Road Dog Diaries WW2

Some days my job is incredible! For instance I get to meet all kinds of new people and open my mind to new ways of thinking. Today Robbie bought ice cream for me the rest of the crew, that was awesome! I get to ride around this country with my road family and some of the best of my friends. I have an opportunity to learn history directly from the source and I have an opportunity to change history as well.

But there are days when it’s very heavy to be a picker, to work in antiques and vintage, history is heavy sometimes.

Yesterday was one of those days. The day started beautifully, I was able to sleep in until 7 AM and since we had a half an hour to drive I just did my make up and hair in the car which made my day easier. I’ve started to do this more often, there’s no need for me to stand in front of a mirror for an hour, my make up is not that important in all of this but my health, sleep and sanity are, so I’m trying to prioritize that.

I had a hot tea with honey and lemon and a Luna bar, lemon zest for breakfast and landed on location just in time to pull up and get caught up with the happenings of the day. I knew this is going to be a difficult pick even when I scheduled it. I knew that we would be traveling down a wormhole of politics and war and very heavy subject matter. I know my gut reaction to a lot of the subject matter we needed to cover and in the past I have chosen to stay more quiet and fade into the background because as a female, my interest in antiques are supposed to lie elsewhere. But I’ve spent the last year really reading up as much as possible on World War II.

I knew going into this pick we were specifically dealing with World War II memorabilia. I knew that we would have to have some very difficult conversations because I knew I was going to be surrounded by cultural appropriation and swastikas.

And I was...

I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to spend my money towards anti-racism classes which teaches me more about inclusivity, Black history and problematic history of not only our country but the world in general. This was sorely needed and I will continue to reseaand learn more about it for the rest of my life. Unpacking my own racism is a journey not a destination, much like happiness. You never really arrive, you just keep course correcting to better understand.

My interest in the World War II history really piqued about three years ago when I first watched the Oliver Stone series on World War II. It’s on Netflix, check it out if you like. There’s lots of great information there some really incredible resources and it teaches about World War II from a slightly different perspective.

I grew strong appreciation for that era through Burlesque and researching the history of artists of that time. I’m currently putting together a Series of books that helps me relate to that era through striptease. I’m hoping it will help others too. Therefore I’ve taken a stronger interest and feel that I’ve educated myself in a way that I finally feel comfortable with.

War and politics have always made me very uncomfortable. Every time somebody started to talk about it in the past my eyes would roll to the back of my head either out of anxiety or boredom. I have never considered myself a patriot and have zero connection to the flag of the United States of America. I’m sure that comes from my childhood as a Jehovah’s Witness I was taught to never pledge your life to a country. We were neutral in all things, we were passive.

As an adult, I chose to pledge my life to humanity and making it better instead. When you pledge your life to a country you get lost in an ideal, people are more important than an ideal. Now I’m not saying I’m right, I’m simply saying this is how I was raised. I’ve never said the Pledge of Allegiance and I have never saluted any flag.

The closest I have ever come to any of that was when I was in Manila, I didn’t have a choice. I had to stand up and put my hand over my heart and look towards their flag and stand in solidarity with all of the people around me or I was literally afraid that I would get hurt. I wouldn’t normally do this. But I felt genuine fear knowing the laws in Manila are very strict so I went along with it because I didn’t know what else to do.

This gave me an appreciation for the United States, I don’t have to worry that I will go to jail if I don’t salute the flag. I greatly appreciate that freedom.

I understand that this may be a problematic page in the road dog diaries but it is still my life and it’s important for me to speak on this because I’m sure I’m not the only person out there who has conflicted feelings about their country, their flag or nationalism and patriotic pride.

So as you can imagine walking into a contributors home who has mad respect for people in political power can be stressful.

What do we even talk about? How do we meet on the same page? How do I go through this person‘s home and understand their history and their problematic collection and not offend them in the process? Is it my job to not offend them? Or is it my job to ask difficult questions? Is it my place to speak out on politics and patriotism when I am neither political nor a patriot? What is my place in all of this? Why am I here?

Walking down the stairs into the basement the first thing I saw was a glass shelf full of German helmets from World War I. Structurally they were beautiful but as all German uniforms were. It was kind of their thing. But my guts still hurt knowing what lie ahead. I turned to the right and I saw a case full of SS memorabilia. This is not just Nazi memorabilia, the SS was the worst of the Nazis. The most brutal, cold, driven by fear, hatred and ego to purify the Aryan race.

I took a moment and composed myself. I could feel my blood start to boil. I could I feel my face get flushed. I got incredibly sweaty and wanted to leave the room. But I had a job to do so I turned the contributor and I asked him point-blank what would drive you to hoard such a collection? He replied “my father.” He explained “ my father served in World War II and never saw active battle but he was stationed in Europe and had a keen interest in the politics of the day since he was in the military”.

he explained to me that as a child his father was a hero to him and I would imagine that any child who has to see their parent go off to war would like to imagine them as a hero. He said that he would dress up in his old uniforms and play war with his friends in the neighborhood. He had learned so much from his fathers stories and it was obvious to me that he saw his dad as not only a war hero but also a superhero.

This really switched the lens with which I saw him. I was able to look at the situation from a slightly different perspective. But I was still guarded.

He explained to me that every piece of SS and Nazi memorabilia and World War II memorabilia that he had in his home was collected as trophies or souvenirs from American GIs that somehow needed to rationalize what had happened and really needed to convince themselves that what they did was right. They would take pieces off of the dead soldiers that they killed and send them home. I saw one nazi helmet they had postage stamps on it. They would simply pick up the helmet off the battlefield put some stamps on it and stick it in the mail and send it home for their families. They wanted to be heroes in the eyes of their families. They wanted to let their families know that they were stopping the bad guys.

