Home, I remember it like yesterday, the sights and smells of my country. Every morning I would get up to my mutters, “Gutten Morgon,” followed by a varied aroma of coffee and the freshly-baked bread with delicious homemade jam. I would go outside everyday to walk along the Main River and see the schoolchildren on their way to learn their daily studies. When I came home from work, I would greet my younger schwester, and my parents. This would be a beautiful day, however it wasn’t reality, only a dream.
My younger schwester would later say that we grew up in a turbulent time. Born on May 15, 1900, I saw a whole world war start while fourteen, and end when eighteen. The trying times, through rationing during the war and shortages, cannot compare with the tears your mutter cried as she said goodbye to your vater, prepared to fight for our country. Was it harder to see him leave, and not know if he would ever come back? Or was it harder to receive a letter knowing for sure that he would never come back? I did not know the answer to these questions. All I knew was the poverty ridden and the depressive state that ransacked my country.
After the war, our situation became worse. My mutter could not find work to support both my sister and I. I found a family to nanny for, but it constantly reminded me of the dire straits my own family was in, and how my little schwester needed me more than ever. One morning, my mutter who would generally be out looking for employment, was sitting at our table. The normally ever present smile on her face, was replaced with a frown and a resigned look in her eyes. I went over and put my hand on her shoulder, like my vater used to do, and asked her what was wrong. She replied “alles”, or everything, and in that one word my hope was shattered for the future. I sat down and cried for everything that could have been, and of a childhood lost to the violence of man.
While we struggled for many more months, finally a distant cousin of ours came to visit, and told us about of friend who was making it big in America- the land full of dreams and possibilities. My mutter, searching desperately for any hope, latched on to the idea of leaving and finding hope there. After a few months we made the arrangement and went to a so-called dream promised country. I expected it to be so, for my mutter and my schwesters sake. At this point, I did not reflect on all I would be leaving behind in my country. I did not think about the house I would leave behind, or the friends who I spent days with near the river dipping our toes in the cold water and exploring the forest to the south of out town. I did not think about the new language I would have to learn, and embrace, not even the new customs. I only saw my country as something to leave behind, like one would leave behind the ashes of a fire.
When we arrived in America in 1919, and settled into the great city of Manhattan, we did not expect what was coming. I should have seen how Germans would be viewed after a war against Germany. I should have understood that we would not be accepted with open arms. Instead of the promising life my cousin promised, was a place prejudiced against our origins. Upon arriving, my mutter realized that many jobs were turning her down as soon as they heard her accent, and saw our last name Feigenspan. On experiencing this, we changed our last name to Feinstein, suggested to us by a friend, who said it was much more “Americanized.” I resented this change, and the constant lesson’s I took from our neighbor to learn English, and sound “American”. For all my efforts, I simply could not completely get rid of my accent. I became used to the discrimination Germans faced. Once, while down the street with my sister, someone shouted at me to, “stop my jabbering, for my harsh accent was grating to his ears.” What made me even more morose was that I knew previously to World War I, that Germans were accepted by Americans. I had felt that I had been cheated, because if I had come earlier, I would have had a better chance at being accepted.
Not everyone acted in this manner though. Yes, it is true that many people did resent my country and my background, but I saw promise in this country. It took me a long time though, to come to accept my status as an American. My mutter and schwester found it much easier once they were settled in. They were quick to change previous things about themselves to fit into what was culturally acceptable. My schwester completely forgot about our country and never wanted to speak of it. My mutter while spending her days sewing at a shop, would talk with the women about the newest fashions in clothes. While these were fairly normal things, I viewed them with a semblance of shame and annoyance. I could not get passed that this was not my country, and most definitely not my home. Yet, how naïve I was back then. While I was in Germany I was only too eager to leave, and when in America I was only too eager to go back to Germany. This was my conundrum; I felt I had no true home.
Eventually and advantageously, I developed a sense that I could settle down in this country. I started dating an Italian, who did not find my accent “grating,” but rather interesting and beautiful. I was able to see my schwester form bonds with people here, and my mother marry again. I was able to get a job assisting doctors in their work, and to helping people from different backgrounds, that I would never have experienced in Germany. I came to find that there was promise in America.
Now as I glimpse the tall buildings and the hustling people all around me, I come to see what I could not before; home. Although I had dreams in Germany that were not accomplished there, I found a better replacement in this land, full of promise and adventure. Even though I might look back on my homeland with nostalgia, for my heritage, my language, and my experiences, they are still with me, and let me reflect and remember my old home.
