To My Host Family

  A KGB agent with mind domination serum couldn't rob me of the experience that I was blessed with these past few weeks with my host family, the Hofbauers.   I never expected to fall into the hands of a family that pretty much adopted me as one of their own.  I never expected to fall in love with total strangers.  I never expected to have a second family in Obernzell, Bavaria.  But that's the beauty of this crazy experiment we like to call life.  Leaving San Francisco, I didn't really even want to go.  I needed two or three more weeks in California, and the crushing reality of leaving Luci and Izzy (my beloved home doggies) was too much to make me even look forward to the long day of travel and the loads of work involved with teaching in a foreign country.  It's absurd to think that I didn't feel like stepping through the gate on January 8th, 2012.  I have grown as a person and as a teacher these past few weeks.  I've experienced a family life so wholesome it makes the Brady Bunch look like a horde of satanic demon worshippers.
   The night before I left on a train for Berlin, I sat at the table with my new family.  Across from me sat my little sister, Anja; next to me sat my little brother, Michael.  At the head of the table sat my father, Gerhard, and diagonal to me at the five person table sat my mom, Alexandra.  We had just gotten done with a small concert that Michael and I had put together.  It was a smashing set of classic rock songs played on the piano with me singing my heart out (pretty easy after 1 liter of doppel weiss beer).  I swear that if I were to tell my California family this story that they would laugh and say I was blowing smoke out of my ass.  But when you are the oldest sibling in a family, whacky things happy.  I was taken back to the days when my brother, Matt, my sister, Lindsey, and the Azzos (they rock) put together a home movie called "The Kingdom of Corn."  I was so young that I can't remember the details of the experience, just that when we ate corn on the film, we made noises like a typewriter and said "ching!" when we reached one end of the cobb.  That's kind of a lost relic of my past.  My siblings are great, but I could never hope to put together a piano rock concert with them.  This is something unique to my niche in my Bavarian family.  Yet I digress from my story.  I sat at the table, with my host family, and they presented me with a certificate, a teddy bear wearing lederhosen, and a small yellow package I have yet to open yet.  Already tears were swelling in my eyes.  It was at this point I asked the fatal question, trying to get past the tearful goodbye that was eminent.
     "This teddy bear is adorable," I said. "Where did you get him?"
It was the answer that pushed me over the edge. Alexandra, my new mom, was brimming with a smile and looked at Anja sitting next to her.
    "It's mine. I wanted you to have it," Anja said.
At this point I lost all control of the emotions I was trying to keep pent up in a foolish attempt to be strong.  I bawled my eyes out.  Warm tears streamed down my face and dripped onto my framed certificate that proclaimed "Bavarian Lifestyle completed; highly successful" (also sporting a JPEG of beer and semmel).  I couldn't stop; my host mom came over and gave me a tearful embrace as she too, choked up woeful sobs.  It was at this moment that I vowed to never let this memory fade.  The intensity of the emotions I felt then, still resonate in me now as I write this post. It's been a struggle fest fighting back tears as I reflect on the night. None of you (the reader) can probably put yourselves in my place; but at least I can try illustrate the dilemma here.  Imagine being a puppy wandering the streets of place you know nothing about. Literally nothing; my German is that of a three year old, and my exposure to a totally different culture rendered me useless in most social situations.  Now, try to imagine being this lost puppy that is adopted by a family who housed, fed, advised, and, most importantly, loved you as one of their own.  However, this metaphor cannot even come close to the connection I have with my adopted family.  It's shameful I even tried to convey it.  What I experienced from the Hofbauers cannot be expressed in words.  Even Pablo Neruda cannot articulate the love I have for them, and the gratitude I have for their hospitality.  I can't write anymore, it's making me homesick for Obernzell. Peace and love.