Opa the Bread Thrower
Food as performance art
(6–2015)
The very earliest memories I have of bread involves my maternal grandfather. He was a big influence on my life despite the fact that he and I spoke different languages. He spoke German and I spoke English but that hardly seemed to matter. He communicated through body language, inflection of voice and very animated gesturing. He spoke with authority and this somehow went beyond language. He would speak to me in German as if I understood, therefore, in some strange way, forcing me to understand. He did not dumb things down for me. He spoke to me as an adult in a foreign language.
Just like me, my grandfather was a walking freak. He owned no vehicle and walked everywhere. He lived in the old historic district of Heidelberg, Germany. I lived four out of the first five years of my life in Germany and most of the few memories of have retained of that early stage of life involve my grandfather.
I consider myself lucky to have lived a portion of my youth in a foreign country. But I think I was even luckier to be able to later spend an entire summer of my teenage years in Europe. I think every American teenager should spend an entire summer on some other continent. I feel that cultural diversity is something every child would benefit from experiencing.
