REFLECTIONS UPON A BLESSED AND HAPPY LIFE. NO 24 WW II

As mentioned before, the years of WWII matched almost exactly my years at Concordia Academy for grades 9-12.

I experienced WWII as an average American teen-ager, but also with a bit of a difference from many. I was a child in a “German Lutheran Church” (The Missouri Synod.)Within that context I spoke German before I learned English. When I was with my grandparents I was expected to speak German. Almost all our Lutheran church worship services were in the German language. I memorized Luther’s Small Catechism in German.

Thus there was an especially great interest in things German and what was happening in Germany. This intensified with the rise of Hitler. I vividly recall my father getting Adolph Hitler’s speeches over short-wave radio. Dad listened intently as Hitler raged and raved. Dad understood the words better than I. Dad heard enough to be very disturbed. He saw Hitler as a dangerous and evil man. Dad told me that Germany was in the wrong in its aggressive policies and unprovoked war. Thus, when war against Germany was officially declared there was no doubt that our allegiance was 100% pro-America.

As I have written earlier, many of the young people from my congregation enlisted. Others were drafted. For each one a star was duly embroidered on a large white cloth poster prominently displayed in the front of the church. Sadly, the white star was replaced with a gold star when one of the members had been killed in action.

Lutherans (including the very narrow Missouri Synod) supported the concept of military chaplains and many of the pastors served with distinction. At the same time the church supported its clergy as being exempt from military service and received approval for those of us “studying for the ministry” to receive a 4D deferred status in the military draft.

Prayers for peace and protection were in abundance at every worship service. Members were encouraged to do their part in conservation of products and in supporting the war effort via agricultural production, work in plants producing planes etc., and in buying war bonds and donating blood.

In the midst of this two very negative images still stick in my mind. The first has to do with Zion Lutheran Church in Walburg, Texas. Someone had written a hymn asking for God’s protection and an early end of the war. Most Missouri Synod churches chose to sing this hymn as the final song each Sunday. However at Zion there was a protest against singing an English song even though it was a prayer for peace, as part of the German worship service. I still recall how each Sunday a small group of men and women would walk out because of this.

The second image forever seared into my soul happened at St. Paul’s Lutheran in Austin. A young 1st Lieutenant in full uniform entered, walked about two-thirds of the way to the front of the sanctuary and took his seat in the pew. After a few\we minutes two ushers came and asked him to leave that seat and to come to the back of the church. That lieutenant was black and was not supposed to sit among the white worshippers.

Neither the Germans nor us Americans can claim pure holiness of motive or action.

REFLECTIONS ON A BLESSED AND HAPPY LIFE NO.22: HIGH SCHOOL MUSIC

REFLECTIONS ON A BLESSED AND HAPPY LIFE NO.22: HIGH SCHOOL MUSIC

While in high school I may have had only one date, seen only six movies and never went to a dance. But at least I was a normal enough teen-ager to enjoy music. In 1951 Frank Sinatra and the Hit Parade were still big. So every Saturday night I listened to The Hit Parade, eagerly waiting to see which popular song would be number one for the week. There were other singers and my favorite was Bing Crosby. Three female singers were always welcome: Dinah Shore, Ella Fitzgerald and Peggy Lee. Glen Miller was always good and Duke Ellington had his own style. Of course, there was no TV and I owned no record, disc or LP player so I heard these on our small radio. These were the days of WWII, so patriotic songs were featured. Songs to which I sang along included “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition”, “I’ll Be Seeing You”,” I’ll Be Home For Christmas” and “Accentuate the Positive”.

We did not have a school choir but one of the teachers put together a male octet, asked me to sing bass and we sang once or twice for chapel services. I have a very strong memory of Prof. Viehweg wanting to introduce us to good classical music. He invited a group of us whom he considered to have potential, to join him for an evening’s session. I recall sitting there as he plugged in his record player and played “The Hallelujah Chorus” from the Messiah. I do not know that I had never heard it before. He waxed eloquent and urged us to feel the majesty of the music. We listened devotedly. When I returned to my dormitory room I recall (to my everlasting shame) telling my roommate “Prof Viehweg had this very boring piece of music he was excited about. I don’t get it. They just sang “Hallelujah. Hallelujah” over and over.” If Prof Viehweg ever assembled that group again I was not invited.

