he wrote it as an experience of the dutch resistance during worldwar2 firsthand in english.
i was lucky enough to meet my poppa but i never had the chance to talk to him in my adult life.
Transferring his book from typewritten to pages to a hard copy is a privilege. It makes me feel proud to know that resistance, protest and a political conscience runs in the family...
i hope that i can make him proud in my little ramblings of todays days and moments.
you can find him here
Three medium sized children ran around the car in circles, shrieking and picking items at random from the shopping bags to hit each other over the head with. The mother nonchalently continued to removed these items from each of her children, placing them in the car and shaking her head quietly at the situation she has found herself in.
The bear watched as the four children were bundled inside the car, the noise of excited young voices muffled with the shutting of each door, one by one.
As the car pulled away and veered past the bear (still paused on all fours just outside the continually opening and closing electronic doors of the shopping centre) he saw a little face push against one of the windows, smudging the condensation away. Two small red hands curled in a grimace framed a set of growling milky white teeth quickly followed by a frantic wave and a stuck out tounge.
The bear followed the car with his gaze until he saw it disappear around the boarded up mfi store on the corner opposite.
He missed being a cub.
He felt that since he came to the big city to find himself he had become lost in the fake gold of the city way of living. He missed howling and fishing and sleeping all winter long. Now he had a set amount of hours he must complete each week, no sick pay, and sore eyes from staring at a computer screen all day.
What he would give for a four month nap in a warm snug cave looking out over the forest...
He shook himself awake from his daydream, rubbed his eyes with his paws, and made a decision.
He would start his journey home.
The bear sat down with bump (somewhat reminiscient of a 4 year old mid-tantrum) and wrinkled his big brown nose. The smells of the rainforest and guava fruits wafted up and surrounded him with a sticky overwhelming feeling of unfamiliarity.
bears were not supposed to be in the rainforest.
Suddenly he felt himself yearning for snow, for the evergreens and icy rivers of his native home, as though his body were being pulled towards the memory. He had missed the rugged feeling of weather worn fur (as opposed to the well conditioned, sweet smelling conditioned coat he had become used to as a city bear) and the strength of his claws tearing through bark (as opposed to the well manicured new nails he now sported in an off-white eggshell to match his lowlights)
The bear slowly, calmy stood up in the aisle. As he rose, he glanced around him at the clinical isle, bright white and full of smoky pastel pinks and sea greens typical of the common household bathroom.
He puffed out his chest, and stretched his limbs, taking himself to twice the size of the bear he was when he entered the store. He bared his teeth and shook his whole body, growling as a little old lady with a full shopping trolley shuffled past the end of the isle.
With a long sigh, he dropped down to all four paws, shrinking back to a manageable supermarket size.
The bear padded quietly out of the store, without so much as a glance behind him.