1973

"He said if I do not want to go to Germany with him then we can just go our separate ways," Mother was saying.  "Jimmy is just determined to do this."

We were at Mother's and Daddy's home packing up their dishes into storage boxes and there were tears welling up in Mother's woeful eyes.  She did not want to go.  Daddy had taken a job with an insurance company in Mannheim, Germany, where the clientele consisted of military men and their families.  Ever the adventurer, my father saw this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to travel through Europe.  Mother saw it as loss - giving up her home and security in her sixties, leaving her children behind.  Perceiving herself to be without real choice, she had leased  her new home to strangers and was reorganizing her life around her husband's desires and plans.

"Mother, it might be really fun!" I said as optimistically as possible.  "And maybe Bill and I can visit you while you are there!"

Mother perked  up at that possibility.  Of course, I did not know at the time how difficult life was for my parents.  I was shocked that he had given her an ultimatum, so unaware was I of the dynamics of their marriage.  Also more daunting for Mother than Daddy was the cultural exchange.  My father had a real knack for learning languages; Mother was frightened by the challenges of not being understood.

The day came, however, when we hugged our parents good-bye and sent them off to Germany to live.  They leased a small two bedroom apartment near the base and settled in. Mother had a miniature washing machine that drained its excess water into the bath tub and a small kitchen not designed particularly for entertaining.  Day by day she adjusted to the culture and found that many German merchants spoke a modicum of English.  Often  she would write that she and Daddy had taken a side trip to Paris or Rome.  They were actually mugged in Rome, almost shattering Mother's resolve to stay in Europe.  But she loved the travel and the shopping.  Forced out of her safety zone, Mother seemed to relax into her surroundings and actually embrace her time in Europe.  They found a church to attend that had military families who missed parents as much as Mother and Daddy missed their children.  On the surface it looked as though all was well.

It was, however, from Europe that I received disturbing letters from my father in which he described the physical qualities of some of the men on base.  The observations were sexual in nature.  "The African-American men have those high firm hips."  Could not understand why he said these kinds of things.  I had only had one unnerving experience with my father in the past and I had chosen to excuse it.  The occasion was an evening a few weeks before my wedding.  Bill and I were going out for dinner, and I had worn a cut-off top and some low-slung bell-bottom pants exposing my tanned mid-section.  As I walked across the room toward the ringing doorbell, my father stopped me for a moment then ran both his hands down the length of my abdomen from just below my breasts to my waist where the waistband of the bell-bottoms began.

"I  just wanted to feel that," he said.  The look on his face was not fatherly, and I did not say anything because I did not know what to say.  It was a side of my father I had never seen.

In August of 1973, Bill and I boarded a plane for Munich, Germany, for a ten day visit with my parents.  My mother was elated because I would be in Germany for my twenty-fifth birthday.  After the long intercontinental flight, we were greeted lovingly by my parents and found ourselves in the back of their Audi heading toward Mannheim.  There in our little bedroom awaiting me was a rose in a lovely crystal vase and a birthday card with the promise of Paris and Vienna written in my Mother's hand.  Because my parents had already  traveled Europe, they had planned a five day road trip to France, Austria, Switzerland and southern Italy, as well as stops in Heidelberg and Munich.

Many Europeans take vacation in August, so there were  large crowds wherever we went; but, the experience was made so easy by Daddy's grasp of French and German and the fact we were touring in my parents' car.  In Paris, we climbed L'Tour Eiffel and had our pictures taken under the Arch de Triomph on the Champs-Elysees, virtually ran through the Lourve, ate dinner in sidewalk cafes and breakfasted on hard rolls, unsalted butter and marmalade each morning.  On the way out of Paris, on our way to Versailles, we stopped at a little market and picked up rotisserie chicken- which I still crave to this day- warm, crusty French bread, fruit and sweet fromage so that we could picnic near the palace.  In Switzerland, we traveled up a long, narrow, treacherous road to an inn that had rooms with fluffy down comforters and cloud-soft feather pillows. From the window of our room we could see Interlaken, with its surrounding mountains.

In Austria, we stayed the first night in a bed and breakfast far up into the rolling emerald hills near Mittersill, and I kept wanted to run across the lush expansive steppes singing "The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Music." When we woke the next morning and ventured outside, we were mesmerized by nature's wake-up call.  Drifting slowly up the mountainside like immense white cotton balls were large clouds rising up to greet our day. We stood as they approached and then engulfed us on their way upward to the blue skies overhead. It was also at this inn that we had our first mouth-watering schnitzel with its crispy, salty crust and succulent veal center.  Chicken fried steak German style.