I am surprised that I do not have more memories of country/western songs as I was certainly surrounded by them. I did memorize old favorites like “I’m” An Old Cowhand”, “The Yellow Rose of Texas” and “Deep In The Heart Of Texas”.

The other musical event of the week which I recall, is the mixed choir singing every Sunday at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church. Once again there was an attraction other than the sacred music. St. Paul’s had a very unusual church architecture for those times as the choir was seated directly behind the altar. The choir had a big soprano section. They were always beautifully clad in the choir robes we boys sitting in the front pews could really pay attention to that front row and make our own judgments about lots of things, not always musical.

I am forever grateful that my musical tastes did not stay fixated at that terrible teen-age stage. Many wonderful people have since instructed me and lead me to one of the many blessed aspects of my life: the enjoyment of all kinds of good music ranging from “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” to “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.”

Kieschnick Reunion ("I")

Some years ago I had an important personal insight. I learned that wherever I go I take my self along. And I have learned that this “I” is ever changing midst other constants.

The “I” that I took to the Kieschnick Family reunion this year had some of the ever constant: I am one of 9 children, deeply influenced by my parents. I am a person of faith and continuing commitment to integrity, justice, and inclusivity. That “I” once again went to Walburg, Texas, the place of my birth more than 87 years ago that has in some ways stayed pretty much the same.

Yet the “I” of this Reunion was also very different. This “I” was feeling its age. I moved more slowly. My reaction time was slower. My energy level is lower. My driving now depends more on my GPS than just recalling, ”Take Highway 29 , then 72, then 190 and get off at Friendship Ave.” My hair is more white than gray. Then it got really serious. I once had to ask, ”Tell me again what’s trump” in the annual Texas 42 (dominos) competition. Now that is a serious new dimension of my “I”.

It just happened that during the Reunion weekend Concordia University, Texas awarded me the George J. Beto Award for Leadership. It was presented art Zion Lutheran Church just 200 yards from the room in which I was born and one hundred yards from where I attended grades 1-8 in Zion Lutheran School. So I took the opportunity to reflect upon how my “I” was formed by my extended family, my Lutheran school and my church. I gave thanks to God and the community for those formative impressions.

What I did not share with those present was the great surprises since I left Walburg. Included in those forces and experiences are my world travels and work in tens of cities from Helsinki to Karachi That I have lived in the urban areas of Chicago, Hong Kong, New York City greatly changed me. My wife of 64 years and our five children have had a tremendous impact upon me. Books continue to challenge and expand my world. Spending one on one time with people of many ethnicities, varying socio-economic levels, all sexual orientations, atheists and fundamentalists, greatly influenced the “I” that is still being formed.

So as I reflect on my “I”, I give thanks, seek forgiveness and look forward to who the “I” will be should I be around to go to our 25^th Kieschnick Family reunion next year.

Family Reunion in Texas (Texas)

I love going to the annual Kieschnick Family Reunions and I love going to Texas to celebrate that. But I must also admit to what many Texans (including some of my relatives) may consider a set of mortal sins. There is stuff going on in Texas that I hate. I hate the idea of arming the Texas National Guard to protect it from an invasion by the USA. I hate the reality of everyone insisting that it’s important to carry guns to school, church and family picnics. I hate it that too many Texans think sexual orientation is a choice which must be stopped. I hate it when I experience (at best) paternalism for Blacks and downright denigration of Hispanics. And if any of my Texas relatives or friends have gotten past this paragraph and have not deleted this blog and inserted a two word expletive in its place then I am ready to proceed and tell you why I love Texas.

On my recent flight to Austin we had not preceded very far east of El Paso before I began to enjoy the beauty of that vast and varied state. Texas had wonderful spring rains and the fields were unusually green for late July. The hills were alive with lush green trees. Herefords and Holsteins roamed the fields. Massive rolls of hay were strewn in the vast fields. The few visible clouds added just the right touch to a beautiful landscape. The feeling that I have when looking across or driving in the rolling green hills of Texas brings me to bliss.

When my sister Mimi welcomes me into her house with her beautiful slight Texas drawl and the temperature of the house is just right and the refrigerator is filled with cold beer and there is a bottle of Scotch nearby what could be better!

