After a year and a half of teaching in Mahachai I felt like I had truly found my home. I was a fairly gifted teacher who was loved by his students and made decent money for the time. I had great friends both Thai and Western and I was living a dream as far as being away from Oklahoma was concerned.
Then one day my parents called and I can still remember the sinking feeling as the dialogue turned to my "future." I hate this word at times. Future. Seemingly innocent yet quite the instigator of chaos given the right conditions. You know the conditions are right when you start getting pelted with questions like: " So what are you gonna do in the future? Where do you see yourself in the future? What about------your future?"
As I held the receiver to my head I took in the words that would strip me of my comfort and sense of belonging. Those words: "Maybe its time for you to come home." My reply: "Uh, maybe." They continued: " If you really want to be effective you need to have a degree." My reply: "Uh."
That Christmas I prepared to fly home back to the States.
Over thirty students showed up at the airport to bid me fairwell. As I prepared to go into the gates my boss and roommate came to give me their send-off handshakes. As he took my hand, my boss looked at me and said "4 months. You'll make it 4 months." I said: "I'm going to study for four years." He said: " You fit here."
I walked into the gates and boarded my flight for America. It was a mix of emotions for me as I left Thailand. I hadn't been there very long yet it left such an impression on me. I could still remember the overwhelming joy of my first return trip to America. Would it be the same this time around?
I returned home to my family who had already filled out my application to go to bible college at BBC in Springfield, Missouri.
After a couple of quiet weeks home I got myself ready to go back to school. You know the usual checklist: shirts, ties, shoes, deodarant, notebooks, HIV test, etc., etc..
I was indeed about to embark upon a stint aboard the USS Legal Eagle. The big question was was for how long?
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Fat White Man
It is every travelers hope to visit a foreign land, become accepted by the locals and taken into their culture. Well, I was, but not in the way I had intended to. I was accepted not because of my dashing good looks, my huge bank roll or my towering intellect. I was accepted and fawned over because I was,well, "fat."
As I got to know Mahachai and it's surrounding areas better I began to venture out on my 100cc, two-stroke, Yamaha moped. It was a great bike and that thing just wouldn't die. However, I noticed that no matter where I went people were always pointing at me and saying "Furlong Ooin!" At first it was startling, then a bit irritating, finally downright unbearable.
After a long and arduous trek through the verbal gauntlet I found myself in front of a class of Thai adults telling them why I hated their country and culture.
That night I went home and prayed to God that he would give me patience and a love for the Thais as I pretty much detested them at that moment. God didn't reply as I expected. I didn't have a "eureka!" moment nor the sounding of trumpets. In fact, an end to the mental gridlock didn't happen until about 3 months later when I came to a stop light.
I'll never forget coming to a four way intersection with a police checkpoint on the corner. I didn't have a license, a helmet or insurance. I quickly got into the inside lane, snuggled up to a van and crouched down with about 10 other riders avoiding the police as well.
I sat there and sweated for what seemed like an eternity until a policeman noticed by big foreign butt evading him. I didn't know what to do. I was stuck in the inside lane, the light was red and he was making his way straight towards me.
As he approached I straightened from my crouch, trying not to look too conspicuous. He walked up to me, wearing some fake "Gargoyles" and glared at me intently. I knew I'd been had. The officer then did something I shall never forget. Instead of reaching for his ticket book he took in his hand a chunk of my stomach and asked "How much you weigh?" I said, "Huh?" he said, "How much you weigh?" I said "127kg". He then turned around and yelled to the checkpoint in Thai "127!". The officers at the checkpoint then looked at each other in jovial unbelief and shouted back and forth to each other "127,127!".
The curious officer then saluted me and sent me on my way. It was then that I had my cultural epiphane. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I wasn't handsome, I wasn't rich but I was "different." A good "different" I later learned, as a Thai friend explained to me, that most Thais are intimidated by foreigners but are automatically at home with fat people as we project a certain "warmth." It was from that day on that I full-heartedly accepted my new title. Even to this day I'm still called "Furlong Ooin."
