The Beginning of it All

Thirty years ago, in August 1980, I landed in Germany along with eighteen other travel-weary American high school students, our German language teacher, and one chaperone. We had arrived in Germany for a month-long stay as foreign exchange students at the Internat Schloss Eringerfeld, a boarding school near Geseke.


Our stay began with a night in Frankfurt. Despite the twelve-hour flight and the seven-hour time change, we were ready to party in our German hotel. Hanging out of our unscreened hotel windows, we snapped pictures of each other dangling over the busy streets below us. Our excitement was a mixture of being in a foreign country and being away from our parents for the first time. Feelings of freedom, emancipation from the rules and regulations of everyday life, excitement, anticipation and nervousness all swirled together to create a massive emotional wave. As one of the youngest on the trip, at the age of sixteen, I could hardly believe I was there. My parents barely allowed me to go out with my friends at night, let alone 5000 miles away for an entire month. Little did I know what an impact the month in Germany would have on me. Nor could I have ever imagined how it would impact me, even more, some thirty years later.

The next morning, we boarded a rickety old school bus for the seven hour drive from Frankfurt to the Internat Schloss Eringerfeld. The stagnant heat in the bus helped to quiet our excitement. As the hustle and bustle of Frankfurt gave way to rolling hills and lush and lively farms, I fell in love with the land of Germany. The hours gave way to a mixture of group singing, talking and laughter, and lulls of silence. During one of our quiet periods, our German language teacher stood at the front of the bus and announced that we were fifteen minutes away from the school. Cheers of excitement erupted in unison as we bounced in our seats, clapped our hands and hugged each other. I had never seen more excitement on Christmas morning then I witnessed on that overheated, rickety old bus that hot August day in Germany.

We laughed and cheered and spoke over one another until the bus turned a corner and began to slow down. Amidst the crunch of the gravel beneath the bus's wheels and the squeaking of our vinyl seats, you could have heard a pin drop as the bus slowed to a halt. Wide-eyed, excited and nervous, we slowly arose to form a line in the aisle of the bus. I took my place in line, the fifth person from the end, and stooped down to look out the window as we moved, slowly, to exit the school bus.

"Thank you", we all murmured to the bus driver, and then it was my turn to step down to the cobblestone path that would lead me toward the school that would be my home for the next month and the experience that would ultimately change my life.