The eldest daughter (10) had written a prize-winning poem. In other words: she had been chosen to read a poem with a few others from her class at a war memorial nearby. Other primary schools in the area had also held a selection. Our neighborhood in East Amsterdam is chock full of war monuments, every detail from the Second World War is captured here in stone or steel. They are simply better than average at remembering.
Unfortunately, I was not at the reading/commemoration session, which was secretly a pre-selection for the real commemoration on May 4, but I was sent videos by other parents. I saw a large group of children, teachers and parents with serious faces at a war memorial. I saw my eldest daughter come forward with her head bowed. She was wearing her red coat, she was supported by one of her best friends who also looked very serious. All speakers were allowed to choose a support buddy who would accompany them to and from the podium. There she stood. The shoulders were bent from the enormous burden that rested on them. I especially thought that she read her text very well. Very clear, a pleasant voice. No hiccups, no red heads.
What could I do in return at the age of ten? Few. On behalf of my class at the Fredericus School in Velp, I had to pray in the church in Emmastraat at the funeral of Pastor Sips. Two sentences. I said ‘chips’ instead of Sips, after which I burst out laughing behind the microphone, sparked by classmates who were hanging in the pews in front of me with red faces from laughing. Afterwards, Sister Virgini gave me what my parents called a slap on the ear at the time, a pat on the face.
No, then my daughter.
In her speech she did not talk about war victims or ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, she was concerned about the fate of the war monuments. It was suffocating, but everyone just walked past them without ever thinking about it. She felt bad for the monuments. So visible, so intended to catch attention and then so ignored. She didn’t say it in so many words, but it was actually a holiday for the monument in question.
Unfortunately, there is no commemoration at that monument on May 4, even that. We are hesitating between De Dam and the church opposite our house where a local politician gave a speech last year that really tied everything together.
