our old German home, # 1

So this one I didn’t remember at all!
Of course, I was two to four years old there.

My parents had given me an address
and directions before we left the U.S.,
and on our way out of town,
we drove into our old neighborhood
and by our old house.

And what it evoked
was more admiration for Mom and Dad—
in school,
far from home in a foreign land,
with a toddler
and then a baby (my sister was born there),

and this first home of ours in Germany
is meaningful not for what I remember—
what I feel,
but for what it makes me appreciate
of the experience of others.

Sometimes an address and directions to it—
with no personal sense of connection or meaning,
extend invitation
to realize and appreciate
what others go through
still so important to us.


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