PFO-TCK. What does that mean?

I am mid-way through a two week training conference geared at preparing teachers, administrators, and dorm parents who are about to go teach, administer, or parent at international Christian schools. The training is called PFO-TCK, which stands for Pre-Field Orientation- Third Culture Kids. TCKs are people who spent a significant part of of their formative years in a culture which is not their parents' home culture. TCKs are usually the children of missionaries, international businesspeople, or diplomats. Due to their unusual childhoods, TCKs have special needs and concerns, as well as special giftings and experiences.



As I prepared to come to this conference, I must confess my attitude was a hint on the arrogent side. I have LIVED culture shock and international interaction and such for the past...um...better part of eight years. And on top of that, I just finished a masters degree in intercultural studies.





But I'm happy to say that my experience here has put my pride in my own knowledge to flight. I have really learned a lot of new stuff, and also been reminded of some important stuff that I'd already lived out and/or learned in my times abroad.



Beyond the stellar training that we're being provided, it's been a real blessing to be surrounded with a group of people who have similar goals, desires, passions, and even fears. Most of us are leaving for our respective schools later this summer, so nearly everyone is buying tickets, waiting for visas, trying to sell a house and/or a car, and asking for advice on how best to ship their stuff to their new home. Although my friends and family are excited for me (mostly!) and interested with this whole process, it's nice to be with peers who can relate. Just relate.





We're at Houghton College in New York state. It's in the boonies. I mean, really in the boonies. They're beautiful boonies, though, and we got to go to a state park on Friday night, and then took a day trip to Niagara Falls on Sunday, so I shall leave you with some photos of the fun.

This is me with Annie. She and I met in Spain last summer, when we both taught at the English Camp in Tres Cantos. We were excited to find that we were both slated to attend this conference. Annie's going to teach high school math at Dakar Academy in Senegal, West Africa.

We're having fun in this tree here. It was a nice tree, indeed. I like trees. I think that's a reflection of my mother's influence in my life.

These are my roommates for these two weeks. Annie on the left. Anne, in the pink, is also a graduate of my master's program at Wheaton. She will be teaching ESL at Black Forest Academy in Germany. That tall girl is the middle is me. I'll be teaching middle school ESL at Alliance Academy International in Ecuador. And on the right is Grace, who'll be teaching elementary ESL in China. We decided to cover the globe like that.

Here we are in our apartment, demonstrating how mature and ready to shape the minds of the next generation we are.

Um, nothing much to say about this picture. Except I like it. And that our rommate situation is so fantastic. We bonded in record time.

Here's a shot from a bridge a few miles from the school. It was way prettier than the picture appears. I just wanted to jump right in.





This is the waterfalls at the state park we went to.

This bridge is on the path from our apartment to the main part of the campus. We're looking dignified, in case you couldn't tell.

Here we are, straddling the border between the U.S. and Canada. Sunday was our Niagara Falls day, and we had a great time. It was my third trip to the Falls, but my first time riding on the Maid of the Mist boat ride. We also got caught in a big ole storm and ate supper at Hard Rock Cafe. A good time was had by all.

Leslie's Deep South Adventures

I spent the first week of June gallivanting about in the hinter regions of our glorious country. I kept a list of funny things I saw on the trip down. My favorite one was a van I was following for awhile. It didn't have a back license plate, but instead someone had conveniently cut a piece of cardboard to fit the spot and written on it in black magic marker, "Lost Tag". Oh! Well, thanks for explaining that for us... I wonder if the cops find the sign helpful?

Destination #1 was Cleveland, Tennessee where I spent some time with a Wheaton friend, Kristy. Here we are, enjoying her family's pool...

That's Kristy's daddy in the background. We often tell stories about our dads and have pretty much determined that they are the same person, in two different bodies. Everything from the lifetime NRA memberships to the car advice to the flannel shirts and worn-out bluejeans. Good, solid men. We're equally thankful for them both.

Kristy had to work, but her workplace is pretty casual so I just followed her around like a lost, Northern puppy. Now this was my first plunge into the Deep South and I have to say it was an adventure, indeed. Just like my Captain D's cup says (above). Incidentally, don't go to The Great Little Seafood Place south of the Mason-Dixon line unless you're not very hungry and have a lot of time to kill. I tried two- one in TN and one in AL and both times I seriously considered leaving without my food. S-L-O-W.

But back to the South. Let's chat a minute about that accent. I mean, what's not to love about a little southern drawl? I think spelling must be even harder for Southerners than it is for me. Spelling "goodbye" takes a little thinking for anyone. B-Y-E? But at least it's spelled the way it sounds. Here. But if where you live people actually see the word "goodbye" and say "ga-BAH"? How confusing is that? On the other hand, Kristy pointed out to me during my visit that I sounded "especially Northern" when I say the word "talking". Turns out I pronounce it exactly the way I pronounce "tocking". Apparently the 'l' gets a bit more attention in Dixie.

Kristy's job involves working with short-term work teams that come in from all over the country, and that first week I was there the leader of one of the teams also happened to be a pastor from a Southern Baptist church in Wingo, Kentucky. His name was Bubba. And since he was the pastor, everyone called him Brother Bubba. Even over the PA system. This was my first opportunity to not laugh out loud at funny things during my trip. It would be the first of many.