As I got to know Mahachai and it's surrounding areas better I began to venture out on my 100cc, two-stroke, Yamaha moped. It was a great bike and that thing just wouldn't die. However, I noticed that no matter where I went people were always pointing at me and saying "Furlong Ooin!" At first it was startling, then a bit irritating, finally downright unbearable.
After a long and arduous trek through the verbal gauntlet I found myself in front of a class of Thai adults telling them why I hated their country and culture.
That night I went home and prayed to God that he would give me patience and a love for the Thais as I pretty much detested them at that moment. God didn't reply as I expected. I didn't have a "eureka!" moment nor the sounding of trumpets. In fact, an end to the mental gridlock didn't happen until about 3 months later when I came to a stop light.
I'll never forget coming to a four way intersection with a police checkpoint on the corner. I didn't have a license, a helmet or insurance. I quickly got into the inside lane, snuggled up to a van and crouched down with about 10 other riders avoiding the police as well.
I sat there and sweated for what seemed like an eternity until a policeman noticed by big foreign butt evading him. I didn't know what to do. I was stuck in the inside lane, the light was red and he was making his way straight towards me.
As he approached I straightened from my crouch, trying not to look too conspicuous. He walked up to me, wearing some fake "Gargoyles" and glared at me intently. I knew I'd been had. The officer then did something I shall never forget. Instead of reaching for his ticket book he took in his hand a chunk of my stomach and asked "How much you weigh?" I said, "Huh?" he said, "How much you weigh?" I said "127kg". He then turned around and yelled to the checkpoint in Thai "127!". The officers at the checkpoint then looked at each other in jovial unbelief and shouted back and forth to each other "127,127!".
The curious officer then saluted me and sent me on my way. It was then that I had my cultural epiphane. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I wasn't handsome, I wasn't rich but I was "different." A good "different" I later learned, as a Thai friend explained to me, that most Thais are intimidated by foreigners but are automatically at home with fat people as we project a certain "warmth." It was from that day on that I full-heartedly accepted my new title. Even to this day I'm still called "Furlong Ooin."
Monday, January 15, 2007
Returning to the Land of Smiles
In October of 1998, having run myself ragged in one unfulfilling job after another I finally stopped running from that conviction in my heart and returned to Thailand.
It was exactly how I'd left it. Loud, smelly and far far from home. I tried to settle in to my new place but I hadn't been there no more than 3 days when I got some wicked "double ended" food poisoning. I didn't have a bed. I didn't have an air-conditioner. No closet. Nothing. I lay on a mat on the floor, profusely sweating and vomiting and asking God if all of this was really "necessary."
After about a week and bowl after bowl of plain rice I began to get better. Thanks to the kindness of my roommate at the time. Everyday he brought me food and more tissue. We quickly became friends and he helped me get settled into living in Mahachai.
Mahachai is an interesting place in the sense that it is one of the raunchiest smelling, dirtiest little cities you can go to and yet it is probably one of the most wealthiest cities in Thailand outside of Bangkok. Why does is stink? How is it economically endowed? Seafood.
Mahachai sits on the Gulf of Thailand and is surrounded not by beaches but by mangrove forests. Every evening the wooden fishing boats go out with their crews of 15 or 20 men and return the following morning with the night's catch. Whether it be fish, shrimp or squid.
And every other week you can see the bigger ships heading out to fish off the coast of Indonesia where Thai sailors currently have fishing rights.
Mahachai can be can interesting place but it definitely takes some getting used to. The great thing about prosperity is the food. As there are literally over a thousand different factories in and around Mahachai people from all over the country come here with aspirations of finding gainful employment. And with them they bring their own cuisine. The variety of food here is often the envy of most other provinces.
However, I was a picky, non-vegetable eating, fatty from "cattle country." Every day I ate the same thing(stir-fried pork with an egg over rice). Not willing to try anything too "exotic" looking.
