Heroes here and there

Most certainly, this was and is not intended to be a journal on soccer. But I have to write about soccer at least once more. Simply because I bumped into two very different kinds of heroes on your side and on this side of the Atlantic lately.

Here, it is a tiny soccer player who definitely ascended to heroic status last Wednesday. His name is Philipp Lahm, and his last name ironically means "lame", although he is an amazingly fast runner. He is the most likeable hero one could ever imagine. He is probably also the most typical modern (West) German kind of hero I can imagine.

First of all, he plays defense - so he's totally unoffensive -, but scored the third and decisive goal of the German national team against Turkey this week (message: You don't need to be on the aggressive side to be successful). He is only 5,6 feet tall and looks like the sort of son-in-law any mother would just love to have in the family. Definitely not on the Goliath side. Although Germany's leading news magazine, "Der Spiegel", ascribes a good measure of sex appeal to "EC Hero Lahm"...

On top of everything, his rising fame even outside the soccer fan community - which began at the world championship in 2006 - seems not to have damaged this guy's golden heart in the least. Among other things, the 24-year-old lends his face to a campaign against speeding on Germany's infamous highways, playing with his being small in physique by declaring: "Speeders are SO cool", showing a tiny distance between his thumb and middle finger. And he founded a charity to support underprivileged children in Europe and Africa. "I had a super childhood, I have always been privileged", he said in an interview. "Now I want to give something back."

The other hero is someone I had more difficulties to accept as such, although he clearly seems to be a very amiable person, too. His name is Danny. He is not famous at all. He is a soldier from New Jersey, and he serves in Iraq.

His picture hung right next to my eight year old son's classroom door, framed by US flags. “We Salute... One Of Our Country’s Many Heroes Fighting In Iraq, Army Private 1st Class Daniel Gabryszewski”, said the poster that the second graders had made. Danny wears an overall in camouflage color. The martial outfit somewhat distracts from the fact that he, like Philipp Lahm, is more on the tiny side.

N. and his classmates wrote to Danny regularly, and he answered their questions by mail. He drives some kind of special army truck, and a New Jersey newspaper printed an article about him.

But why should children be indoctrinated like that, was my first thought when I heard about this campaign. Why do they have to glorify a soldier fighting in a war of which the legitimacy is more than questionable in the first place?!

When I told N.'s teacher, Mrs. M., of my concerns, explaining that Germans in general tended to be rather uneasy with the concept of war heroes for historical reasons, she smiled and said: "I think the children really need someone like that." As she had worked miracles with those second graders before, I didn't object any further.

At the end of the school year, the class organized a charity sale for Danny. They designed posters advertising the event, crafted door knob hangers and fridge magnets, and persuaded their Moms to bake cookies for the sale - in spite of almost 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

From the posters I learned that "their" soldier has his king-of-hearts qualities, too: On top of "fighting against terrorists and for democracy in Iraq", as N. told me in a tone of utter conviction that made me cringe, Danny takes care of stray puppies, and he supports poor children in Iraq with school materials.

That's what the second graders' sale was for: Buying pet food for the puppies, and pencils and markers for the children Danny tries to help. Everybody came: teachers, students, parents, siblings. After less than an hour, each and every item had been sold. And the children counted more than 300 dollars in their cash box.

The most important thing, though, was the whole lot of thought and honest work they invested - and their obvious pride in their common project.

I'm still not totally convinced that it is a good idea to make second graders worship soldiers as heroes - even if I have to admit that it is somewhat easier to stand up and be counted on a successful soccer player's side, than on the side of a soldier fighting in a questionable war.

But I sure learned that working for a hero's good cause is a most inspiring activity for children. And when N. was asked whether he was looking forward to go to Germany for the summer, he said that he sure was, but that there was just one thing he really regretted: That he was going to miss the picnic his classmates were planning in July - for Danny, while the soldier from New Jersey would be on vacation at home.

Soccer sensations

Cologne/Haan, June 25

The first thing that happened after we had made it out of the Cologne airport last Friday was that N. stepped into dog poop. Won't be the last time, I guess.

One tends to forget these things after ten months of absence. Germany has pretty straight laws against leaving dog poop on the sidewalk, but hardly anywhere are they strictly enforced. In Berlin, for example (probably the German dog capital, too), you shouldn't ever walk through the streets with your eyes simply on people, sights, or traffic lights. At least half of one's attention should be focused on scanning the sidewalk for possible turds.

Things soon got better, though. The weather is gorgeous - seems there IS going to be a summer in Europe this year. And yesterday, when I stepped out of the Cologne railway station, the first thing I saw was a guy picking up his dog's smelly legacy from the sidewalk.

Then, of course, the whole country is in soccer euphoria. Flags everywhere. Hanging out of windows, sticking on cars (eight was the highest number of flags I have counted on a single car), even on baby strollers. Hardly a bar, café, or restaurant that hasn't installed huge TV screens to encourage - and profit from - the collective worshipping of the Soccer God.

Right now, N. (my son), his father (my husband), and his grandfather (my father) are watching the semi final match, Germany against Turkey. Three generations, all experts, of course. Cursing, brawling, yelling, lamenting. The German team is playing like a bunch of toddlers in a sandbox. The coach should be fired and sent to Siberia. The Swiss referee is a partial imbecile (pro-Turkish, of course). And now the TV lines from Basel broke down on top of everything. For the second time. Unbelievable. The score is 1:1.

I'm not a big soccer fan. I even used to hate late Saturday afternoons, when every family in West Germany had to go home from whatever activity they were engaged in because Daddy absolutely had to watch the "Sportschau" on TV, showing the games of the national soccer league.

But I have to admit that I am once again moved by the cheerful patriotism that Germans have been exercising at least in the context of international soccer championships for the last two years. It started 2006 with the World Championship in Germany, which our family experienced during our last summer as residents of Berlin. When Jürgen Klinsmann and his men became heroes. When the whole country was happy. And for the first time, the world liked us. Even more important, we finally seemed to like ourselves.

There are more than solid reasons to hate and fear any German nationalism, of course. But two years as immigrant in the US have made it pretty clear to me that without a healthy dose of patriotism, a country's identity and self confidence probably won't be worth much. And a national identity, a certain feeling of belonging somewhere worth belonging, is something one comes to cherish even more when living as - and sometimes feeling like - a Non-Resident Alien in a foreign country.

There! The German team just scored the third goal against Turkey - it's 3:2 now, 30 seconds before the final whistle. Three generations are jumping up and down on my parents' living room sofa. "We are in the final!", beams N., "maybe we will even become the European champions!" Now the TV shows half a million soccer fans, cheering and celebrating in front of the Brandenburger Tor in Berlin.

Honestly, I couldn't care less whether Germany is soccer champion or not. But seeing all these people celebrate their team and their country, makes me feel just happy to be one of them.

Even if that includes people whose "best friend's" dog poop I sometimes cannot completely avoid.