When I pulled off the interstate in northern TN for some supper on the way down I was reminded that I had driven a long way. That was my first Captain D's experience. Also, the guy at the gas station called me hon (I'm pretty sure I'd never met him before) and the cashier ma'amed me the whole time.

But if I thought I was getting a southern experience at that point, I was wrong. If you want Southern, may I suggest a journey to Alabama? If you've seen the movie "Sweet Home Alabama", you may recall the main character claiming, "You should need a passport to come down here." She wasn't far off...

The purpose of my visit to Alabama was to see my long-lost friends, Bob and Jane, who moved to Oxford, AL two years ago for Bob's job. I have any number of chuckle-worthy Alabama stories, but let me give you one typical example of my experience there.

One afternoon Jane and I stopped at "The Wal-Mart" (the 'the' is required there) for some potato salad. Jane asked the nice lady behind the deli country for a quart. "We're out of quart containers; I'll give you two pints..." she reports as she finds the plastic containers. Jane and I exchange a look, but whatever. We can eat two pints as easily as a quart. So when the lady finishes scooping, she takes the two cartons over to the saran-wrap machine. I think to myself, "Now why would she need to wrap that? It already has a lid..." Au contraire, friend. Out of lids, too. We walked out with this:

The important thing to remember down there is not to be in a hurry. And in all honesty, with as hot as it was during my visit, I see no problem with slowing down. Or central air, for that matter. And a swimming pool...

On Saturday, Bob and Jane and I drove to Birmingham to tour the Civil Rights Institute. It's located across the street from the 16th Street Baptist Church, where four little girls were killed by a KKK bomb in 1963 (see http://www.nps.gov/nr/travel/civilrights/al11.htm for more info) The museum was an interesting experience for me. I've never thought too much about racial issues, having spent most of my life in mostly-white rural northwest Ohio. I've never felt like a minority in the US before. But I did there. The other people at the museum were almost exclusively black. Even though I wasn't born during that time and even though I wasn't from there, I felt condemned; guilty by association. It was a new experience for me. Part of that is, I think, a result of the tone of the place. I left with the feeling that if the people it represented could just lay it out there, they would be saying, "We hate you white people. We hate what you have done to us, and to our ancestors. And we are determined not to let you forget it."

It seems to me that healing could be happening, and happening more quickly, with a different attitude. But I also recognise that I don't really understand. Not just because I wasn't there, but because I am from a different world.

It also made me think a lot about societal sin, which has been a new concept for me since grad school. As people raised in an individualistic society, we tend to think of our actions as just that- ours. We expect to be held responsible for what we do, and only what we do. However, the more I learn about it, the more I'm convinced that that's not really a biblical stance. Scripture is full of references to the sins of families, towns, nations, and races. I'm still not sure my whole stance, but it was an interesting thing to ponder as I walked through the displays that afternoon.

While with Bob and Jane we also went to the highest point in the state (Cheha Mountain; pronounced amusingly like "yee-haw") and took some pictures...

And we went to see the biggest Magnolia Tree in the nation (as proven by the little plaque...)

I know you can't really tell how big it is from the picture. You'll just have to trust me to tell you the truth. I'm not lying. This was also the day I learned that a Magnolia is a flowering tree and not just a normal flower. Who knew? And it's a pretty tree, too. Shiny leaves and big, white flowers.

And what trip to the Deep South would be complete without BBQ? Jane and I lunched at Betty's BBQ one day so I could get some local fare. The BBQ was good, but my favorite part was the onion rings. Definitely the best onion rings I have ever eaten. Fried green tomatoes and corn bread rounded out my meal. There were little statues of pigs all over the restaurant.

And speaking of pigs, I saw a Piggly Wiggly. I'm not sure if I thought that was a joke or what, but I was a bit surprised to see a real, live one. Seriously, what was the thought process involved in naming that store?

So all in all, my journey was yet another example of how travel is educational. Almost as good as being in school. Maybe better. Certainly better scenery...

How to pack in multi-layers.

On Friday, May 31st my dad, stepmom, brother, and niece pulled into my driveway with an Aztec and a trailer. They had arrived to load me up and move me back home. It was time.

In so many ways, it was time. The night before I had finished my last ELS class and said goodbye to my students. All that week I had been meeting with friends to say goodbye. And I had been packing. Sorting. "Ruthlessly weeding" through my possessions (as my friends the Huizingas would say) and trying to pack.

I hate multi-layered packing. It seems that any time I pack it's multi-layered. That's when you have to pack with more than one trip in mind. For example, as I sorted through my clothes, this was the spiel I went through:

"Ok, do I need this shirt between now and when I move back to Ohio? No.
So, then do I need it for the 24 hours I'll be in Ohio? No.
Ok, will I need it during my road trip to see Kristy and Bob and Jane? No.
Well, then will I want to wear it this summer while I'm home? No.
Will I want it in Quito, Ecuador? No.
Um, am I EVER want to wear this shirt again? No.
Goodwill pile."

Imagine going through that scenario with every item you own. Yah. I can feel your sympathy.
Of course, if at any point during that big old list of questions the answer is yes, then I pack it into a corresponding container.

And in the end, I thought seriously about burning all my earthly possessions and starting over. But alas, you can't burn stuff in DuPage county, so I kept sorting and packing and eventually, I moved home.