overjoyed to have someone nearby who shared that connection to home.
Looking back, I realize how much those years shaped me. I missed being in Opelousas during some of my formative years, but in exchange, I was surrounded by experiences that broadened my world in ways I could not have understood at the time.
The photograph above was taken of my family in or near Giessen, Germany, likely at a local park.