After getting over my illness I quickly began teaching. It was interesting as I had never taught before yet it came very natural to me. Although the majority of my work was teaching children I did have an hour or two everyday teaching adults. This became quite enjoyable for me. We teachers were given much leeway as to the what we taught and how we taught it.
My idea was to teach things that interested me, for if I was interested in the subject being taught they, the students, would naturally be interested in the subject as well. I'm a very hands-on type of guy and so my students and I would spend time together doing many projects. Video taping mock newscast, building hot balloons or taking them out on weekends for a class on tactical shooting at the local range. Whether it be a science or social project, the students really began to enjoy our time together.
However, the many cultural differences were beginning to wear on me after 3 months. As I've mentioned before I'm not the skinniest of men and I had earned myself a nickname with the Thais. "Furlong Ooin." Which translates "Fat White Man." Funny at first and eventually downright irritating. It wouldn't be long before I snapped.
It was exactly how I'd left it. Loud, smelly and far far from home. I tried to settle in to my new place but I hadn't been there no more than 3 days when I got some wicked "double ended" food poisoning. I didn't have a bed. I didn't have an air-conditioner. No closet. Nothing. I lay on a mat on the floor, profusely sweating and vomiting and asking God if all of this was really "necessary."
After about a week and bowl after bowl of plain rice I began to get better. Thanks to the kindness of my roommate at the time. Everyday he brought me food and more tissue. We quickly became friends and he helped me get settled into living in Mahachai.
Mahachai is an interesting place in the sense that it is one of the raunchiest smelling, dirtiest little cities you can go to and yet it is probably one of the most wealthiest cities in Thailand outside of Bangkok. Why does is stink? How is it economically endowed? Seafood.
Mahachai sits on the Gulf of Thailand and is surrounded not by beaches but by mangrove forests. Every evening the wooden fishing boats go out with their crews of 15 or 20 men and return the following morning with the night's catch. Whether it be fish, shrimp or squid.
And every other week you can see the bigger ships heading out to fish off the coast of Indonesia where Thai sailors currently have fishing rights.
Mahachai can be can interesting place but it definitely takes some getting used to. The great thing about prosperity is the food. As there are literally over a thousand different factories in and around Mahachai people from all over the country come here with aspirations of finding gainful employment. And with them they bring their own cuisine. The variety of food here is often the envy of most other provinces.
However, I was a picky, non-vegetable eating, fatty from "cattle country." Every day I ate the same thing(stir-fried pork with an egg over rice). Not willing to try anything too "exotic" looking.
After getting over my illness I quickly began teaching. It was interesting as I had never taught before yet it came very natural to me. Although the majority of my work was teaching children I did have an hour or two everyday teaching adults. This became quite enjoyable for me. We teachers were given much leeway as to the what we taught and how we taught it.
My idea was to teach things that interested me, for if I was interested in the subject being taught they, the students, would naturally be interested in the subject as well. I'm a very hands-on type of guy and so my students and I would spend time together doing many projects. Video taping mock newscast, building hot balloons or taking them out on weekends for a class on tactical shooting at the local range. Whether it be a science or social project, the students really began to enjoy our time together.
However, the many cultural differences were beginning to wear on me after 3 months. As I've mentioned before I'm not the skinniest of men and I had earned myself a nickname with the Thais. "Furlong Ooin." Which translates "Fat White Man." Funny at first and eventually downright irritating. It wouldn't be long before I snapped.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Towboats, Batteries and Chicken Plants
With cash in hand my mom and I headed off for Houston in her massive, white, gas guzzling F-350. We made the trip in good time and I went into the Kirby Inland Marine offices on monday. After a pleasant chat with the HR officer I was given a slip of paper and some directions to a medical clinic where I would have a physical before beginning work. After some funky mobility tests and blood work I got the job.
