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If you’ve ever been to a parade where there’s a cage on a wagon full of the locally famous people you’ve seen a bit of history, but with a modern less horrible twist to it. That is usually a fundraiser. You “buy” these people out of the cage. I haven’t seen this recently but it was more common when I was growing up.

Now, let me tell you the historical context of that cage, children, and never seeing your parents again.

My grandfather in 1890 (my mother was born in 1917 and just died recently. She had me in her forties, so, yes, my grandfather.) was living in Germany. He’d just turned 13. Every year the army sent around a horse drawn wagon with a cage on it. The soldiers would search each house, barn and numerus possible hiding places looking for boys who were of a certain age. That age varied, but if a boy looked healthy and hale, he’d be thrown into the cage. He’d just been inducted into the army. He’d be thrown into a huge barracks of much older men, some of whom where former prisoners who’d agreed (been forced) into army service. The German peace time army had the highest death rate in the world. Children, now soldiers, were raped and beaten, some until they died.

Now, concerned parents, who knew exactly what would happen, could buy their children out of the cage. Money was scarce and the soldiers would be back next year to repeat the process. So, to protect my grandfather my great grandparents pulled out their meager savings, gave it to him and sent him away with a grade school map of Europe. He walked…from Bavaria, to Portugal. I’d imagine it was one harrowing adventure, but he rarely spoke of it. He boarded a ship and came to America.

He never saw or was able to communicate with his parents again. He married a woman who was also from Germany. My mother said they despised Germany and refused to speak German ever again. Mom said they’d argue with a dictionary.
Her: “You pusillanimous!”
Him: “Give me that!” *flipflipflip* “Pusillanimous...pusa…pusc…pusi…” *readreadread* “Why you…”*flipflipflip* “Harlot!”

I also knew an Iranian who had converted to Christianity. He told me, approximately, “I never contacted my family at home again. They are adherents to a horrible religion and it would be my father’s duty to kill me and my children. I miss them so, but it would be crazy and dangerous to contact them.”

So, let’s not bleed too much for these “poor children who will never see their country or parents again.” Gimme a break.

I knew a guy years ago who walked out of Cambodia with his family while the Khmer Rouge nipped at his heels the entire way. He walked with a pretty severe limp and I was helping him into a chair as we sat down to lunch.

I asked him what happened and his face clouded up. He told told of how 11 members of his family fled Phnom Pen just days before it fell to that gang of butchers. One of his uncles was a doctor at the hospital and stayed behind to treat the people who were too sick to leave.

He never heard from him again. His wife, my friends aunt, went with them.

It took them a month to get out and 7 of them died along the way either from disease or starvation. The limp came from setting off a land mine near the Thai border that killed his mother and his sister.

Of the 11 who started out only 2 of them made it. I apologized for asking and bringing up such painful memories. I was astonished at his response.

“People need to know what happened. No one believed it could happen to us. We were a normal middle class family. My uncle was a doctor. My aunt was a school teacher. Dad moved the rice to market so the people could eat. The communists murdered all of them. Now it’s only me and my cousin.”

Made quite the impression on me.