May I Paint a Picture?

The next time I write I want to detail our story of the birth of our second living son Alden. I must tell you that this time I feel a little down in the dumps. Deb had kind of a tough day today. She fell asleep watching the Tiger game. The score is tied 2-2 and for her to fall asleep when it is this close lets me know that she is hurting and tired.  Please allow me to tell a few things that I recall from the early days of my life.  I am sure we all have some stories. Here are a few of mine.  I want to frame this by saying that some of the readers of these stories have commented on my vivid memories of these events.  Let me describe it this way.  I used to play a trombone.  It was nothing more than a bunch of work for me.  I had a hard time coming in at the right place.  I played for a short time in a small orchestra with Ross. One time I looked over and observed how he handled this. He made it seem easy. I asked him one time how he did this and he told me that when they set a piece of music in front of him he sees it like a picture.  I never saw music this way but somehow there are some things in my life that have kind of embedded a picture in my mind. They seem to never go away.  This post is about several of those pictures.

My dad was awarded a scholarship to study at the Free University of Amsterdam and our young family packed our belongings in 55 gallon drums and set sail on a ship called the USS Amsterdam. In those days airplane travel was way more expensive and not all that safe. I remember the trip to be about  6 days. I vaguely remember the Statute of Liberty as we sailed out and then a reasonably pleasant trip of what seemed to a  small kid, a pretty big ocean.  The arrival in Rotterdam and the trip to Amsterdam are forgotten but the trip up to our sixth floor apartment in an old movie type elevator is still with me.  Then the walking trip the next morning to a Dutch school about 6 blocks away.  Standing outside with about 100 other kids with our dad holding the hand of 2 really scared American boys.  In the Dutch language the name for a female teacher is Juffvrouw and the name for a bicycle is "fiets". (pronounced feets) The kids looked down the street and a few started to alert us. "Hier komt de Juff." (pronounced yuff) Most of the bikes had a little assist motor on the front wheel so they called them a "bromfiets."  In other words a bike that went brom. (pronounced brum) De-Juff was smoking a cigarette and popped the front wheel of the bromviets over the curb. She jammed the thing in a bike rack and looked at my dad and asked "Ben jij de vader de Amerikannse yougens dat ik de leraar worden" (Are you the father of the American boys of which I am to be the teacher.)   My dad said ya.  Then he asked he asked de-juff  "Ken je engles?"  (Can you speak English) and she said ya.  Now I want to tell you that the word "ya" was all she knew. The next thing I knew my brother and I  were sitting in a room with about 30 kids in Kortabroek (short pants) and listening to de-juff teach the lessons.

It is amazing that when young people are exposed non-stop to a foriegn language. It only takes about 3 weeks to learn what is going on and about 6 weeks to be talking it in the house.  I do recall that at the front of every desk was a "inktpot." A small pot of ink about 1/12" in diameter and 3"s deep. You would dip your pen in these things and write your assignment. Somehow one day I had a tooth come out and it found its way to the bottom of the inktpot and de-juff had to fish it out.  She told me "you drop geen tanden meer in deze inkt pot en ze blijven op de bodem" (you drop any more teeth in here and they stay in the bottom.)  I could go on and on but these are a few of the events. I can still see like a picture. I have a bunch more but I will not bore you with them.

We were there for about 2 years. By the time we were done we spoke in Dutch and thought in Dutch. On the way home on the USS Rotterdam we ran in to a large Atlantic storm.  Seeing this from the eyes of a 9 year old I can recall the sea and the sky became one (all black) and I can see the bow of the boat totally being submersed in one Atlantic wave after another. My dad did not think we would make it home and he still talks about this up to this day.  The crew of the boat was worried as well.  It was on the inbound way to the New York harbor that I do recall sighting the Statute of Liberty. I now understand the feelings of people who immigrated to this country years ago on equipment even smaller than we sailed on. The November trip was 14 days and I have since never put my foot on a boat longer than what would go out for a one hour trip on Lake Michigan.

Harry Truman was once criticized for saying the word crap in some of his news conferences. He told the media that it had taken his wife 14 years to get him to use this word over the one he had used before.  When we got back to the States I found myself in the classroom of the best teacher I have ever had.  I think 50% of all my learning was done in this room. His name was Mr Browning.  I think all of us get about three real good teachers in our lives and for me he was a the top of the list.  I had to write a paper on geology one day and he handed it back the next with a big fat D on the top right hand corner. I  looked at the grade and somehow used the original Harry Truman version of the word crap.  I found myself at the blackboard about three hours after class writing 100 times these words.  "I, Stanley Hoksbergen, a judicious young member of the species homo-sapiens have committed a grievous error in the area of social conduct.  This error involves the slander and disregard of human emotion and proper human behavior and relates to the use of a four letter word that has never belonged in the dialect of intelligent human beings."  I wrote that baby out 100 times.

I can still see it like a picture.....When I am in a better mood.....When Deb is feeling a little better let me write the next chapter.......Until then let the words you use be all good ones....

Stan the Man