Opa, Oma and the war

In German, we call grandpa "Opa" and grandma "Oma", and while I have mentioned those two in one of my recent posts, I really want to take a moment to talk about these two amazing people.
Number one... they have been married for over 50 years, which is enough to just bow in awe. They have been through the war, did their part in rebuilding Germany once things got back on track, have raised two amazing daughters and were the best grandparents any child could possibly wish for. We (my sister, brother and I) basically grew up with them as closely as with our parents, and for the past 15 years they lived in my parents house on the second floor. It has always been a great situation, where three generations learn from each other, love and annoy each other and just do what they can to be happy and supportive of each others lives.
As I grew older, one of the most impressive thing about them was for me that they have truly experienced WW2, and that they can tell stories that put all the "mysteries" into perspective for me.
To this day, they lay out their clothes for the next day on two stools by the end of the bed in the order that they will be put on in the morning. This is just one of many details they have never gotten rid of after living in fear, ready to run as soon as the bomb alarm would go off in the middle of the night. We are talking about a woman who was a young teenager, and who survived three direct bombs, who crawled out of her basement to find her families house in ruins three times, and who rebuilt the home three times. A woman who refused to go to the "Hitler youth" meetings (she actually still has her pass with only one stamp in it, which she is very proud to show..."look... I only went once!").
Opa came home from school one day to find his family missing for days. They were interrogated by the SS, and he had no word of their whereabouts. They went through it from the beginning... when Hitler came up with the "Reichs Mark" - the new currency, which was handed out upon turning in every cent of the old "Gold Mark". Opa's uncle kept a bag full of the valued Gold Mark and hid it, which somehow authorities got wind off. He was a priest, and when the SS showed up he was not at home. The soldiers turned the place upside down... looking for the money. The uncle's maid, who had no idea what they were looking for finally said: "I kept telling him not to listen to the radio... I said he would get in trouble... he wouldn't listen to me."
The Nazi's never found his Gold Mark... but after the big mouthed maid spilled the beans about him illegally listening to the "forbidden" radio station, took him to a concentration camp as soon as he got home. He remained there for a couple of years, miraculously made it out - only to die of exhaustion and starvation a few days later.
It is interesting to live in a foreign country as a German. It makes me a little sad sometimes when I realize that the first thing people generally think of is not "Mercedes Benz", "Einstein", "Johann Sebastian Bach", "Marlene Dietrich" or "Oktoberfest" - although... beer is usually second in line... AFTER Hitler. But the truth is that this time in history is carved so deeply into people's memories that there is really no recovering from it, no matter how many good things there were and are.
For me, my grandparents were a vital part in making me understand that not every German at the time was evil. That there were good people who suffered through war times, and that not everybody raised their right arm and cheered at the sight of this little, closeted, meth-using racist monster who cowardly killed himself once he realized that he screwed up beyond repair. It was important for me as a person and as a German to listen to the stories these two people told me early on in order to not be ashamed of where I come from.
When I first moved to NY a very interesting thing happened.
It was a very rainy day, and I (along with millions of Ny-ers) tried to catch a cab on my way home. I finally got one, and as we stopped at a red light two young girls knocked on my window and asked if they could share the ride with me. They would drop me off first, and then keep going wherever they needed to go. Sure thing...! They sat down and we started making small talk, until the girl right next to me asked where I was from. I said "Germany". They exchanged looks, and the other one said: "OK then..." and both turned away.
I asked:"What's wrong?", which was quickly answered with the words: "Well... we are Jewish. Your people killed us!" I couldn't believe it! With the little English I could come up with at the time I managed to say: "Well... I am gay. They killed US, too." Uhh... I am so glad these two little bi***es didn't pull a stunt like that once I was a little more secure. I think today I would stop the cab and kick'em out - with the words "not because you're Jewish, but because you're stupid!" Come on, girls...! I was clearly not personally involved in the horrible things your ancesters went through, and I am clearly not in any way involved in neo- nazi actions. Would a German neo- nazi really move to a foreign country??? Would a neo- nazi be kind enough to let somebody share a cab with him? Would a neo- nazi wear Dolce and Gabbana??? Think, girls... think!
But the incident did affect me, and it made me very aware of stereo types and the mistakes we all make when we assume that someone is supposed to be a certain way because of his/ her background, look, sexuality, religion, color, or status in society. It really made me think, and whenever I am about to pass judgement on someone I try to remember the way I felt that rainy day in a NY cab.
But back to Oma and Opa; they have - in so many ways - had such a big impact on my growing up and on my understanding of the world. It is quite remarkable that I can talk to Opa about my relationship to a man, when he grew up at a time when gays were considered "sick", and put to death. And not only does he talk to me about my relationship, and about how to make it last as long as his lasted; he defends gay people openly whenever he hears guys at parties tell a gay joke!
I do hope that I will have them around for a lot longer...; Whenever I think about my life as an American Resident, the two of them are probably the main reason for me to sometimes wish I was home more often. My parents are very young, and can come visit me here whenever it works out. But my grandparents wouldn't get on a long flight like that anymore, and our time together really depends on how often I can go see them. For the past few years Opa actually cries every time I leave Germany, which breaks my heart. And he says things like: "I hope we'll see each other again in good health", which almost kills me.
Anyway... I don't want to think about it; they are kicking. (In fact... grandma has a permanent scar on her leg from watching soccer on TV. Yes... she got into it so badly that she KICKED her leg out as if she was hitting the ball, and hit the corner of the stone table hard enough to bleed!) You go, Oma Beckham!
Ich hab euch lieb!!!