KS - weekend in Germany
Late August or early September 1961 – We were free from our classes on the weekends and on one of those I traveled to Germany by train with one of the other students that was stationed there. We were to spend the weekend, check out the area and drive back to the school in his 2-seater MG. This visit was certainly a cultural eye opener, not only concerning the country and its people, but also the American soldiers stationed there.
Their idea of a good weekend was to go out and quaff as much as they could of what seemed to be that country’s national product - beer. Their goal was simple – to get blind running drunk. We wound up transporting 6 guys - in and on a two-seat automobile - to all their favorite nightspots.
Joining in with their revelry left me feeling very stupid – not to mention drunk and sick. Even in this condition my soul was chilled when they stopped and made light of a “J. C. O. C.” (Crucifixion) statue that was implanted beside the roadway. Previously consumed sustenance was expelled orally from my digestive tract on at least two occasions that evening while we made their rounds. At one stop I stayed in the car, mainly because I couldn’t stand up very well and had had enough of Germany’s national product.
After our group returned to their living quarters, I stumbled to the showers and endeavored to wash the stupidity off of myself, not to mention other substances. As I finished up the shower, I overheard one of them telling the rest of the group that I didn’t show him very much – in other words, I couldn’t hold my alcohol. Even though I heard the others speak up for me, I now know that someone much higher than these humans wanted me to hear him say that. This attested to by the fact that I can still remember those words.
I just wasn’t making a very good and proper sinner, but neither was I trying to live the right way. My striving for acceptance from either of these camps turned into more of a wandering, stumbling meander toward the semi-moral mediocrity of those trying to stay in the middle of the road – and you might say that metaphorically speaking I was getting run over on a regular basis.
Semi-hung over, we traveled back to France and our classes the next day and I determined not to try that ‘draining’ experience again – for at least a month or so. Some days later we finished our classes and I finally got back to my “home” away from home – Camp Voluceau.
TBC - ec
Their idea of a good weekend was to go out and quaff as much as they could of what seemed to be that country’s national product - beer. Their goal was simple – to get blind running drunk. We wound up transporting 6 guys - in and on a two-seat automobile - to all their favorite nightspots.
Joining in with their revelry left me feeling very stupid – not to mention drunk and sick. Even in this condition my soul was chilled when they stopped and made light of a “J. C. O. C.” (Crucifixion) statue that was implanted beside the roadway. Previously consumed sustenance was expelled orally from my digestive tract on at least two occasions that evening while we made their rounds. At one stop I stayed in the car, mainly because I couldn’t stand up very well and had had enough of Germany’s national product.
After our group returned to their living quarters, I stumbled to the showers and endeavored to wash the stupidity off of myself, not to mention other substances. As I finished up the shower, I overheard one of them telling the rest of the group that I didn’t show him very much – in other words, I couldn’t hold my alcohol. Even though I heard the others speak up for me, I now know that someone much higher than these humans wanted me to hear him say that. This attested to by the fact that I can still remember those words.
I just wasn’t making a very good and proper sinner, but neither was I trying to live the right way. My striving for acceptance from either of these camps turned into more of a wandering, stumbling meander toward the semi-moral mediocrity of those trying to stay in the middle of the road – and you might say that metaphorically speaking I was getting run over on a regular basis.
Semi-hung over, we traveled back to France and our classes the next day and I determined not to try that ‘draining’ experience again – for at least a month or so. Some days later we finished our classes and I finally got back to my “home” away from home – Camp Voluceau.
TBC - ec
posted by mreddie | 8:00 PM
5 Comments:
It's the message, not the messenger. We don't always hear the beating of wings.
Thoughtul post. Thanks.
granny - Thanks for stopping by - I was 20 when I was going through these adventures and I'm not sure I was listening to any common sense at all. ec
Hi Mr Eddie ~~ What a time you and the others had in Germany.It is a wonder you have become the person you are today. Thanks for cow comments. I like them and this area is a dairy farming
area - hence the cows. Peter has put a few photos on my blog. Cheers, Merle.
I liked the phrase "washing the stupidity off myself". And it is interesting to note that God often protects us by not letting us become one of those who appears as a "star sinner".
merle - It is indeed a wonder - but all the credit for anything resembling good about me goes to God.
thebeloved - It was a year or so later before the real washing took place - that of the spiritual. ec
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