A Happy, Hoppy Odyssey: From a Flavorsome Hobby to a Dream Job
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Abstract
Being born in a war sets a person in a fighting status ready to prepare for a free life and to refrain from external dominance, it appears. Such a precondition has apparently defined my existence. Fighting optimism! My parents were hardworking persons. My father, Bernardus De Keukeleire, was a dedicated mason working in a small private business that he ran together with his three brothers. They started sometime in the interbellum, the period between World War I and World War II. In that time, the building of houses required arduous efforts, and most of the construction labor had to be by hand. Evidently, all that muscle work triggered thirsty feelings in my father and my uncles, but those could simply be satisfied as one of the quatuorvirate owned a wellknown café popular after work with laborers. My mother, Alice Tuypens, was a modest housewife busy with maintaining a grocery store. In addition, she sold a wide assortment of goods to meet the needs of big families in a small village of a few hundred inhabitants. Besides, as a skillful seamstress, she had the advantage of being specialized in sewing peasant-wear, as most of the villagers were farmers. Her family history was dramatic. The untimely death of her own mother left behind a family comprising seven boys and one girl, my mother. At the age of 14, she was obliged to serve as a substitute mother, which, manifestly, made life exceptionally strenuous. The emotion of the family could not be more euphoric than by the birth, in 1928, of their daughter, named Denise. But the misfortune could not be more tragic than by the passing away of their darling, in 1942, due to a virulent meningitis. This disaster happened in the middle of World War II, and with the miseries provoked by the armed conflict, my mother suffered tremendously. Mercifully, less than one and a half years later, I was born as the greatest blessing possible for my mother at the age of 37. Not surprisingly, my Christian name became Denis, as it referred rightly to the deceased sister. This name association grew into a climax, 16 months later, with the birth of a girl, my sister indeed. No words can describe the exaltation of my parents when giving her the name of Denise, as a kind of rebirth. The after-war conditions were harsh for the majority of the Belgian families, and my parents, with many others, had to struggle very hard to make a decent living. I grew up in a tiny village, called Beerlegem, with only 300 inhabitants, 78 houses, and 12 cafés, small bars that were run by the wives of farmers and laborers as a form of a second activity. My home, also the place where I was born, was situated in between two woods in the front and in the back, and between two cafés to the left and to the right. Was this particular location a predetermination of what my destiny would lead me to later in life? Karma? I recall that my father spent a lot of his free time with the neighbors, i.e., in the cafés, apparently without being disturbed too much by the consumption of alcoholic drinks. Thus, I am unbelievably grateful to him for passing along his genetic tolerance that granted me a lifelong resistance to hangovers! As a youngster, I attended the local elementary school and, very soon, it became apparent that the village possessed an upand-coming young talent. Just when I finished grammar school, my father regrettably died when I was only 12 years young, and my mother was uncertain about my future education. Anyway, I was poised to continue my learning process, which was not evident since most kids terminated school at the age of 12 or possibly 14 with a couple of additional school years. Indeed, “food must be put on the table,” as they said in the community, which meant that the boys and the girls had to get a job immediately after leaving school. For me personally, the wisest advice of my dad was, “Son, make sure that you do not sacrifice your life on a dull job like mine, leaving home daily with a humble bread bag on your back!” Throughout my whole life, I have kept this highly meaningful instruction close to my heart as the most valuable legacy of my esteemed father. His ultimate wish was inspired by the fact that the four-brothers company had to be discontinued in the early 1950s due to the lack of up-to-date equipment. As a result, from being an autonomous mason, my dad became a workman with a big contractor in Brussels, including one hour each way travel by train. And, as cancer was slowly invading his weakening body, the daily occupation became a devastating burden.