My mom’s life should be a movie.
My dad has been scanning old photos lately and it reminded me what an extraordinary story she has and person she is.
She is an immigrant. My mom Janet was born Gisela Werner in East Germany as the country reeled from WWII and the Berlin Wall was under construction.
We know almost nothing of her family but, by five years old, she was an orphan. My grandparents, who were stationed in Germany with the Air Force, found her in a Catholic orphanage and adopted her.
I asked my grandfather once why he chose her. He told me that, as he looked around the orphanage at the dozens of children, he noticed a little blonde-haired girl walking through the play yard picking up apple cores left on the ground by others. She was putting them in her pocket to eat later.
Once adopted, she was put on a steamer ship with her new family and brought to America. She was six years old and spoke no English. My grandparents spoke no German.
I shudder each time I think of that scene. How frightening must it have been for that child to be with strangers, not knowing where she was being taken, and unable to communicate with anyone? She couldn’t even ask what was happening to her.
Sadly, she lost her heart language. Our school system in 1957 did not encourage bilingualism, especially from a kleines Mädchen.
But she adapted, learned English, and followed her father’s military career around the world. My grandfather was an Air Force celebrity of sorts and, while a loving father, was rarely home.
That left my mom with her adopted mother, a dazzling socialite and alcoholic who, best we can tell, never wanted children.
It was bad. My mother was abused, physically and emotionally, from childhood. The emotional abuse carried into adulthood. I saw it between them when I was a kid. It was the first time I saw my mom weep.
Gisela was 19 when she met my dad in 1970. They were married in 1972 and had four kids by 1980. Next year will be their 50th anniversary.
Here is the most remarkable part of Gisela’s story to me, and why I’ve shared so much. My many friends in child services have taught me that trauma breeds trauma. Hurt people hurt people.
Given her history, my mom should have abused us. But she did not. Ever.
Somehow, she broke that cycle. She made up her powerful Teutonic mind to build a different childhood for us than she experienced. And she and my dad did it. My three siblings and I marvel at how magical our childhood was.
My mom is one of the toughest, most creative, inspirational people I have ever met. I didn’t always understand why she pushed us so much as kids, but I do now and thank her for it.
Gisela was giving us a better childhood than she had.
Sounds like a mom to me.
Kevin
Qwirkery 
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