
As the Christmas season approaches, and it is in the air, I'm thinking
about how German Dad was. His childhood was totally German, as his father
was an immigrant. Every Christmas, the old Kindlichkeit of the Germans
would surround Dad in that mythical house in Jose Paz he always spoke
about. Of course, that part of his Germanity he always took very lightly.
Like Onkle Christian in Thomas Mann's "Buddenbrooks," he laughed at the
Christmas carols as something for old ladies and awed little kids. But his
Germanity went far beyond this. He had his Goethe and his Schiller always
around, though I wonder whether he ever read one of those plays all the way
through. He loved Wagner, and what is more German than that? He loved the
castles on the Rhine, where his mother's family was from: St. Goarshausen
am Rhein. He loved the serious music of the Germans, beyond Wagner, in
Bach and Beethoven, Bruckner, not to mention that 'great German
philosopher, Johann Strauss' who composed his favorite 'Fledermaus.' He
always dropped German phrases. He had German gestures, like the pouf! the
Germans blow through their cheeks when they're not quite convinced of
something. When you pointed at someone and said 'look! it's so and so!' he
would say 'Oh yeah? "Prosit Neujahr!" At one time, he ate like a Saxon.
In Buenos Aires, people in the family would always recount stories about
his appetite, about how he ordered a whole 'parrillada' just for himself.
That's Saxon. But he laughed at the Saxons, particularly the jokes about
the last King of Saxony, August der Starke, who was reputedly always drunk.
I am amazed, as I think back, about how German Dad was. I think I always
overlooked this for some reason.
Just thought I'd share some thoughts.
Berto
Albert R. Sonntag
berto55@earthlink.net
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