Smelly Childhood Prank (1957)

Dear friends,  after digressing from my childhood memories for  several posts I am now back on track and will continue to tell you about my journey through this miraculous life.

As you may remember I had a fairly strict upbringing.  At the time of my growing up children lived under an authoritarian regime especially at school.  We had to treat our teachers with utmost respect.  Their word was law except at classroom debates and discussions.   If we had sound arguments and could back them up effectively we were allowed to express contrary opinions.

However, children at all times did outrages and even cruel  things and we were no exceptions.   I am still ashamed to remember the prank our whole class played on a teacher.

Our art teacher was a middle aged lady of great proportions  who loved to eat.  She would sit at her front desk in the art room munching away on enormous sandwiches filled with strong smelling  cheeses or odiferous garlic sausages and cold cuts.

 

Bacon sandwich

Bacon sandwich

 

Instead of giving us inspiring instruction of drawing or painting techniques  or providing us with shining examples of fine arts she would devour her heavy lunches  leisurely reading the newspaper. Absentmindedly she would sweep away crumbs from her desk with her sausage-like fingers.

sandwich 2

We had the freedom to draw or paint whatever we fancied.  She never showed any interest in our  “masterpieces”.  Her sole interest was directed to her prolific victuals.

Because of our teacher’s  lack of good modeling behavior and lack of interest  one of our class mates was inspired to rouse her out of her lethargy. She wanted to  pay her back on her assaults on our aesthetic sensibilities.  This inspired student asked us to bring smelly soft cheeses to school for the next day.  And I have to admit we all followed her lead without any reservations or scruples and did what she told us. Before our art lessons started  the next morning she directed us to quickly smear the smelly soft cheeses on all the surfaces of the art room especially on  our teacher’s chair and desk.

We could hardly cope with the overpowering stench ourselves  before our teacher entered the room.  Maybe she was already desensitized by these odors. To our secret delight she sat down on the greasy chair without noticing the unusual sheen and smell.

When she calmly started unpacking her lunch,  we politely asked her if something was spoiling  in her bag.  Suddenly she seemed to become aware of the stronger than normal aromas. Bewildered she looked around and  seemed to notice that they came wafting from all sides and not just from the usual place in front of her. That’s when she smelled the “rat”.She left the room and returned in a short while with the principal who was a very proficient “rat smeller”.

Our classmate who had hatched the idea of the plot bravely and willingly accepted the role as scapegoat in spite of our strong protests.  She took her lashes in front of the class with dignity and even humor as we noticed a twinkle in her tearing eye and a tiny smile in spite of the obvious pain and humiliation.

stap

Photo Credit: 123RF.com

The rest of us had to scrub and clean the art room and polish the furniture without the aid of  disintegrating  aromatic cheeses.

From that day on our art teacher seemed to have lost her appetite during art lessons.   She even started teaching us techniques as for example in different  perspectives.

In spite of my  sketchy art lessons I have developed a lifelong love and appreciation for art.  In retrospect I thank my teacher who gave us the freedom and opportunity  to explore our own creativity.

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Surviving in a Totalitarian State

After their failed attempt to flee to the West my freedom loving parents had to survive in a totalitarian state.  Many of their freedoms were curtailed and they were cut off from friends and relatives on the other side of Germany and the rest of the world.

Before the war my dad had been transferred to the police force in Gotha.   Now,  under the communist rule he could no longer keep his position as police officer.

Miraculously,  one of my Dad’s old friends who was a dentist remembered that my father had worked as a dental technician in the past.   He offered him a job to work in his dental laboratory.

Food supplies were very short for several years after the war especially in the East.  I remember my Dad taking us to small villages in the surrounding area.  He would try to trade in his high quality police boots, belts, leather gloves and other valuable clothing in exchange for precious food like flour, butter  eggs and cheese.

I never forget the tasty delight of a freshly baked  heart shaped waffle a kind farmer’s wife handed me on a cool fall day.   It was still warm and tasted heavenly!!  I never had one before.

Our diet consisted  mostly of porridge, root vegetables,  bread, molasses and some butter or other fat.  There were strict government food rations.  Since I was underweight and slightly anemic, a  concerned doctor prescribed extra rations for me.

But I was also a picky eater.  It upset my dad tremendously, when I refused to eat or left something on the plate.   He had experienced extreme hunger as a POW.   My mother ended up feeding us children  separately  to keep him calm.

When we turned four years old, my father started teaching us on weekends.   He had a large world map, which covered a wall in his study.  There he taught us geography,  We had to point to and name all the continents, major countries, capitals, rivers, mountain ranges and oceans.

We had to draw maps and were rewarded with pennies if they were accurate.

He explained the solar system to us and allowed us to color his beautiful pen drawings for his ballads.

At bed time he would read to us books of the great explorers and inventors of the past or other historical events.   I loved cuddling close to my father on the bench of the big tile stove and listen to the great stories of mankind.

I learned to read before I even went to school and from then on have always been a voracious reader.

I was six years old when I read my first novel.  My mom had the book sitting on her night table.   It was a gift from my father who loved historical novels.   Whenever I had the opportunity. I secretly read in this big book which intrigued me.  It introduced me to an exciting  world  far beyond  my years.  To this day it is my favorite novel.  The author is Hervey Allen and the title is “Anthony Adverse”.   It was translated into German.   Many years later, Peter found the original American edition for me at eBay.

Although religious practices were tolerated under the new regime, they were not being encouraged.

My mother had been strictly brought up in the catholic faith by her guardians.   However, my father was protestant.   Shortly after our birth, even before my dad had a chance to meet us, she had us baptized in the protestant faith out of respect for my father.

My mother was always a strong believer in the Christian faith and instilled this faith in me.  For her the differences among the various religious denominations were not of great importance.  She believed in a personal relationship with God and salvation through Jesus Christ.

She would always encourage us to pray, and believe in the power of God’s love.

We were introduced to the word of God by an interdenominational Christian group who read bible stories to preschool children.  They must have sown strong seeds falling on fertile ground.  To this day I have never lost my faith in the goodness and truth of God’s word and the miracle of Christ’s promise of salvation.