My father, Hans-Georg Graf von Rittberg, was born on March 27, 1943, on his family’s estate in Pomerania during World War II. In early 1945, his mother, Karin Gräfin von Rittberg, eight months pregnant, fled with her two sons ahead of the Russian occupation. Her husband was executed in April 1945 for his involvement in the resistance against Hitler.

By the fall of 1945, they were finally able to reach Western Germany, escaping Russian-controlled territory. In our conversation, my father recalls his earliest memories in Königsbach, where they lived above a horse stall. Winters were brutally cold, and to keep her sons from freezing at night, his mother would bind their hands so they would keep them tucked under the blankets.

What I find most striking are the tender memories my father carries from such a devastating time — playing in the woods, building makeshift bridges, learning to navigate the world with curiosity and imagination. He speaks about growing up in post-war Germany with a mother who, despite having lost almost everything, always found ways to create a good life from what they had.

As he grew older, his central ambition became rebuilding what had been lost, and one day offering his own family the life he had always dreamed of. Had my father not received a Fulbright scholarship to study in New York — where he met my mother — I would not be here today.

Their life together has been one great adventure, and I feel deeply grateful and proud to be part of it.