I am the Daughter of a War Refugee

I cannot sleep…..All I can think about is the refugees, sitting on the floor of that train station…..And in the eyes of every single one of them- I can see my Father.

My Father was a refugee.

At the age of fifteen, he was displaced and alone. His father, killed in action. His mother and three sisters, trapped in what was to become Communist East Germany. My Father had nobody and nothing. He had escaped from a Russian forced labor camp by crawling underneath a truck and clinging to the undercarriage. Can you even imagine being 15 years old and totally alone in the world ?? With nothing??

And yet, somehow, my Father survived. He was taken in by some refugee organization, fed, clothed, and given the opportunity to finish his schooling. Initially, he was studying to be a dentist, but then discovered that his disarming charm and arresting good looks served him much better in sales. My Father could sell ice to an Eskimo……

Somehow, his dream of becoming an American and starting a whole new life in a fresh, safe place where he could be free, became a reality.

My Father wanted to be an American, more than I wanted a Barbie camper for Christmas. He jumped into being an American with boundless enthusiasm. He listened to American jazz. Grilling burgers and steaks became his favorite Saturday pastime. He wanted English spoken in our home. He NEVER EVER talked about his experiences in the war.