Parcels from Denmark

From the beginning we had 2 parcels from my Farmor every year, one at Christmas time and one in late May (in time for Jeanette’s and my birthdays).  Even my parents looked forward to these packages from home.  My grandmother would put in bags of Danish licorice, magazines and comics were stuffed in corners of the other lumpier packages.  What I especially remember about the parcels was that while they were wrapped in Christmas paper they were then simply tied with ribbon.  No tape.  Perfect for snooping.

            My mother was really excellent at hiding the packages and for a long time we didn’t even know when they were arriving.  Since we were in school when the mailman came we didn’t realize that the packages had come.  But after a few years we were remembering that it was close to Christmas and we would start looking under beds, in closets and kitchen cupboards but in the early days my mother was too clever for us, she could always find a good hiding spot.  I suspect for a while she was hiding the parcels behind the furnace because we were all terrified to go behind it but she must have realized that was a dangerous place and started putting it somewhere else.

            I remember the first time we found the parcel, we were all excited but then we wondered “now what”?  We looked, handled, squeezed and shook.  We were afraid to peek through the wrappings to actually see what was in the package.  Yep, after all that looking, we were afraid to spoil the surprise!  So after all the excitement we put the parcel back and still got to wonder.  We were just happy to know there was something from our grandmother.

            Sometimes my grandmother sent my father a Danish almanac called “Hvem, Hvad, Hvor” (Who, What, Where).  It was hard bound with orange and black bands on the cover.  He would read it cover to cover and it was always on his bedside table.

            On Saturday mornings we children would visit my parents in their bedroom, all of us sitting on my mother’s bed while her head would still be under the blankets.  Dad would be sitting up in bed, having his breakfast and then smoking his cigarette.  We would tell about our week, at least it would start out that way but then my dad would tell us stories.  Sometimes they would be spooky stories from his childhood, or he would tell us some of his funny adventures under the war, or he would tell us something funny that happened at his work.  Eventually we would be shooed back out and go on with our day.  However, I recall one time when I was about 8 I stayed behind after the rest of the kids had gone out I was looking in the Hvem, Hvad, Hvor and I came across a few pictures of Hitler.  I asked my dad who he was and I will never forget what he said.

            “The most gruesome man that ever lived.”

            Those words struck me with terror and I was dazed at the idea that a demon could have his picture taken!