In the morning I join a couple of my California and Connecticut kids and some of their family for breakfast. I get upset when my wait for the table runs to 30 minutes. And then the waitress comes and it’s true joy. Her Texas accent flows from her sweet and accepting face. She offers us all the options we might want with unusual graciousness. Then she brings the just baked biscuits, the cream gravy and the strong black coffee. I could stay here all day.

In the evening we go to the first of a series of feasts. The back yard is as immense as it is inviting. The beer is on tap for everyone. The pork butt bar-b-cue is so wonderful I think it can’t get any better until I add just a bit more of that bar-b-cue sauce and I check whether or not I am already in heaven.

The style of the Pitching Washers game has changed a bit but there is room for all from ages 8 to 88-and from then on the Super Bowl could not be more competitive but it is all in good fun

My granddaughter has come from California to experience Texas and she gets the full treatment. The first gentleman with whom we converse at the first party is a former rodeo competitor and tells about bucking broncos and calf roping. The next day she goes to buy her western straw hat and the salesman discovers she is from California and within minutes figures out that she is here for the Kieschnick and tells her he is a housemate of a person from the Kieschnick clan. He gets just the right hat for her!

The next few days I continue to be immersed in some of that good stuff that is essentially Texan: marvelous chicken-fried steak, freshly picked ripe peaches, crisp pecan pie, fried okra, five or even seven layered dip. And I visit an ancient smoke house where a generation ago at least 7 deer a year were smoked, dried and preserved to provide meat for an entire year.

I drive by the old cotton gins. Brother-in law Raymond’s longhorn cattle come to the edge of the fence to greet us, and the country western tune on the radio blares “Beautiful, Beautiful Texas the land where the bluebonnets grow. We are proud of our grandfathers who fought at the Alamo “

As I walk down the airport corridor for my return flight to California I take one more look at all those U. of Texas Longhorn caps, shirts, etc., hear one more “Howdy” from a Stetson wearing exec and I head into the plane thinking, “Sure hope we come back to Texas next year for another Kieschnick Reunion.”

Family Reunion in Texas (Family)

 I have just returned from attending my 24th Annual Kieschnick Family Reunion. This is a gathering of the clan related to my six sisters, one living brother, one deceased brother and me. This year we numbered 108 in attendance.

One evening with a Shiner Bock beer in hand I just sat off to the side and observed and reflected upon this assemblage.

I was struck by the fact we all got along and were comfortable speaking with each other and challenging each other in golf, Texas 42 (a game played with dominoes) and Pitching Washers (a Texas based competition now spreading throughout the world). There is much that unites us: our deep love, respect and admiration for our parents, Oscar and Lina Doering Kieschnick. We are mostly people of faith. We share family values of integrity, hard work, frugal life styles, service to community and personal responsibility. I learned all this anew at this reunion and I am grateful.

Within our common background and many shared values we are diverse. As I reflected upon just some of the vocations of those gathered the list quickly grew very long. In our midst we have teachers, pastors, business owners and executives, ranchers, farmers, psychologists, professors, counselors, secretaries, attorneys, medical doctors, opticians, real estate agents, postal workers, social workers, and lots of oil related work like managing oil flow, repairing oil rigs, designing new ways to repair supply lines, managing oil leases etc. etc.

Our economic situations range from getting by on Social Security to multi-millionaires.  Yet when we gather those differences do not tear us apart

We first generation sibs all sprang from Mom and Dad in Williamson Country, Texas. Now I mentally run through the people at this reunion. The places of birth include China, Hong Kong Taiwan, Spain, Jamaica, and Russia. Languages now spoken by Kieschnick family members include German, English, Russian, Mandarin, Spanish, Jamaican Patois, Cantonese, French, Italian and Portuguese.

As I look at my relatives I recall how many of them have come to my aid in my time of need. They helped me through school. They loaned me their vehicles. The helped me with sex education. They modeled faith and trust. When my wife Jane flew home from Hong Kong in a coma they made sure the ambulance was waiting at the airport. When my two sons and I were in Tiananmen Square and Mao’s army moved in they prayed for us. When one or more of us showed different stages of Alzheimer’s they empathized,. When our country needed to respond to Pearl Harbor they enlisted. When son David died way too young they came to bring comfort and support.

Enough already! I got down to the dirty business of calculating expenses and figured that over the years Jane and I have invested some $50,000.00 to attend and host these 24 reunions. And I have decided it was worth every penny.