I can look on this conversation with some sort of judgment because I’ve never been in that situation. I can look at that and see how brutal it is and rationalize that every killer likes to take a trophy. There are plenty of serial killers in prison right now who have taken trophies from their victims.

But there is a difference. the difference is that these men didn’t have a choice. They were programmed by our government to kill when ordered. They were often drafted and the ones that were not drafted saw it as an honor to protect their country.

Warriors are different. They’re simply different. They think differently.

Warriors have seen things that we cannot rationalize unless we have seen them ourselves they have had experiences that have been burned into their psyche and cause extremely traumatic memories for the rest of their lives. The rationalization is simply different. Not saying it’s right or wrong... just different.

While I have experienced extensive trauma within my life as many people have, this is a trauma I have never had to visit. So I realize that I need to dial down my judgment and listen. I’m talking to a grown man who is still in deep morning over the mental scars his father brought home from war. The heaviness of that set in even deeper on me.

For his own reasons, he feels it necessary to keep collecting historical items from his father’s past. He does take these items to schools and educational events to educate young and old alike on WW2.

He does not glorify the SS or Nazis or the war but he does hold on to the history for dear life. I get the feeling that without that he would have no sense of identity. I get the sense that his entire identity is wrapped up in the history of war. I’m not judging that, I’m simply observing.

I get it, maybe? Kind of. On some level I feel that way about Burlesque so on some level I can relate.

I learned a lot today about World War II but I really learned about the human condition and how war affects every single person that it touches. Even if you’re just reading about it. More importantly I learned how we all process this differently. Growing up a Jehovah’s Witness, swastikas terrified me because early Jehovah’s Witnesses were put in concentration camps. They were adorned with a purple triangle. Gays were adorned with a pink triangle and Jews were adorned with a purple star.

As a child myself, I spoke with brothers and sisters in the congregation, who survived the Holocaust. We had many documentaries and movies and books written on the subject matter, that I studied in-depth as a child. I was home schooled to separate myself from “the world” and “worldly influences” my education was intermittent and my parents were very busy with my Dads photo studio so I was at the library all the time reading. I became obsessed with reading about Hitler and figuring out why he did the things that he did to the people that I had considered to be “my people”, the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I also drew the conclusion that a huge part of my gut reaction was based off of what I heard as a child. I was told that the world would end in a similar manner to WW2 and that I should prepare for it.

I spent my entire life up until I was 18 years old mentally preparing to prove my loyalty to Jehovah (Gods Hebrew name) and possibly die in a concentration camp.

We spoke of it daily in my home. From childhood, I was under the distinct impression that the world would end before the year 2000. I knew that I would have a short life. I came to terms with dying at a very young age.

When I was 18 years old I realized that I had the option to walk away from that religion and I did.

It cost me every friend and family member I had. Since we weren’t allowed to make friends outside of the church, the only thing I knew was the church. And when you leave the Jehovah’s Witness faith, you don’t get to take anybody with you. I was literally alone, processing everything.

My family and friends were directed to not speak to me until I came back to “the truth, the light and the way.” it was so strict that if I saw my parents in public eating in a restaurant I knew that I had to turn around and leave the restaurant or they would have to. I was always the one to walk away first so that nobody else had to do it.

I knew that since I left the organization, it was my responsibility not to make other people feel uncomfortable.

But I so deeply wanted them all to feel my pain. Which explains much of my later life.

It was an isolating and lonely process. It was incredibly difficult to survive. I had no idea how to operate in the world. I had no education, no bank account, I had no skills, women in that religion at that time we’re not educated.

To reach out for higher learning was extremely frowned upon and psychiatry was a no-no so I didn’t realize that I could go get help for this trauma until later in my life.

Sexual assault was OK between husband and wife. Women were property to their husband and not protected within the organization and that inflicted even more trauma as I was married to a highly abusive man within the faith, at the time.

My experiences and choice to leave haunted and terrified me and it scarred me mentally for the rest of my life. It all still shakes me to my core. It certainly colored the lens with which I look through life.

And in that moment, Down in that underground museum, I realized THAT was the anxiety and the trauma I was feeling in the basement of this contributors house. It’s interesting how something can be a comfort to one person and a trigger to another.

Perspective is so important. And I’m learning mine, I certainly don’t have it yet but I’m learning mine.

I’ve since worked through much with my folks in the last few years and I don’t know that I have any answers. I still don’t like to look at swastikas or churches, and I’m still traumatized by my childhood but I’m learning to understand different perspectives and forgive others and myself when necessary. I’m learning to pin point where that fear comes from and only in researching and understanding where that fear originates can I properly process it.

If I never educate Myself about what scares me, it will always have power over me.

One more time....

If I never educate Myself about what scares me... it will ALWAYS have power over me.

I know it’s a lot but these are my feelings today as I process yesterday’s pick❤️

And Robbie going out of his way to get ice cream for everyone made it all feel a bit better.

I now have some sense of security with my tribe at 45 years young. We disagree on MUCH but we always agree that love wins out and family is family in church or in prison. We don’t let eachother flail alone in the storm. We band together and work through it all. And I’m thankful for that. Every. Single. Day.

(please note that we are not wearing masks because we are filming in this photo. When I am not filming I am wearing that damn mask. We are not allowed to wear masks while we are filming because we cannot effectively do our job with our faces covered. I have a lot of feelings about this but this is how it is. Just a heads up so please don’t give me any shit about it, I’m already conflicted enough💗)