Crossing the Atlantic. I can truthfully claim to have crossed the Atlantic twice as a young girl. I even have a certificate to prove its authenticity. I was an Army brat and my Dad was stationed in Schwaebisch Gmuend, Germany while I was ages four to seven. I have many fond memories of my time in Germany. I started Kindergarten there and was shocked to see that some kids actually fell asleep at nap time. I went to the movies every Saturday and watched many a Lone Ranger film. My favorite candy was a German treat we called Sour Sticks. They were very close to a sweet tart. I learned to ride a bike on a beautiful German touring bike with straight handle bars. I took many a ribbing when I returned home with such an odd looking bike. It was actually quite cool and came fully equipped with a tool kit that hung on a leather pouch behind the seat. We played in the woods, collected glass seed beads from a neighboring factory, and sled down the big hill behind our school all the while wearing ski pants. My hair was a beautiful shade of blond and it cascaded in curls down my back. It would be a long time before I had long hair again as my Dad insisted my sisters and I get haircuts before the long journey home on the ship. Mom would be no help to him, as she would be deathly ill for the seven day journey. It was during this trip home that my favorite childhood president, John F. Kennedy would be assassinated. I am probably one of the few people of my generation who don't remember where they were when the tragedy occurred. We were away from television and missed all the events of this historical occasion. When I left Germany I was only able to count to ten in German; the results of a weekly lesson at the American school I attended.
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