We call ourselves the “SML Saengerbund”. It’s German
for an association of singers, a club, if you will.
Finding myself with absolutely zero free time, I must
confess my initial reluctance to join.
A little personal background information is required
here. My mother was born and raised in Germany, during
troubled times. She came to this country at the age of 19
for an extended stay, and met my father. The rest, as they
say, is history.
I’m part of that history. My father doesn’t deserve all
the blame for wresting my Mom from her native land,
because she delighted in the wonders of this country, and
embraced our culture. Nonetheless, as many had before
her, she retained a fondness for “home”, and her ethnic
roots.
It must have been difficult for her, for she had come here
from the losing side of a great war, to settle among the
victors. As it happens, she used her life experience to give
her four sons a great appreciation for America, as well as a
love of our heritage.
We all laughed as we sat around Mom’s dining room
table one recent Sunday, as Dad announced that she had
joined a singing group. She usually wastes no opportunity
to announce that she has no musical gift. All she said in
reply was, “I think Tim should join us, too.”
Mom wanted us to be Americans, not German-
Americans. Our father is Italian, so to be fair, we’d have
to be Italo-German-Americans. Neither of my parents
wanted that. They wanted us to be Americans. So they
raised us in an English-speaking household. This was
relatively easy, since Dad spoke no German, and his Italian
was limited to a few choice, albeit colorful, phrases.
We grew up without learning much about German
culture until we were in school. Sadly, we did not make as
much of an effort as we might have, but we managed to
learn customs and a smattering of the language in spite of
ourselves, although none of us is fluent.
After a good deal of reflection, it occurred to me that
Mom was trying to hold onto a part of herself that was
important, and that she had limited opportunity to share.
I also realized that here was a rare opportunity for me to
share something special with her. So, I joined.
In typical German fashion, we decided to have a handful
of rehearsals and then, after three weeks, perform live at
the Westlake Oktoberfest. What could go wrong?
How do I describe the experience of walking into a house
filled with native German ladies, all my senior in age, with
the intent of making music? My limited German was rusty,
and I did not know the melodies of most of the songs. I
was surrounded by several Sergeant-Majors, and before I
knew what was happening,
WE GOT ORGANIZED
.
When it comes to tackling a project, Germans tend to
mean business. Decisions were made, amid great debate,
about everything from the songs we would sing to how
many verses of each we would sing, and just about every
other detail as well.
I was a bit nervous using my German on these ladies,
as rusty as it was, but they were all very welcoming, and I
began to recognize some of the tunes, as I had heard them
at family gatherings as a child. Soon, a feeling started
to creep up on me. “I’m one of them,” I realized in mock
horror. I felt even better when a couple of other guys
joined the group.
Soon we had binders full of sheet music, enough for
several recitals. Through the magic of iTunes, I was able to
acquire recordings of all the songs that we planned to sing
at the Oktoberfest. These I compiled, in order, on a CD,
which I played endlessly in the car. I surprised myself by
how quickly I learned all of the unfamiliar melodies.
Editor’s Note
Discover Smith Mountain Lake
Winter 2015
6
