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INFP Hans was A Hitler Youth, and Other Fun Memories

Thursday June 4, 2020

I was raised, in part, by a remarkable Hungarian ISTJ named Eva. My ESFP mom was on the go quite a bit when I was a lad, and dad was hard at work too, so when things really got going, Eva would step in: “MARC, I AM HERE AT CHOOR SCHOOL TO PICK YOU UP BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER IS BUSY.” I’d go home with Eva and chill in her introverted household.

Psychologically, going to this house was like being handed some kind of calming recreational drug, maybe, after living in my own majority-extrovert house. Damn I loved Eva’s quiet little house.

Now, Eva is just about as ISTJ as you can get. Loving, but in everybody’s favorite tough as jerky fashion. Phew. At the grocery store: “Marc, you want to get some candy? Go get some candy. MARC, DON’T BE CHOOSY,” she’d call out in her loud, heavily-accented voice.

But she was also not fancy, which I liked about her, compared to my own folks.

Eva is married to Hans, who’s a German INFP. Hans, Mom let me know, was a Hitler Youth. And sure enough, there was this big party at my house one day, and one of us (possibly yours truly) brought up the topic of World War II, and Hans was there, and he was pretty damn nuanced about Hitler. The same MF who kept dad’s cousin in Stalag-whatever over Christmas!

But Hans also had a PC with games like Chessmaster 2000 and Countdown so I had to give him some doubt-benefits.

Hans was this classic Fi-dominant personality. INFPs are Introverted Feeling (Fi)-types. If you don’t know what that means, maybe just leave it at “pretty damn nuanced about people and relationships, and sure, maybe even Hitler”. I mean, that’s extreme and it’s not like every INFP loves Hitler or anything like that (oh god what a funny album title that would be) but it’s also a general perspective from which INTJs can benefit, this idea of being nuanced about people.

For her part, I was told that Eva didn’t like Jews either. She didn’t like Russians or Jews. Mom told me that Eva was the daughter of the Mayor of Budapest, and the presence of Russians drove her to leave, and then she had a bunch of bad experiences after that. She liked Hungarian stuff, let’s say. Maybe American stuff. Not even sure about that, but dammit, she lives here, so that might say something. It’s complex.

What I really liked about Eva’s house is, I’d walk in to this dark, relaxing little house (my dad was always complaining about light, so he’d buy houses for big windows) and there on the table, just for me, would be a glass of high-fat milk (dad made us drink skim) and a chocolate chip cookie. HOLY SMOKES. That right there was just something out of another world.

And sometimes, I’d walk in and there would be a glass of delicious, fatty milk and a whole flippin’ Ritter Sport sitting there! KNICK! Man that made me so happy. I’d sit there quietly, not a single emotion on my little face, but absolutely groaning with pleasure inside.

“DO YOU HAVE HOMEWORK, MARC?”

“No,” I lied. “Not today.” Why? Because…

“OK GOOD. Here, you can watch the TV.”

There we go. TV level unlocked. Man, I’d chill on this little couch, in the small, dark, step-down family room, and watch TV, all alone, until my mom came to pick me up. So great.

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