Working on towboats was nothing like I'd thought it be. After going through a 12 day deckhand training course with some good but pretty rough men I headed to the boat I'd been assigned to. I ended up on the MV Pecos. The crew was kind and I had my own room. We worked a 30/15 work shift. 30 days on the boat and 15 days off. It was a great feeling to come home to a lump sum of cash in your account but the work environment was a bit tough to say the least. Especially for someone trying to hold on to his faith. In all I was on 5 different boats, as most men don't last more than a month and many boats were undermanned, with a new crew to adjust to every time. After 6 months I once again found myself unhappy and quit.
Since I had come home from Thailand there had always a been a faint conviction that I should return. I never understood it, "why return to a place you weren't particularly thrilled with or don't even really like for that matter?". Yet for some reason I had a constant conviction, not desire, to return to Thailand.
I talk to some Christians and they tell me how God just touched their spirit. How His assurance in any situation fell upon them like a warm blanket. Or how they were struck with awe and wonder at the mission which God had so clearly placed before them.
Not me. I ran from God. I wanted absolutely no part of what he had in store for me. He could keep His will for my life and Thailand too.
My next job was in a battery factory back in Oklahoma. Working 4:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. it was less than pleasant as we donned aprons and sweat pants in the underpaid, time consuming task of manufacturing batteries for those miniature cars 4-year-olds love to drive around the living room. No peace, no satisfaction. I lasted less than a week.
Finally with nothing left(I had spent all my money on I don't know what.) I went down and applied for work at Simmons Processing Plant in Southwest City, Missouri. I was given a job on the night shift packing chicken parts with ice and stacking them on pallettes in the freezer.
Considering the area, the work paid well but it was a job no one wanted. The whole factory was mostly staffed with Mexican immigrants anxious to get ahead and get their kids in school. I was one of a few white guys in our section. At first I was a bit nervous being on the receiving end of the whole minority scene. However, day after day my co-workers impressed me with both their work ethic and their kindness.
It was during this time that I began to listen more to that nagging in my soul. After two months of giving my paycheck to my dad to save for me, I had enough for a one-way ticket to Bangkok. I contacted the host missionary who have invited me to teach and we set a date for me to return to Thailand and begin teaching.
Working on towboats was nothing like I'd thought it be. After going through a 12 day deckhand training course with some good but pretty rough men I headed to the boat I'd been assigned to. I ended up on the MV Pecos. The crew was kind and I had my own room. We worked a 30/15 work shift. 30 days on the boat and 15 days off. It was a great feeling to come home to a lump sum of cash in your account but the work environment was a bit tough to say the least. Especially for someone trying to hold on to his faith. In all I was on 5 different boats, as most men don't last more than a month and many boats were undermanned, with a new crew to adjust to every time. After 6 months I once again found myself unhappy and quit.
Since I had come home from Thailand there had always a been a faint conviction that I should return. I never understood it, "why return to a place you weren't particularly thrilled with or don't even really like for that matter?". Yet for some reason I had a constant conviction, not desire, to return to Thailand.
I talk to some Christians and they tell me how God just touched their spirit. How His assurance in any situation fell upon them like a warm blanket. Or how they were struck with awe and wonder at the mission which God had so clearly placed before them.
Not me. I ran from God. I wanted absolutely no part of what he had in store for me. He could keep His will for my life and Thailand too.
My next job was in a battery factory back in Oklahoma. Working 4:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. it was less than pleasant as we donned aprons and sweat pants in the underpaid, time consuming task of manufacturing batteries for those miniature cars 4-year-olds love to drive around the living room. No peace, no satisfaction. I lasted less than a week.
Finally with nothing left(I had spent all my money on I don't know what.) I went down and applied for work at Simmons Processing Plant in Southwest City, Missouri. I was given a job on the night shift packing chicken parts with ice and stacking them on pallettes in the freezer.
