I received an email from the German Consulate Los Angeles that read. “I am pleased to inform you that we have received your Certificate of Citizenship.” A two year process to regain my German Citizenship that was given up by my parents at the age five to become a United States Citizen. I remember wearing a suit, which meant it was an important day. Bare white walls, white ceiling, the lights bright. I remember that moment, but I don’t remember your name.
At the age of two and a half Mom and I came to America from Germany. Before our connecting flight to Rochester N.Y., where my new father was waiting, we landed at JFK. I remember looking out the egg shaped plane window. My second birthday was in Peising Germany a Bavarian village with only an onion domed church I could see from my Tante Hilda’s window. I remember pedaling the green plastic hollow bodied tractor truck I received for that birthday. I remember this, but I don’t remember your name.
When I applied to regain my citizenship, I discovered that I was technically still a German Citizen. It wasn’t my choice at the age of five to become an American Citizen. Therefore it wasn’t my choice to give up my German Citizenship. None of this guaranteed me regaining my citizenship. Many times I had asked Mom about becoming a German Citizen again. “Oh no, I don’t think you can do that,” she said. “It would be impossible.” She never talked about the old country, nobody in our family really did, which sends the message to a kid that is must be, “not okay.” Much later I found out why the silence. Mom had secrets back across the ocean that she had hoped were left under blankets of lies. A child will lose who they are to be a part of a family held together by secrets and lies. Because that is its purpose, that is how one survives. With time the questions get answered, the true pieces of the puzzle show the real picture. The episodes of all the questions are too long to list. Maybe this is why I remember these things. But I don’t remember your name.
The German Consulate is on Wilshire and Crescent, a short drive from where I live. I wore my best dress shirt, and was clean shaven. Surprisingly, I was calm and excited. I hadn’t told anyone in my family. I didn’t want it to be taken away again. Today was my day, I was moving forward by going back. I didn’t come to America in steerage. I came here on a plane as a boy who lost his first language, which I was learning again. In the waiting room everyone spoke German, and much to my delight I understood most of it. When it was my turn to approach the glass divider, I greeted the woman in German. Then in English I told here why I was there. “How cool is that?” she asked. I almost laughed, I was smiling so much.
She handed me the light yellow certificate of citizenship. I recognized at the top of the document the BUNDESREPUBLIK DEUTSHLAND, and the coat of arms of the Black Eagle for “Federal Eagle.” It’s on my child passport I still have from when I came to America. I remember this. In the middle of the certificate above my birthdate, and the city where I was born Regensburg, I see it. I’ve seen it a million times, but it felt like the first time I see the whole of it. Mein Name.
Ich heisse Christian Daniel Beer
Daniel Beer 