Freek
For some reason I always end up listening to the stories of complete strangers. This afternoon we had taken the children to an outdoor playground, where they can play with water, sticks and mud. Lots of fun and lots of dirt! I wasn’t feeling too well, so I was sitting on a bench in the sun almost dozing off. An older man, he must be in his late sixties, walked up and stood next to me, lighting a cigarette. We started talking about smoking and before I knew it, he was telling me about his life.
He had grown up in Rotterdam, was one of nine children and had a tough childhood. His father died of cancer when he was six years old and his mother didn’t show any affection at all. He had just walked over to the playground because here his father used to have a garden where they would work together. He really loved his dad. And can still cry over loosing him 60 years ago.
Rotterdam was heavily bombed during the second world war and Freek described what it was like to grow up in a place that was such a mess. It was a struggle for everybody and also for his mother. His younger sister was mentally handicapped and she couldn’t live with them any longer. Freek talked about the sorrow his mother had when she left, still grieving for her own husband as well. He really tried to cheer her up, work hard to earn some money for the family, but his mother didn’t notice. Now he understands why, but it still hurts anyway.
He became a professional boxer, since he was very good at fighting. He liked it a lot. I learned all about international tournaments and how you can give somebody an effective blow. I haven’t practiced it yet! Anyway, besides that, he sailed the sees for a few years. Then he got married and started his own home decorating business. And whatever he did, he made sure that his father would have approved of it.
We talked for a long time. About heaven and how funny it would be to meet all the people that have ever lived. Whether Neanderthals will look like monkeys for eternity. If Darwin thought out his evolution theory after having had a vision of heaven. Freek didn’t believe in anything, but he sure would have liked to experience some comfort from God or anything the like in his life.
Just a few nights ago Freek dreamt about the time his father was dying. He woke up crying. He told me how frustrating it is that the bad memories will always haunt you, no matter how hard you try to forget. Last night’s dream was also a true story: As a little boy he had his tonsils cut without aneastatics and he almost bit the surgeon’s finger off.
We talked and laughed more. He bought ice cream for the children and I got him a coffee. When we said goodbye I felt like giving him a big hug. But we Dutch don’t do that so I shook his hand. Hopefully someday we will meet again in that muddy, fun place.
Leonie 