Stonehenge

What will you be and what will you do when you reach the age of 18? That subject was raised by all of my family members shortly after I became 17 years old.

I had just started high school in Germany and was on my way to completing my high school graduation, which was my top priority, when all of my aunts and uncles asked me what I planned to do when I turned 18 years old. One of them asked whether I wanted to leave school and start an apprenticeship program.

My father and I were stunned. Why couldn't they see that I wanted to go to university when I graduated? That I desired to work in a more scholarly setting? What was their issue? I only wanted to make my father proud. Because of WW2 and the afterworld, he never got the opportunity to attend high school. He needed to work to support his mother and younger siblings. Nonetheless, he went to school after work to acquire his engineering diploma.

He attempted to describe my career route, but they had no vision for such things. They were just the old school: men work, and women stay at home to raise children. That was never my father's intention for me or my sister. He was always trying to do more to get us what we wanted. He was always a fan of women.

He signed me up for a swimming club when I was just five years old. I was a really talented swimmer, and after three years with my first swimming club, I was the fastest swimmer there, and my coach persuaded my father to transfer me to a bigger, more international swimming club. I felt proud as well, although it took a lot of effort to keep up with these swimmers.

It paid off after 6 months of hard labor. I was as fast as they were, and I competed in my first major swimming tournament, the West-German championship. I finished second in butterfly, third in relay swimming, and second in front crawl.

This was also something that no one in my family understood. Why do I need to win a sporting competition? But my father saw infinite opportunities for me as a woman. And he was my biggest supporter and believer in my abilities. He was also a gifted swimmer, diver, and soccer player.

He was once chosen to play for the German national football team with Sepp Herberger as the coach of the German soccer team in Wimbledon. But two days before they departed for England, my father developed a foot infection and was unable to go. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He didn't suffer from it, although it could have influenced his career path. He recognized that if you have a talent for a sport, you should pursue it.

I wanted to give something back to him while keeping this knowledge in mind. And I did it. It was something I did in athletics and at school. I received a chemistry exam marked with an A minus one day. It was physical-chemistry, university standard, and I had studied for this exam for 5 months. He was so pleased with this exam for me. When my uncles and aunts arrived, he showed them all of my written exams. We were both aware that they would not comprehend a word, but they would notice my grade. And that was more significant to my father than it was to me.

I enjoyed seeing his eyes light up with delight. I enjoyed hearing him speak about the importance of women succeeding in a male-dominated world. He enjoyed giving them headaches and increasing their jealousy because their children did not perform well in school or any other activity. But it was entirely their fault. They never understood why my father was always there to pick me up from the pool or the gym. It was his free time, but he enjoyed spending it with me. Aside from his brother and sisters. Their spare time belonged to them, not to their children.

He constantly maintained, "It's my responsibility to get my kids into the seats they deserve."

He was, as always, correct. However, most people did not understand him. When I entered university, I received a new camera for Christmas so that I could use it for my studies at historical sites, as well as for travel and everything else I wanted to do. As I already stated, he was always a huge fan of mine.

He was as interested in history as I was, and one day he decided to visit England during the winter to see Stonehenge and other cultural structures built by the "Glockenbecher" group. A little-known period of history that was significant to him.

So we packed our belongings, climbed in the car with my mother in the back seat, and drove to France to catch the ferry from Calais to Dover. It was cold and raining, but we were ecstatic. We arrived on time for the boat; the North Sea was turbulent, and the ferry was rolling from one site to the other site. But we arrived in England safely.

It was colder in England than it was in Germany and France. It began to snow, and we were driving on the left side of the road for the first time. We arrived in time in Salisbury, where we had a hotel reservation. Unfortunately for us, the owner's mother disliked Germans. She shut off the heat, the breakfast was dreadful, and she charged us twice the fee. We checked out after two nights and went to another hotel.

The new hotel was much more comfortable and conveniently located near the attractions we wanted to see. The snow had accumulated overnight, the temperature had dropped to around minus 20 degrees Celsius, yet the sun was beaming. As a result, our first trip was to Stonehenge. My father wanted to measure the size of these massive stones. When we got at the parking lot, or what we believed was the parking lot, because with all the snow and no car, it was difficult to tell if it was the appropriate area.

Not even a single automobile or sign could be seen. Nothing. Simply a tiny shed with a tiny chimney, as in a fable. There was smoke coming from it, but nobody was seen. We rang the window bell but got no response. The door was locked when we attempted to unlock it. So we made the decision to travel to the Stones and carry out our plan. With the measuring tape in his hands, my father was a few feet ahead of me when he collapsed in front of me. I was unable to witness what happened because the snow was already 80 cm high. When the tape dropped out of his hand, all I could see was him flailing his arms in the air and starting to swear.

I started laughing because the manner he hit the ground was so amusing. I couldn't walk because I was laughing so hard. I saw him trying to free himself from something, but I didn't realize at the time that there was a little cable about 20 cm above the ground surrounding the entire area for protection. I mean, who wants to see anything like this in the snow? And, by the way, how can you expect such a thing?

I was still unable to move when a head poked out of the small, shed window to inform us that we are not permitted to cross the cord because we are not permitted to touch the stones at all. We might hurt them. Before I could respond, the head turned, and the window closed again. My father was up again by them, a little startled and limping, yelling at that guy in that shed, but he was now more motivated than ever to accomplish his job.

He lifted the tape high in the air and proceeded to the first stone, instructing me to follow him. When we got to the stones, the head poked out again, shouting at us not to touch them. The head vanished before we could even answer. My father was now enraged. He handed me one side of the tape and began wrapping it around the stone. He gave me the numbers and we proceeded to the next one.

That head stepped forward again and shouted at us to call the police just as we were about to reach the second stone. My father yelled back, raising his fist in the air, telling him to go for it. The man backed up despite having a tomato-red face. In anticipation of the police arriving, we continued with all of the measurements. But nobody ever showed up. When we had finished and were returning to the car, my dad stopped by the small shed. He knocked on the door, and to our surprise, the window opened.

We both turned to face a chubby red face. We couldn't even figure out how the man who was sitting in this little shed managed to get through the door because he was so obese. That tiny object was heated using a small stove that burned wood. To us, it appeared that he was trapped there. He had just finished eating lunch and was in front of a phone with a newspaper on a little counter. After exchanging glances and resuming our laughter, we walked away. We both wanted a hot shower because we were both cold and wet.

During our brief journey that winter, we paid several visits to cultural landmarks. I assisted my father in finding the additional information he was looking for after he wrote a book about the "Glockenbecher" culture at home.

He always struck me as an honorable man. A dedicated worker, a caring spouse, a great father, a husband's buddy, and the most inspiring grandpa to his grandchildren. He'll always be in our memories, and we have a lot of memories of him.