My Father

my-father

Every time, when I see a Stutenkerl, I remember, that my father Fritz was a baker. He had several children. I was a product of a liaison and he put me into an orphanage immediately after birth. It took me 40 years to find him – but he was a humorous man and then inspired me in a positive, emotional way. Even more funny the biography of one of my friends, M. in Belgium: Suddenly (he was aged 40 too) a very close version of him knocked on his door: but his skin was black! M.’s father (white skin) had served as a doctor in Africa. After a short surprise they liked each other very well: they had the same job (doctors of course).

P.S.:
Feel free to add as a comment below a short fragment introducing YOUR father 🙂

About frizztext

writer, photographer, guitarist

30 responses to “My Father

  1. Can´t imagine growing up in an orphanage and turning out so good as you in my later years but the last par was a fun story. The last part about the father being black and they both had the same jobs.
    My father- Self made man, who I never saw growing up since he was always working. I grew up and moved out at an early age. So I´m really starting to know the man now. Type A personality he has, I used to hold a grudge with the man because I didn´t see how unlike my friends we would go fishing, or just do something the two of us. But he is who he is, can´t change him just love him for what he is. I know he loves me in his own way.

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    • thank you for your thoughts, Charly; it is nice to have a father, who shares adventures – but on the other hand, we can find other persons to identify with: teachers, neighbours, uncles, friends … – I’m sure you found such treasures …

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      • Yes sir, that´s very true. A good mentor in life, not having to be a family member, goes a long way in helping and guiding you.

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        • J = Joe

          for me for example JOE WINTER (beside of many others) who escaped as a Jew from Hitler Germany 1940 to New York – and came back two years later as US-soldier to fight vs. the Third Reich till 1945. When we discovered us 1995 he became a kind of father for me …

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  2. Hello!! I will simply share a bakery memory.,, I was lucky to travel with my parents to Rome when I was a little girl (I was about 10). We went to see the summer home of the Pope (I am forgetting the name of the beautiful town)- my father, who had a wicked sense of humor, discovered a bakery selling gingerbread people- the ‘gingerladies’ of said bakery all had little breasts! I suppose I recall this because your photo shows a bread person with a pipe… My mother was scandalized, but my dad and i got the giggles…

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  3. My Dad grew up in an orphanage too…during his teen years…Best thing that ever happened tio him he would say…He offered us so much insight into being a great, caring person no matter your circumstances…
    Great post!

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  4. I miss my father who died when I was 25.
    He was a accomplished man building a huge mechanical engineering company. However a very humble man who could break down in tears during emotional moments.

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  5. Frizztext:
    And what of your mother?
    I’m wondering if she was a constant?
    Jeanne Poland
    My Italian father called my German mom: “Pickle Puss”. He was a hopeless opera singing romantic.

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  6. I was the result of quite a long liaison and my father didn’t know I existed! But I tracked him down in Africa before he died.

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  7. It’s good that after 40 years, when you found your father, that you could find positive inspiration from him. So much better to be positive in our relationships with our relatives no matter what the circumstances.
    I love the story of your friend, M.

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    • if every of us would have a double twin with another color of skin in another continent: for sure it would be easier to feel empathy with illegal immigrants. Daily I watch photos from other countries and always I tell me: imagine, you were born there…

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  8. My father is “normal”, alive and with no good story to tell…But if I like animals, if I draw and…it’s because of him.

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  9. That is the coolest gingerbread man I have ever seen!
    And your friends surprise at a dark skinned sibling made me smile 🙂

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  10. It’s nice that you’re not bitter about it, Frizz, though it must have taken you some effort to get to where you are now. Lovely gingerbread man 🙂

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    • dear Jo,
      I received many support in my lifetime by teachers, friends, my wife, daughters (even by good books about psychology) etc. – so I can look back peaceful and with a kind of humor … – sometimes life isn’t easy – but nowadays in Germany I do not have to cry – comparing with so many oppressed souls in Africa, Asia, South America etc.

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  11. Dietmar, van meinem Vater kann ich selbst nicht so viel erzählen er fiel im Kriege (August 1944 – Lettland) und da war ich sechs Jahre alt. Ich weiss, dass er ein sehr seriöser Mann war und seine Geige und die Musik liebte und auch ein leidenschaftlicher Naturliebhaber zusammen mit seinr Kamera. Ich habe immer ein Foto von ihm dabei, welches im zusammen mit einem Brief zu meinem 4. Geburtstag bekommen habe.
    Alles Gute, Dietmut

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  12. I’m so glad you’ve had other people in your life who have been fathers to you. It must have been hard to find a father figure in the orphanage. It was fortunate you found your father and that he was a good man. What an interesting life!

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  13. Story written by the life with a surprising end
    But she makes you to what you are now

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  14. You are so nice and so good dear Frizz… I am impressed so much by your story. My father, he was great for me and if I am here today, if I am nia it is because of my dad, I learned everything from him, and I inspired by him too… He was humanist and he loved the world with all different nationalities, cultures, languages and yes religions… There was one important point for him, to be a right man! He was a general manager of a factory and everybody in this factory loved him so much, he never saw him as a boss… He was a friend, a brother, a father for them… He loved to help people… to teach them and to give them opportunity in their life… He died when I was a young married woman and waiting for a baby (my son)… he never saw my son, but his last words were, “take care of my grandson”… In my Baku travel so many times I remembered my dad and how I wished him to be with me… I cried in the parks of Baku when I was walking alone… Trees, ah trees they know 🙂

    Thank you my beautiful friend, have a nice day, love, nia

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  15. Did you ever find your mother?

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