Gestapo

Mom was Irish Protestant, Dad was a Russian/German Jew.  We celebrated both Christian (though the Christian ones were never about religion, but about fun) and Jewish holidays, learned prayers in Hebrew and even attended Hebrew school and synogogue for a couple of years.  I think Dad was worried about us not knowing our heritage or being confused about who were, even with all of that, so he made up a game to play to remind us: Gestapo.  I thought I remembered him playing with Gary and Dave as well as me, but Dory said the reason they all loved it so much was because only I got to play (Gare, let me know which one of us is remembering correctly).  At any rate this was a game I remember from early childhood--until age 5 or so.

So the game of Gestapo...Dad would sit down and either stand me in front of him or, sometimes, sit me on his lap.  Then the questioning would begin, "Vaht ees your name?"  I would feel my stomach flutter and my mind reel, trying to remember the right answer, or if there even was one.  I always tried the truth first in case he was testing my honesty, "Jenny", I'd squeak out.  Whack!  His hand covered the right side of my tiny face and he yelled in his angry fake German accent, "YOU LIE!!!"   My cheek burned, my teeth chattered and my head began to ache.  He would try again this time emphasizing each word separately, "Vaht. Ees. Your. Name?"  Now my mind raced and I would look to my audience for clues (there was always an audience when such fun was being had).  Dory and Dave usually had a knowing kind of smirk on their faces, kind of enjoying watching bratty little sister suffer, Gary either looked sad or removed and Mom, if she was there, would look disgusted.  No clues there.  So I'd try my nickname, "Kymus", I would say.  Sure that I had the right answer this time.  The pain across the right side of my face, followed by "You lie!", once again told me otherwise.  I'd try Becky (the twin sister dropped in the Hudson), friends' names, family names.  This usually went on for 5-10 interrogation questions, to which I never had the right answer.

When it was over I would get the story from Dad about how no answer was ever correct in Gestapo questioning.  After each time hearing the story I'd hope that he considered the lesson learned, only to be called back to 'play' again a couple of days, weeks or a month later.  I don't recall feeling angry about this game, but anxious, confused, and sad for the people in the story Dad told me.

From this game I learned that sometimes there is no right answer, especially when you're speaking to someone whose mind is made up.  I actually did learn something--warped as it was--about history.  And I learned that pain is only temporary--something that would prove very useful as I grew.  So I'm not sure if I'd consider this one a rock that I had to make it past or strength given to me to push past future rocks.  A little of both, I guess...

Jen ;-)