Considering the area, the work paid well but it was a job no one wanted. The whole factory was mostly staffed with Mexican immigrants anxious to get ahead and get their kids in school. I was one of a few white guys in our section. At first I was a bit nervous being on the receiving end of the whole minority scene. However, day after day my co-workers impressed me with both their work ethic and their kindness.
It was during this time that I began to listen more to that nagging in my soul. After two months of giving my paycheck to my dad to save for me, I had enough for a one-way ticket to Bangkok. I contacted the host missionary who have invited me to teach and we set a date for me to return to Thailand and begin teaching.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
About Face? Maybe Not.
The military. Yes the military that is where boys become men. At the time my brother-in-law was a staff sergeant in the Army as an intelligence analyst. He seemed pretty cool and so did the fellow soldiers he worked with who were always at the house. There was only one barrier and that was my weight. You see I've been rather "fluffy" for quite some time and it was now prohibiting me from becoming a "man."
I wasted no time. I began working out many hours a day and joined Weight Watchers with my sister. Those two weeks of determination were invigorating. Then my dad called.
He said "How's work?" I said "Oh, I'm working out full-time now to join the military." He said "You don't have a job?" I said " Not right now, I will when I finish losing weight." And in a firm tone he uttered the words which I dreaded so much. "Come home now."
I began telling him why couldn't come home. No gas money, no purpose, etc.,etc.. The next day UPS showed up with an envelope that had $200 in it and a note that said "Come home now."
Once again, I packed my bags, loaded up "Ole Blue" and headed back across the barren Kansas prairie.
I arrived back home on Hallow's Eve and hadn't made it completely through the door when my dad said " You need to get a job."
The next day I went into town to buy some groceries for the homestead and ran into my old manager at the grocery store I had worked at in high school. We started talking and he asked what I was doing at the present. I told him I was currently unemployed and he offered me my old job. I thought "why not?"
I donned my apron and went back to work the next day as a stocker/cashier/bag boy. As the holidays came round I began running into old high school friends and teachers. People who were going to community college 30 minutes down the road were going further in life than I was both literally and philisophically.
I carried their bags to their cars in shame. After 3 months, I was adrift in self-pity. I wanted something better, some new scenery, a new skill. Anything.
One wednesday night I was at church and one of the elderly members came up to talk to me. I hadn't seen him in a while and asked him what he'd been up to? He said "Same old, same old." I asked him "What is it you do exactly?" He said "I'm a captain on a towboat in Louisiana."
I talked to him for a half an hour about what a towboat was and where it goes. And then he asked me where I was working. I told him how I was working at the same supermarket I had worked at in high school. It was then he said something that would get me out of my mental atrophy. "They're always looking for deckhands." I asked how much it paid and he said "$100 per day."
The old man then handed me a business card with his outfit's number on it. The next day I called to inquire about the job, the voice on the other end of the line asked me if I could come in the following day for an interview. I in turn asked him where his office was and he informed me that they were located in Houston. "Houston! There's no way I could be there tomorrow but I could be there on Monday." And so it was agreed upon that I'd meet him in his office on Monday.
That afternoon I went and pawned everything I could for gas money and prepared myself for the 14 hour drive to Houston.
I wasted no time. I began working out many hours a day and joined Weight Watchers with my sister. Those two weeks of determination were invigorating. Then my dad called.
He said "How's work?" I said "Oh, I'm working out full-time now to join the military." He said "You don't have a job?" I said " Not right now, I will when I finish losing weight." And in a firm tone he uttered the words which I dreaded so much. "Come home now."
I began telling him why couldn't come home. No gas money, no purpose, etc.,etc.. The next day UPS showed up with an envelope that had $200 in it and a note that said "Come home now."
Once again, I packed my bags, loaded up "Ole Blue" and headed back across the barren Kansas prairie.
I arrived back home on Hallow's Eve and hadn't made it completely through the door when my dad said " You need to get a job."
The next day I went into town to buy some groceries for the homestead and ran into my old manager at the grocery store I had worked at in high school. We started talking and he asked what I was doing at the present. I told him I was currently unemployed and he offered me my old job. I thought "why not?"