The next day in Vienna, Bill and I rode the Reisenrad, the world's tallest ferris wheel.  Perched atop the "stopped" amusement park ride two hundred feet in the air, my heart quaked a bit in fear because I am not wild about heights.  Bill thought swinging the cage in which we sat back and forth would be hilarious. As he laughed at my  trepidation, he pulled out his pocket Bible and quoted: "Perfect love casts out fear."  All I could think about then was casting him out of the ferris wheel.

From the Riesenrad, we piled into the Audi and made our way to the Vienna Opera House.  The intricate stone structure had been bombed in World War II and rebuilt by November of 1955, and "Fidelio" by Beethoven was conducted by Karl Bohm for the opening performance.  As with so many of the almost unspeakably beautiful structures in Europe, we were awed as we toured the landmark's massive expanse of architectural genius.

By the time we left the Opera House it had begun to sprinkle. On the lawn of a nearby cathedral, a young bride and her groom stood with family and friends, seemingly oblivious to the dewy dampening of their nuptials.  Daddy had parked the car many blocks away; and, as we stood gazing at the ceremony, the rain began to pick up noticeably.  Bill, car keys in hand, decided to run on ahead of us to retrieve the car while Daddy, Mother and I ducked beneath a nearby overpass for safety.  As we watched, the dripping wedding party eventually pulled their soggy skirts tightly around them and bustled into the confines of the church, leaving the solitary stands of flowers to drink in the steadily falling rain.

The downpour had erased our entertainment from before us, leaving the three of us to the barren, dirty visage of the underpass.  As we were making small talk, I saw her coming our way.  Her long dark hair was pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck; her modest, mismatched shirt and blouse were almost hidden by the long, ancient sweater which seemed to swallow her up.  Slowly she approached us.  Ace bandages tightly circumvented her legs and the tap-tap of her cane echoed in the cascading rain.  No umbrella protected her.  The woman's water-laden clothes hung on her like seaweed on a beached mermaid, making her journey even more arduous.

"Can we give her a ride, Daddy?"  His eyes followed mine to see her.

"We don't have room," was his response.

"Please, Daddy.  Look. She is crippled and wet."  I was near tears by then, so strong was my desire to save her.  "I will wait here while you take her where she needs to go."

"You can't do that, Kay," my father replied.  "That is not safe."

She was there then.  Underneath the overpass with us as we discussed her.  "She cannot live far away, Daddy. She could not walk far in her condition."

Daddy looked at her then - into her steady gaze.  She looked like an actress waiting for her cue in order to speak her lines.  "You speak German, Daddy.  I don't.  Could you at least just ask her if she needs a ride?"

Shrugging his shoulders, half-heartedly, he asked the tiny lady, in German, if she needed a ride just as we saw the Audi splashing toward us.

"No, I don't," she answered, in English! "But thank you very much for asking!"

Bill pulled up and jumped out, opening sedan doors, incognizant of our encounter.  As Daddy closed the front passenger door behind himself, the crippled lady came to his window and leaned her body against it, her face to Daddy's.  "Thank you so very much for asking," she was saying as we settled into the car.  Her blue eyes were teary, so touched was she by his kindness, and her face seemed illuminated by her joy.  Her radiant smile wiped itself across my window as the slowly moving car crept out of the underpass.  Though the rain had eased, I turned to see her wizened little body once more, and she was gone!

"Stop the car a second, Bill!" I shouted as I opened the door.

In one incredulous moment I questioned the veracity of the past few minutes of my life.  Stepping fully out of the car, I looked around trying to find her. North. South. East. West.  I could see for blocks in every direction.  Not there!  No tapping of cane, no little form moving slowly away in any direction!  I put my hands on the hood of the car and steadied myself as my head spun and my face flushed.  Daddy was saying, "Get in the car, Kay," from some place far away.  Suddenly, Bill was beside me.  "What's wrong?"

"She's gone," was my bewildered reply.

I sat back down in the car, Bill closed the door, and we all rode in silence for a few minutes.  A very confused Bill wanted to know what had happened.  Daddy, also stunned, furnished the facts of the encounter while I was trying to process its meaning.  God had tugged at our hearts and our consciences, perhaps challenging our carnal lives with a touch of eternity. Looking back at the opportunity to "entertain angels unaware," it seemed the perfect chance to reflect on the fact that God is aware of everything that goes on in our lives and is capable of intervening to nudge us into remembering He is present.  Perhaps he wanted to whisper to Daddy's heart that He was watching.

We left Mother and Daddy after Bill and I took a short trip to Milan and Rome.  Thankful to have such generous parents and grateful for the experience, we had no idea that Daddy was prowling even then for prey.  He was just Daddy enjoying his experiences in Europe.