Mamaw & Mr. Hitler

There's a story coming up, but I've got to give some background first so you'll understand how truly funny it is, situational wise.
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Background Mamaw:
Sissy (From My Noodle) and I share a Mamaw. Hers by blood, mine by love (she loves me most). I've had Mamaw since about 1984 and she is 83 years old. If you know her really well, then you know she came to America in 1941 as a war bride. Born and raised in Germany, she met (in the romantic version in my head) a dashing American soldier and he swept her away to the States. Mamaw was on her own by the time I really came into the family. She still carries a bit of the German accent, and more so when she is irritated or angry. She seldom if never cooks German food, having raised 7 American children, and now having not just grandchildren but great grandchildren on culinary delights of the best fried chicken, chicken & dumplings, and fried potatoes you ever tasted. She also makes really good tea, with full tea leaves and cheesecloth. No bags for her. If you know her well, you know the war also impacted her life by shattered glass taking one of her sights. She returns every few years to the land of her birth, as an American citizen, often with adult children and grandchildren in tow. Mamaw also lives in a neighborhood that, once very nice, has become very "rental" and predominantly black and not well cared for maintenance wise. While there are plenty of neighborhoods in a similar situation predominantly white, hers is predominantly black. I am not arguing or justifying any racial discussions or arguments, I'm just supplying the background. The neighborhood is now predominantly black, rental, and low maintenance and high crime, there by putting a lady in her 80's in an emotional state of turmoil.

Background My Dad:
A child of the war, his father was a prisoner of war once declared dead during the war. When the allied forces got to his prison camp (so they tell me), the Germans had left it, leaving the prisoners/soldiers to kind of walk-about. My grandfather got his own file out and kept it. My father has it. My dad reads books about the war, and watches all the old black and white History channel stories.

Background: Mamaw Visits
My parents enjoy having Mamaw in their home for supper, and I believe Mamaw enjoys the visits. Usually it's related to my birthday, but sometimes, like last night, it's "just because." "Just because" I went and picked her up and brought her, and because Mom was making my favorite (I admit it) chicken strips. My Dad always asks Mamaw similar questions about the war, or Germany, etc. One visit, he asked her if she would read his father's POW camp file and translate it for him. It was mostly words like from a drivers license, "American", "Pilot", etc., nothing that would cause historians to rewrite history. Last night, he added a new twist.

Background: Special Effects
When you read "HU" it stands for Hands Up, as in hands raised up, palms facing outward, fingers wiggling, for emphasis. Do it now so you see what I'm talking about, throw both hands up in "STOP! IN THE NAME OF LOVE" way and wiggle your fingers.

OK, that's enough background. Now, on to the story.
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The Story:

I pick Mamaw up about 5pm, and she talks about the general decline of her neighborhood during the trip to my parents. We get to my parents house, and Mom is still cooking in the kitchen, Daddy has (thank gawd!) finally put on some clothes, and very hospitable, except for his departure to go get his granddogs, that he loves so much. He gets back and sets down in the living room to talk to Mamaw, and the conversation goes (almost) pretty much as I anticipated.

Mamaw: Are there any blacks living up on this hill?
Dad: There's a few families on the end.
Mamaw: Some comment about her neighborhood going down.
Dad: When did you come to the U.S.?
Mamaw: In 1941.
Dad: How often do you go back?
Mamaw: Well, I go back pretty often, but it was 13 years the first time. I had trouble speaking the language the first time I went back. I could understand what they were saying, but I hadn't spoken it in 13 years.

~~~~~~This is all pretty much a repeat of other living room conversations, but they both enjoy it. I expect Daddy to pull back out his daddy's POW file and ask her to read it again for him~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dad: Where did you live?
Mamaw: About 2 hours from Frankfort.
~~~~~I know the name of the town, she returns there on her trips and still has relatives alive there, but she doesn't say it~~~~~~~
Dad: Well ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ here it comes ~~~~~~

Did you ever see Hitler?
Mamaw: No, I lived out in the country.

Dad: Well, I've read a lot of books about him and I know he had a lot of those "HU" rallies. I thought you might have seen him at one of those.
Mamaw: No, he stayed pretty much in the big cities. We only saw him in newspaper and at the movies.

DID YOU EVER SEE HITLER?!!!!!
I KNOW HE HAD A LOT OF THOSE "RALLIES", the word "rallies" said with voice emphasis and the before described hand motion. "RALLIES"

Oh My Gawd. Between the blacks and the Hitlers, I am sure I was the only one in there that thought that conversation was TOO BIZARRE. That Daddy was asking Mamaw, 83 years old, if she was ever a fraulein in the throbbing masses of blonde haired soldiers at one of those "rallies."

I called Sissy on my way home and relayed the whole story and she too thought it was funny, like Daddy had been asking Mamaw if she'd gone to see Hitler in concert!
Good gracious. That's one for the books.