The Memory Box BY IRENE STOOF PEARMAIN
A MEMORY BOX HANGS ON THE WALL of my family room as a symbol and reminder to my family, friends, and to all who enter my home of the pride and gratitude I feel for my German heritage. In one square, alongside the picture of my father in his World War I uniform, is a sampling of his favorite music, " T h e Pilgrims' Chorus" from Tannhauser by Richard Wagner, whose music I now love and appreciate. In another section is a candle holder and candle from our Christmas tree, a picture of Mamma and Daddy in front of our beautiful tannenbaum, and the first line of "Susser Die Glocken Nie Klingen," Mamma's favorite Christmas carol. Last Christmas Eve I mustered up enough courage to put real candles on my Christmas tree so that we could recapture for all of the Stoof grandchildren the feelings of those wonderful German Christmases of our childhood. Down in a corner of the memory box is a stem of embroidered forget-me-nots, the flower my mother loved from her childhood days in Koenigsberg. Whenever I see a forget-me-not I instantly think of her and my German heritage. I see a forget-me-not and it's as if I can hear her saying, "Never forget who you are. Never forget you are a Stoof V I would like to share some of the forget-me-nots in the memory box of my heart, of being the second generation of the German immigrant. In the early 1940s our home on Blaine Avenue smelled of German food, adhered to the strict rules of German discipline, followed German traditions, and communicated in the German language. It was a home with an abundance of love and warmth as the family struggled to survive on a meager income with the needs of eight high-spirited children to be met. It was not easy to be a German in those days. World War II had taken its toll. When the teachers at school would discuss the United States as the "melting pot" for all nationalities, we would have to tell what blood flowed in our veins and I would have to say, "I'm 100 Mrs. Pearmain is a resident of Salt Lake City.
