Post by brotkrume on Aug 8, 2011 7:10:02 GMT -5
Hello, everyone!
I'm brand new to PL forums, and well, forums in general.
For those who don't know German (like myself, wife helped with the username), Brotkrume means breadcrumb. It was, in its entirety "Meine Kleine Brotkrume." My adoptive parents gave me that nickname when I was little. Dad was a baker, so if he were the loaf, I was his crumb. I thought it was cute. That, and I was a total Dad's boy.
I was not told I was adopted until after the War. There were extended family relatives that had non-blonde hair, so I thought it was just how things worked. I was an only child and many of my cousins had darker colored hair.
My parents were Jewish. I was born in 1939. In a bid to keep the family alive, my mother surrendered me to perfect strangers who took me from Munich to the northeastern of Germany when I was still an infant.
My adoptive parents couldn't have children, so this "baby on the doorstep" was their way of 1: giving the illusion of adding to the Reich, 2: save a life.
There were always a lot of "relatives" living in the house. It was great having a full house, but it was strange that I wasn't allowed to talk about them. I thought everyone was like that, especially with how busy the bakery was.
I remember there was a military contract of some sort. Dad and I would deliver bread to different areas that had a military presence and every so often we would go to a harbor and see the big Navy ships enter and leave. I remember seeing a U-Boat once.
I died in the 1950's or 1960's. I recollect being in Berlin, Soviet controlled-side, someone calling me out as Jewish and the next thing I know, I'm in pain and on the ground. Shortly after, I feel cold and everything goes black.
I know I had to be late-teens or early 20's because I remember either not having a driving license or wishing I did have one.
So, that's a somewhat brief intro to my past.
Again, hello and pleasure to meet you all.
I'm brand new to PL forums, and well, forums in general.
For those who don't know German (like myself, wife helped with the username), Brotkrume means breadcrumb. It was, in its entirety "Meine Kleine Brotkrume." My adoptive parents gave me that nickname when I was little. Dad was a baker, so if he were the loaf, I was his crumb. I thought it was cute. That, and I was a total Dad's boy.
I was not told I was adopted until after the War. There were extended family relatives that had non-blonde hair, so I thought it was just how things worked. I was an only child and many of my cousins had darker colored hair.
My parents were Jewish. I was born in 1939. In a bid to keep the family alive, my mother surrendered me to perfect strangers who took me from Munich to the northeastern of Germany when I was still an infant.
My adoptive parents couldn't have children, so this "baby on the doorstep" was their way of 1: giving the illusion of adding to the Reich, 2: save a life.
There were always a lot of "relatives" living in the house. It was great having a full house, but it was strange that I wasn't allowed to talk about them. I thought everyone was like that, especially with how busy the bakery was.
I remember there was a military contract of some sort. Dad and I would deliver bread to different areas that had a military presence and every so often we would go to a harbor and see the big Navy ships enter and leave. I remember seeing a U-Boat once.
I died in the 1950's or 1960's. I recollect being in Berlin, Soviet controlled-side, someone calling me out as Jewish and the next thing I know, I'm in pain and on the ground. Shortly after, I feel cold and everything goes black.
I know I had to be late-teens or early 20's because I remember either not having a driving license or wishing I did have one.
So, that's a somewhat brief intro to my past.
Again, hello and pleasure to meet you all.
I think the nickname of "Meine Kleine Brotkrume" is adorable, and I'm glad you had such loving parents. I couldn't imagine giving up a child and the pain attached to it, but I'm very glad you were raised by a loving family that saved your life and took great care of you. That's an amazing/sweet story.
"MY little breadcrumb" is a very sweet and appropriate nickname indeed.