MWW biography

I've been a victim my whole life. I came to this country as a young boy of five and it's proven itself to be one of the most despicable places on earth. In school, having just arrived and not speaking English as properly as my classmates (or I should say as familiarly, since their grammar and vocabulary were terrible), I was ostracized. I can distinctly remember on two incidents in my first year or two where I heard classmates saying something about me. This isn't counting the numerous times I saw them laughing and guessed it was about me as well.
Every summer, when school went on its break, as prescribed by their outdated agrarian scheduling, I returned to Germany to see my grandparents. My family was poor and could only afford one plane ticket (I'm an only child), so I had to ride on an airplane across the Atlantic both ways every summer, which set the tone of the solitary journey I'd take throughout my entire life.
The summers, though, were wonderful. I was in my beloved homeland, with my dear grandfather and grandmother. My grandmother had cooked for our entire town during the war, and I can still remember the delicious pastries she baked with the fresh berries and fruits she picked from the mountains. (In America you can never find fresh bread or fruits. Everything is processed, commercialized, and sold in gaudy plastic packaging. Although I do prefer certain premium baked good brands over my wife's cooking, which is atrocious).
I still fondly remember my grandmother, even at the age of seventy, riding her bicycle along the cobblestone streets with a basket on the front filled with groceries.
It's a memory that is slowly being eroded by the asphalt and cars, the American way of life that I see everyday.
My grandfather was also remarkable. He was the one who persuaded me to be a doctor, when he told me, during one of our long walks along the Rhine river after dinner, that I should promise him to do a job that would help people. I decided my profession then and there. When I try to persuade my own children to take these same priceless walks with me, they always seem to have something else to do. Walking is a delicate way of life that no one in this country appreciates.
Eventually though, I would have to return to the country where I was an outcast, and then after my grandparents both died, when I was 10 and then 11, those beloved trips ended.