Berlin

Berlin

Montag, 7. Oktober 2013

Things my father told me


My father told me, he
would never leave me,
I was eleven than and
my uncle had just committed
suicide, hung himself on the
cherry tree in front of his house.
My father told me, after
he hung my uncle off of that tree,
that I needn’t be afraid, he would
never do the same. I had already
lost him back then and I knew it.

My father never was a talker.
The things he told me are not many.
My father was a doer, so he taught me things.

Things my father taught me:

how to change the flat tire on my car,
how to play chess,
how to build an iron staircase,
how to build a brick wall and in it
a little door for the cats, so they could
freely walk in and out the pig stable,
how to walk in the woods,
how to ride my bicycle,
he taught me to be daring and climb
the mountains on paths, the mountain
people warned us not to take, because
they were much too dangerous for
greenhorns like us. My father climbed
mountains, other tourists never climbed,
because they listened to the mountain people,
who shook their heads about us daring greenhorns.
My father taught me how to smuggle
hard liquor over the border from Austria to Bavaria
and that it was best to spank children (my brother),
when they threatened to tell the police at the border
about all those bottles under our seats.
My father taught me that talking was stupid
and that my presence was often obnoxious
and not really wanted since I was a talker.

One day I told him I wanted to become a writer.
My father told me, that this was a good idea
and a calling I could not learn anywhere but
in real life: Live it daring and wild and write about it.

That’s what my father told me!


© Susanne Becker

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