I donned my apron and went back to work the next day as a stocker/cashier/bag boy. As the holidays came round I began running into old high school friends and teachers. People who were going to community college 30 minutes down the road were going further in life than I was both literally and philisophically.
I carried their bags to their cars in shame. After 3 months, I was adrift in self-pity. I wanted something better, some new scenery, a new skill. Anything.
One wednesday night I was at church and one of the elderly members came up to talk to me. I hadn't seen him in a while and asked him what he'd been up to? He said "Same old, same old." I asked him "What is it you do exactly?" He said "I'm a captain on a towboat in Louisiana."
I talked to him for a half an hour about what a towboat was and where it goes. And then he asked me where I was working. I told him how I was working at the same supermarket I had worked at in high school. It was then he said something that would get me out of my mental atrophy. "They're always looking for deckhands." I asked how much it paid and he said "$100 per day."
The old man then handed me a business card with his outfit's number on it. The next day I called to inquire about the job, the voice on the other end of the line asked me if I could come in the following day for an interview. I in turn asked him where his office was and he informed me that they were located in Houston. "Houston! There's no way I could be there tomorrow but I could be there on Monday." And so it was agreed upon that I'd meet him in his office on Monday.
That afternoon I went and pawned everything I could for gas money and prepared myself for the 14 hour drive to Houston.
Friday, January 5, 2007
97'
1997. I guess that's when it all began for me. Having navigated the realms of academia at Grove High School I set out to make my mark in this world. In June of that year I went with a group called Teens in Mission Evangelism or "T.I.M.E.." They sent teams all over the world to tell the story of the gospel. My team went to Thailand. Coincidence? I think not.
We arrived in Thailand at the end of June and in the beginning of rainy season. For 25 days we toured the country. Visiting schools and villages. Performing dramas and singing songs. The group was comprised of people from all over the U.S.. It was interesting to say the least.
Thailand was an interesting, exotic place, but nothing more. After 4 weeks of tuks tuks, stir-fried rice, funky fruits, ants and rain. I was more than ready to return to the grand US of A.
As we were getting ready to leave the host missionary talked to me and asked if I'd consider returning to Thailand to teach at a language school he was opening. I looked him straight in the face and told him that "I would pray about it." As that's what christians say when they don't want to do something.
We boarded the plane and headed home. When our group arrived at LAX we were even happy to see the portrait of Bill Clinton. I had been away from home for only a month and yet it felt like a lifetime.
Arriving back in Oklahoma I threw myself into "rehabilitation" via steak and box after box of Coco Pebbles.
It was good to be home, in the humid air of green country and away from the blairing noise and offensive smells of Siam. After two weeks I was finally back in my comfort zone and totally adjusted to the time difference. My dad came downstairs one day and said "You register for bible college yet?" I said "Uh, negative." He said "Why not?" I said "I ain't goin' back to school, I just barely finished high school." He said " Well, then you need to get a job."
In utter dismay I realized I had no idea what I was going to do with my life.
What was I going to do for a career? Who was I going to become? I barely finished high school and now I was to be thrown to the sharks and expected to fend for myself. I thought long and hard, picked up the phone and called my sister for advice.
My older sister suggested I move to Colorado to live with her and her husband in Aurora outside of Denver. I'd never been to Colorado and any town outside of Grove meant "progress." At least for me it did. I loaded up my bags into my navy blue, 1987 Ford F-250 which I would start with a pocket knife by shorting the solenoid since the ignition switch was toasted. (Interesting note: It didn't have an emergency brake either so I always had to park the truck on a flat surface lest I chase it while trying to start the thing with the hood up.)
I headed up to Kansas City over to Topeka climbed up to Lyman and arrived in Denver 12 hours later. I was excited. It was my first time to live in a city and my sister had a decent little apartment. I immediately began looking for a job and landed a position as a customer service rep at "Good Sam's" auto club.
