Ich liebe dich

As a little girl, I undoubtedly was a hopeless romantic, probably as a

consequence of my own lonely childhood. I dreamed of my first kiss

and of the first time a boy would tell me he loved me.  I

envisioned myself as the female lead in all the 1980s John

Hughes’s films like Pretty in Pink, and Sixteen Candles.All in all, I

fantasized about a boy intensely gazing into my eyes, and saying, “I

love you!”

However, my story didn’t end up this way.  I was a foreign exchange

student in Europe between my Junior and Senior year of college.  I

bet you are thinking, “Wow, her first ‘I love you’ was overseas in a

foreign country.  How romantic!”  Well, that would be the case if I

had studied French where ‘I love you’ translates to ‘Je t’aime’,’ but I

was a foreign exchange student in Germany and am fluent in

German where ‘I love you’ translates to ‘Ich liebe dich.’  Yes, you

read that correctly, ‘Ich liebe dich.’  I know it seems a bit like that

unsightly euphemistic English word d-i-c-k, but it is dich.  It is a soft CH.

Either way it just doesn’t roll off your tongue and purr as beautifully ‘l love you,’ but when you are a

hopeless romantic like I was—you will

take it any way it is packaged!

I was an intern at a tool manufacturing company, J.G. Wiesser in St.

Georgen, Germany a quaint farm town in the Black Forest. I walked

down this extraordinary hill every day to work alongside these

gorgeous grazing cows with incredibly long eyelashes and with these

large bells clanging around their necks.  It truly was like a scene out

of The Sound of Music.

In this small town, I actually became somewhat of a celebrity as I

walked along the village streets, and I would hear the townsfolk

whisper under their breaths, ‘Das ist die Amerikanerin!’  That’s the

American girl!  Children knew who I was, as news spread in the one

elementary school that an American was living at the Schatzle’s

home.  The Schatzles were my host family and they, thankfully,

embraced me immediately, except for their three-year-old

daughter, Svenja, who would constantly, with her arms straight down

by her side and fists clenched, scream at her mother “Mutti, ich kann

diese Amerikanerin nicht verstehen!”

“Mommy, I can Not understand this American girl!” She said this right

to my face, not realizing that I understood every word she was

saying.

In addition to Svenja, the employees at the tool company were also

resistant to embrace me, but they were curious, being that I was the

only means to a culture outside of St. Georgen.  They were reserved

and cautious.  However, they were certainly impressed that I was an

American who could speak German, but they were suspicious of

me, wondering if my authentic nature and kind-heartedness was a

facade, masking some nefarious intentions.  ‘Who is this Susan girl

and what does she want?’

Eventually I was invited to a after work party of Kugeln - which is

bowling on a smaller scale - lighter ball, smaller pins.  Over an

evening of dinner, drinks and kugeln, I was finally accepted into the

circle.  The remainder of my internship, I was included in all

department festivities and became close to two draftsman in

particular Klaus Stiefvater and Norbert Schuder.  I, admittedly, took

quite a liking to Norbert, although he was 8 years my senior, with a

1980’s mullet, slight gap in the middle of his front teeth, a deep

guttural voice, wore tight high-waisted skinny jeans and according

to office gossip, was living apparently with a controlling, overbearing

girlfriend.

I would linger around Norbert’s drafting table (trace my fingers

around the edges of a desktop), after dropping off reports to my

boss, Herr Zucker.  We would chat about his horses and the band he

was in.  Gaby, one of the draftswomen, would catch Norbert

daydreaming off into the distance , after I would leave the drafting

room.

Apparently, Norbert was taking a fancy to me, too.  Our office crush

never left the drafting room, but I certainly enjoyed the attention - I

was the intriguing foreigner.

On my last day at J.G Weisser, Klaus and Norbert gave me a

bouquet of flowers , as well as a hand-written note of affection from

Norbert.  As I climbed the steep hill on my way home from the tool

plant, Klaus and Norbert stood at the base of the hill and waved,

“Aufwiedersehen” until I was out of their view.  I was touched and

sad.

Frau Schatzle greeted me when I returned home, and graciously

listened to all the details of my last day with a bunch of “ja, jas”

when the phone rang.  Frau Schatzle passed the phone to me,

“Fur dich”

“Mich?’”

“Hallo, hier ist Susan,” I responded.

With quivering in his voice, I hear Norbert on the other end saying,

“Susan, I couldn’t let you leave Germany without you knowing that I

love you.”

“Me?” I shockingly questioned.

“Yes, you!”

“Me?”

Yes, you!”

Sweet, right?

Well, the translation into German has quite a different tone to it.

Here it is goes - and might I remind you that Norbert has quite a

guttural voice:

Norbert:  “Soosan, ich konnte dich nicht aus Deutschland gehen

lassen, ohne es zu wissen - ich liebe dich!”

Me:  “Mich?”

Norbert:  “Ja, dich!”

Me:  “Mich?”

Norbert:  “Ja, dich!”

Well, it doesn’t necessarily have the fluidity and musicality that one

expects for a girl’s first “I love you,”  especially with all the dichs

which may I remind you sounds a bit like that unsightly euphemistic

English word d-i-c-k, especially when  spoken swiftly. All in all, it was a

bit harsh and grading.

I don’t remember the remainder of the two-minute conversation.  I

don’t even recall if I even told him that I loved him back.  I was so

shell-shocked that a man had just told me that he loved me, but it

was so surprisingly awkward and almost absurd with all the michs

and dichs.

Well, anyway, I returned to America daydreaming of Norbert, but

knowing that it would never amount to anything.  As awkward as he

was, Norbert’s love for me cresting over to the point of declaration

was so endearing!

In his hand-written note to me, Norbert mentioned that he would be

sending me a gift to America so that I could easily remember him by.

Well, that gift has never been received, but his vulnerability to share

his heart was enough for me

I, on the other hand, sent  Norbert a beautifully framed drawing of

the Chicago skyline where I am from.  I observed this same drawing

hanging directly over Norbert’s drafting table when I visited two

years after my internship, but there was no mention of Norbert’s

profession of love for me!

So this was a love that truly went nowhere, but redemption came on

July 24, 2002 when a small plate with a ring and a handwritten note

was slid to me across a candlelit table on which was written,

“Wurden Sie mich heiraten?”

My husband, Jason, asked me to marry him in German!