“Not really,” says Michael, feeling awkward. Another drink would be a nice distraction. “I think he told me some things when I was younger, after we flew over… He said something about my mother once, but he didn’t know my mother. I could never figure that out. I know he’s from the FRG, though. West Germany,” he clarifies, because no one he ever talks to seems to know what FRG or GDR mean.