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Locked Away, Yet Unlocked
I have been locked up here for 39 days and nights. My cellmate Andi and I have now assembled hundreds, if not thousands, of Bakelite plugs.
Singing quietly, talking nonsense, and brooding—that's all there is to do. So I dwell on my thoughts from yesterday.
Just so there are no misunderstandings: my mother was not a bad mother just because she sent me to a children's weekly home as often and as long as she could for years.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
On the contrary.
Marga Christa Jannot, née Gerschkow, as she was called until 1975, defended her two children, my big brother Andreas Fred, alias Andi, and me, tooth and nail against anyone and anything that wanted to hurt us.
She just wasn't a cuddly mom who hugged her children.
She wanted to have a career and used, no, demanded every opportunity the system offered her to achieve this.
She became a chemical laboratory assistant, earned her master's degree, and worked her way up to shift supervisor after leaving school in eighth grade, like most students of her generation.
She made a career for herself even though she tore up her testimonial in front of the entire school.
“I can do it without you!” she is said to have told her chauvinistic teachers, who, for reasons common at the time, saw a different future for her.
As caring as our mother was when she had us to look after between shifts, she could also be tough.
When I skinned my knees, she sprinkled baby powder on the open wounds, ruffled my hair, and sent me straight back outside.
While she never kissed me I resorted to my grandparents and aunts for cuddles.
Grandpa Alfred hugged and stroked me willingly. Grandpa Hans was more reserved.
Grandma Frieda couldn't and wouldn't defend herself. Grandma Charlotte was dead.
When Grandpa Alfred died, “Uncle Rudi” moved in. That was the beginning of the end.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe
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By Tommy H. JannotI have been locked up here for 39 days and nights. My cellmate Andi and I have now assembled hundreds, if not thousands, of Bakelite plugs.
Singing quietly, talking nonsense, and brooding—that's all there is to do. So I dwell on my thoughts from yesterday.
Just so there are no misunderstandings: my mother was not a bad mother just because she sent me to a children's weekly home as often and as long as she could for years.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
On the contrary.
Marga Christa Jannot, née Gerschkow, as she was called until 1975, defended her two children, my big brother Andreas Fred, alias Andi, and me, tooth and nail against anyone and anything that wanted to hurt us.
She just wasn't a cuddly mom who hugged her children.
She wanted to have a career and used, no, demanded every opportunity the system offered her to achieve this.
She became a chemical laboratory assistant, earned her master's degree, and worked her way up to shift supervisor after leaving school in eighth grade, like most students of her generation.
She made a career for herself even though she tore up her testimonial in front of the entire school.
“I can do it without you!” she is said to have told her chauvinistic teachers, who, for reasons common at the time, saw a different future for her.
As caring as our mother was when she had us to look after between shifts, she could also be tough.
When I skinned my knees, she sprinkled baby powder on the open wounds, ruffled my hair, and sent me straight back outside.
While she never kissed me I resorted to my grandparents and aunts for cuddles.
Grandpa Alfred hugged and stroked me willingly. Grandpa Hans was more reserved.
Grandma Frieda couldn't and wouldn't defend herself. Grandma Charlotte was dead.
When Grandpa Alfred died, “Uncle Rudi” moved in. That was the beginning of the end.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe