no one to talk to, no choice but to comply

no one to talk to, no choice but to comply

fiction
edward w pritchard

If I was brave, If I was forceful, If I was determined I wouldn't have to kill myself; but if I was brave, forceful and determined I wouldn't have a problem. I would be accepted in the Hitler youth, I wouldn't be tormented for being weak, and my problem would vanish for I would among be the strong myself, a tormentor rather than a victim of daily hazings and bullying. I am too cowardly to kill myself so the beatings continue.

My tormentors have been warned, they may not leave a bruise anymore. Mostly I am now thumped. An open hand to the upper back or the arm. Often, by many. Verbal abuse too, my adult instructors use me as the stock example in most stories of Decadent German youth. Only the Jews suffer more verbal abuse than me, and of course, Jews don't have to be in the Hitler Youth at age 14 nor do they attend the daily party lectures like I do. 

My parents have sold me out to the Party. They forced me to join the Hitlerjugen. Without a connection with the Nazi party my life will be difficult says my Father, for the Nazi's will have their way in Germany for the foreseeable future.  Both my Mother and Father have forsaken me, their only child, for expediency's sake. It's been ninety days that I have been in the Hitler youth and I was out of step immediately. Implicitly odd balls like me are targeted for abuse to either toughen us up and as an example to the other boys. Also bullying is natural, a logical out-flowing of the the Party's  philosophy.

It's nearly impossible to get away from the Nazi philosophy here in Hamburg in 1936. The only break I get from the Hitler youth is when I am at my Grand father's farm.

My Grandfather hates the Nazi's, but he says I have to man up, like he did in World War One.  That's why they leave him alone. He is a veteran, and a highly decorated enlisted man.  The local Nazi's  let Grandfather rant partly because of his war injuries, some to his head.  Me I have to carefully follow the party philosophy even in my secret thoughts.  Because I am watched I never know who is listening or who is watching my expressions as I go about my day. Only at my Grand Father's farm thirty miles East of Hamburg do I feel safe and secure from scrutiny.

When my Grand Father saw the bruises on my arms he told me the story about his sergeant in World War one. My Grand Father was one of three enlisted men suspected of shooting their platoon sergeant. As the sergeant lead his men from a trench, the sergeant was shot three times from the back. My Grand Father says I must learn to confront my problems with bullying at school that same way.

Grand Father doesn't understand. These Nazi;s are different. They are ubiquitous. Every day there are more and more Nazi's and they become more and more powerful. I am one of them. I told my Grand Father that if I wasn't thought to have the potential to be a valuable party member some day I would be in a work camp or maybe dead by now. As for Grand Father's story about his sergeant,  I am sure that the Nazi's have a file on Grand Father and his tenacity is one of the reasons I am thought to have potential and why the Party takes the trouble to groom me for the future. For now, today at least I can relax here at Grand Father's farm. Tom-morrow though it's back to the lectures and the party. Perhaps I can start to pick at some of the younger children when I return to classes. It's a way to direct attention from myself and allow me to fit in better.

What can I learn from Grand Father's story of his sergeant that will help me survive in the Hitler youth? I must have it in me to be able to cope. Grand Father did it, so can I.