A…”Where are you from?”
This is a loaded question that I have no answer for.
Me…”I suppose I am a child of this planet.”
I was born in the bush in Liberia in 1971…there was a little hospital there.
I like to say ‘the bush’…it sounds cool. I like to sound cooler than I really am.
At the time we were living there things were peaceful and stable. This is before Samuel Doe starts off a bloody chain reaction that rips this wonderful country and people to pieces for the next 20+ years.
My father traveled back there several years ago for work. He came back home to us and told us our old house had been destroyed by mortar shells and he couldn’t find any of the people that used to work for our family. When I say worked for our family I mean the driver, the houseboy, the night watchmen and such…It sounds like we were rich doesn’t it? We weren’t. We were piss poor. We were in a Third World country though and the dollar went farther there.
If you ever ask me what my dad did for work I’ll tell you what I know. He was an Air Traffic Controller for Pan Am. However because of all the places he had to go the joke in the family was, “We know what your Dad does, he works for The Company.’”
I just had to call my Daddy and had to ask him if I could actually blog about this.
Me…”Dad, before I type all this out can you be honest with me? Did you work for the CIA?”
In the back of my friends that know my parents, family members and my mind we always wondered… an Ex Marine that speaks several languages and has contacts all over the world…
D…”You know I couldn’t tell you if I did or didn’t.”
I laugh.
The other day my middle son asked me if I knew anyone that worked for the CIA and I said…
…”I can confirm nor deny that, Bug.”
Me…”I know THAT Dad. I just don’t want to blog about something and get someone in trouble.”
D…”You can blog about anything you want, honey, I can handle myself.” He says to continue his myth.
My Dad, my older Brother and myself are three of THE biggest bull-shiters in the world. Into and out of trouble we bull-shit our way through life.
We moved and spent a few years living on Long Island. We still had no money and we were a family of 6 now. They had ‘friends’ that got things for them that had ‘fallen off the truck’. We ate ground sirloin because of my parents ‘friends’.
My family moved to Oman. We lived there for 8 years. I spent my formative years living as a minority in an amazing country. We lived in Oman when the Iran Iraq war broke out and things changed drastically. We were no longer allowed to play ‘war’ because of the gunman on top of our building. We ended up roller skating a lot and looking for other trouble to get in. We got into a lot of trouble.
He really did work for Pan Am, I should clarify this. If we wanted to go somewhere he would bring home a stack of tickets and he would fill them out. We traveled for free all over the world. Cool Huh?! We still had no money. When we traveled we stayed with friends or at ‘Bug and Boards’, that was code for a cheap hotel. We also ate at ‘Choke and Pukes’.
I love Pan Am, even to this day. My memories of the dessert cart in First Class (when room was available), the really nice flight attendants (really nice because we were all Family), not to mention the friends I have to this date because of Pan Am.
I don’t miss getting bumped off flights because there was no room and having to sleep in the Bahrain International Airport on the hard plastic orange chairs...that were contoured so you couldn’t lay across them. Or any of the other Airports we got stuck in so numerous to count and name.
I wonder how my Mom did it. It was usually just her and us four Children as she traveled the globe as my Dad worked. She once took us to HongKong for a week. You know what I remember the most? The Eels in buckets on the docks and because I had the flu and she was busy shopping, her putting me in some corner of a shop so she could get her snake skin shoes made. I remember a lot more than that but this is MY Mother….I am SO her Daughter. This was also the woman that made us read, ‘The Ugly American’. A lesson in a book I’m sure you should all read.
One day we ended up in what is now called Mumbai, I’m old though, back then it was called Bombay. I don’t think it was a planned stop. My father was with us this time. I was probably 7 or 8 and remember it well. The memories, colours and smells vivid in my mind.
People were living in boxes on the side of the street, foul with the smell of human waste. Live animals, I’m not talking dogs and cats, I think they had all been eaten, were roaming aimlessly. I remember being so sad and thinking that there was nothing I could do to help. It was dark but the sky was orange, everything else the colour of dirt. I felt assaulted everywhere I turned, the smell’s, the sadness, their inescapable way of life. I just wanted to hide behind the powerful, giant figure that I called, ‘Daddy’.
I had been going to Souqs for years. Who knows what we had bought from the vendor on the kabob stick! So, not a lot bothered me even at a young age. This was different though. They weren’t the homeless people I see here in Colorado on the street today. These people were different and yet they weren’t, they were just like us. Born in different circumstances than ours. There were lepers all over the place and just normal people trying to make some kind of end’s meet asking my Dad for change, anything. Can you imagine their life? I can’t and I saw it. I had never wanted to run and hide so badly. I knew they were just like me, just born in a different country to different parents. Being born in Liberia, I could have been born to any number of couples….who knows how God works?
I hadn’t lived a sheltered life by any means. I remember crying. The people that crossed our path then are probably all gone by now. Choosing another life to live in another time perhaps. I hope they are at peace now.
I had seen more than most at even this young age. The things I have seen, where I am from, where ever that is, have shaped part of me to be who I am today.
My parents have the most wonderful stories and have lived the most fascinating lives and thankfully they carted us along.
If you are reading this, I don’t care how poor you think are. You are amongst the richest 1% of the people on the planet.
The Holiday Season has begun. Not to put a damper on your big purchase, but have you ever thought of donating even $5.00 to some group that makes a difference in the world? I don’t care which one. I speak for no group.
As a ‘child of this planet’ and the mother of three amazing adopted children, one of which came from a place so poor the majority of the people there lived on a dirt hill in boxes with no running water, just like those in Mumbai…
You could have been born to anyone on this planet, King or Queen, Popper or Stable hand. Think about it, then do something.
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