Today we have our 5th, and final (thank God) production of the Sound of Music.
The show is kind of long, and the children’s ensemble waits in the gym until it is their turn to perform.
Except for yesterday.
For yesterday’s matinee performance, the kids got to sit in the audience.
They watched all the way until the end.
Number 3 and 4 have never seen the Sound of Music movie, so this was the first time seeing the whole thing.
It was also their first introduction to the Nazis.
As we were leaving yesterday’s second performance, the questions started.
Where is Austria?
Where is Germany?
What’s a Nazi?
Who is Hitler?
What does heil mean?
I was so tired last night.
I gave a few lame attempts at answering their questions, but I really did not have the strength or energy to give an adequate explanation.
When we got home and walked in the kitchen, my husband was sitting there attempting to eat.
Number 3 and 4 kept firing the Nazi questions.
“Daddy really knows more than I do,” I told them.
“He can probably answer your questions better than I can,” I told them.
As I walked out of the kitchen and into my room to put my pajamas on, my husband was talking to them about Austria and Germany, about World War II, about how part of their heritage is German, how some distant relatives on his side of the family are from Germany.
I walked back into the kitchen a couple minutes later.
“So you’re a Nazi?” Number 3 was asking him.
Now my husband had run out of energy, too.
“So Austrians were good and Germans were bad?” Number 3 said.
On a side note…
In an effort to not swear in front of the kids, my husband often makes up words.
Like flim flam. Fill fal. Sill sal. Flimmin…
So he was getting pissed, it was getting late, we are on SOM overload, and Number 3 was being really annoying.
“Not all Germans were bad,” my husband told him, exhaling heavily.
“DAD, YOU’RE CONFUSING ME!” yelled Number 3.
“”You said I’m German. Am I one of the good German or one of the BAD Germans?”
“You’re going to be a German in a time out if you don’t get your pajamas on!” my husband said, exasperated.
“But DAD! You said you’re German! Are you a good German, or an EVIL GERMAN???””
“GET THE FLIM FLAM UPSTAIRS AND PUT YOUR PAJAMAS ON!” my husband yelled.
“I knew it…
You’re an Evil German,” said Number 3, as he dropped his forehead down onto his arms which were folded on the kitchen counter.
I guess another history lesson is in order.
But I think I’m gonna shell out some cash and let a tutor handle this next one.
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