Father and Son

In July 1947 son Hans-Detlef was born, who was so desired; and for whom Walter and Anneliese waited so long. In fact, my mother told me that she married my father 1944 during the war, because she wanted to have a child from him; and no male's life was safe back then.

I am their only child, in spite of their desire to have at least three. It is not that they didn't have endurance and tried hard. The last time my mother almost paid with her life.

Three generations:

Grandfather, father and son.

The young family on one of their many trips in the nature, preferably in woods.

The Bösch family; mother is cut-off at the right, with two of her sisters at the Rhine River.

Father and son enjoyed the outside as soon as the son could walk. I don’t remember a time, when we had any disharmony being in the nature. I loved building something, a sand castle, a dam in a creek, and my father was on it with heart and soul. He never cared what he wore at that time, very much to the concern of my mother.

Hiking was another very enjoyable activity, in particular in the Swiss Alpes.

Yes, and then there were painting, painting, painting, … sometimes to the edge of my patience.

My father created these portraits of me with my then favorite stuffed animal.

A funny story for the right portrait, that was told to me, I have no memory. The sitting took hours; my father wanted to do it perfect. Eventually I just could not sit any longer, but one hand was still missing. A daughter of my parent’s friends jumped in. So the painting shows a hand of this girl.

To the left: my first electric train, I was so happy. And I wanted to play with my father, but he could not enjoy technical toys. Imagine this scenario: my father lies on the sofa, and I pretend he is in the sleeping car from Germany to Switzerland.

Playing music, of course, was my father’s favorite. The picture shows our traditional playing at Christmas.

As an adult I saw my father very seldom, because I had moved to the U.S. and visited my parents typically once a year. It seems that it is in our blood to move. My grandfather moved from Austria to Switzerland; my father from Switzerland to Germany; and I from Germany to America. The pictures above a from different visits in Kochel, Germany, where my father lived the last years of his life.