My father is short, but still sturdy. In his youth he was a keen gymnast. Having grown up himself without a father from age four, it was always hard for him to fulfil his role properly. He never learnt what being a father means and what it entails. I was about 14 years old and had started pilfering money out of my parents’ wallets one or two years before. Not that I really needed it, but the act of stealing appealed to me. My parents earned good money as engineers in the GDR. Since there was hardly anything to buy in our country, money generally didn’t play a major role in everyday life. I had learnt from my father how to ride a moped at an early age, so I began to expand my criminal activities to vehicles as well. One night I was caught in the act by the police. My father picked me up from police headquarters and was visibly disappointed. In the kitchen at home, we had a brief tussle, from which I remember coming out on top. That was our first and last physical confrontation.

I never really liked that house. It stole too much time from us. It was not a good place for the three of us. Now only one still lives there. And is waiting.

B

Kitchen at home, O., fight with my father, age 14