Daily mythology: My parents

Something about them. Ah, they are both gone and cannot disagree! So let me tell (tell me all). Anyway I just have memories, and who knows what I added later and suggest even to myself that it’s true! (tell me all): My father was a hell of a guy (“Min Vatter isch ȁn Appezeller…”). He was a teacher and couldn’t hide it all his life (now, come on, don’t think I am like him!). Especially I liked his irony, his “lying a little bit”, his witty way to see things. Though he was earnest in fond, had an utopia as well for his next as for the world.
My mother? Sigh. I’ll exaggerate now: She was the conscience, of him too, of us all. Especially concerned about sexuality. How she loved classic statues, how she regretted to see them naked! When we were children we went one time to the movies in Florence. They gave the film “Solomon and the queen of Saba”. How did Yul Brynner look? I don’t remember. Gina Lollobrigida had a huge décolleté, and that’s why, sad to say, we had to leave in the middle of the movie on my mother’s command!
On a trip to Greece we saw a kissing young couple at Patras. “Leechers!” claimed my mother. But as most tourists traveled on the same itinerary, we saw them again in Athens, in Thebes, in Delphi, in Olympia and so on, and every time we said to my mother: “Look! The leechers!” I always thought to myself: But she must know fucking too? We were four kids, at least she must have done it four times? This attitude was clearly a remain of Victorian times. What did Queen Victoria recommend to her married daughters in the same matter? “Close your eyes and think of England!” But Vic had even more children than my mother…Albert must have jumped her a lot.
On the sun-deck of ferry ”Egnatia” my father read a police-novel. He cited aloud some verses. But they were (a bit) sexually colored.

“Ich liebe an Dir nur die Dose!”
sprach Barnacle Bill, der Matrose

“You! Don’t be spicy!” mother said, took the book away and threw it into the sea.

At home (my parents run a boarding school) the girls lived in the 2.floor, the boys in the first. My mother stretched cloths behind the balcony lattices to avoid anyone looking underneath the girl’s skirts.
My father though liked the grown up girls. He used every occasion to touch them. But only if mother wasn’t around.

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