I worked the phone their for the next two months only to find myself fatter from all the sitting down and dissatisfied with my work environment. It wasn't challenging, I had to commute a good distance everyday and I just didn't enjoy fielding the same questions over and over again all day long.
However, although not thrilled with my job I still made sure to talk to at least one interesting person a day. People from all over America, some in Alaska, others in Vegas while still others lived on the East Coast. One woman worked at an animal shelter that took care of Axel Roses' ex-pet tiger. Another couple were spending their summer working in Yellowstone and told me how I could buy tracts of old railroad land in Wyoming for outrageously low prices.
Talking to those kind souls, listening and laughing with them about their experiences helped me make it through the day.
After 2 months though I just couldn't take it any longer. I had stashed away a couple hundred dollars and thought to myself "I need to do something more meaningful with my life." I was 18 years old and this was to be the time in which I was to metamorphise from tender caterpillar to daring/caring- handsome- lady slaying- money making-responsibility accepting machine. Or as they used to refer in ancient texts as a "Man."
Yet here I was, fresh out of school and fresh out of ideas of how to grow-up. I trudged through the annuls of my mind in search of what a "man" really was. What does a "man" do? Where does he go? How does he come of age and experience. After many Chuck Norris movies and talks with my brother-in-law I came to the conclusion that it was in the military where such persons of steel were forged.
We arrived in Thailand at the end of June and in the beginning of rainy season. For 25 days we toured the country. Visiting schools and villages. Performing dramas and singing songs. The group was comprised of people from all over the U.S.. It was interesting to say the least.
Thailand was an interesting, exotic place, but nothing more. After 4 weeks of tuks tuks, stir-fried rice, funky fruits, ants and rain. I was more than ready to return to the grand US of A.
As we were getting ready to leave the host missionary talked to me and asked if I'd consider returning to Thailand to teach at a language school he was opening. I looked him straight in the face and told him that "I would pray about it." As that's what christians say when they don't want to do something.
We boarded the plane and headed home. When our group arrived at LAX we were even happy to see the portrait of Bill Clinton. I had been away from home for only a month and yet it felt like a lifetime.
Arriving back in Oklahoma I threw myself into "rehabilitation" via steak and box after box of Coco Pebbles.
It was good to be home, in the humid air of green country and away from the blairing noise and offensive smells of Siam. After two weeks I was finally back in my comfort zone and totally adjusted to the time difference. My dad came downstairs one day and said "You register for bible college yet?" I said "Uh, negative." He said "Why not?" I said "I ain't goin' back to school, I just barely finished high school." He said " Well, then you need to get a job."
In utter dismay I realized I had no idea what I was going to do with my life.
What was I going to do for a career? Who was I going to become? I barely finished high school and now I was to be thrown to the sharks and expected to fend for myself. I thought long and hard, picked up the phone and called my sister for advice.
My older sister suggested I move to Colorado to live with her and her husband in Aurora outside of Denver. I'd never been to Colorado and any town outside of Grove meant "progress." At least for me it did. I loaded up my bags into my navy blue, 1987 Ford F-250 which I would start with a pocket knife by shorting the solenoid since the ignition switch was toasted. (Interesting note: It didn't have an emergency brake either so I always had to park the truck on a flat surface lest I chase it while trying to start the thing with the hood up.)
I headed up to Kansas City over to Topeka climbed up to Lyman and arrived in Denver 12 hours later. I was excited. It was my first time to live in a city and my sister had a decent little apartment. I immediately began looking for a job and landed a position as a customer service rep at "Good Sam's" auto club.
I worked the phone their for the next two months only to find myself fatter from all the sitting down and dissatisfied with my work environment. It wasn't challenging, I had to commute a good distance everyday and I just didn't enjoy fielding the same questions over and over again all day long.
However, although not thrilled with my job I still made sure to talk to at least one interesting person a day. People from all over America, some in Alaska, others in Vegas while still others lived on the East Coast. One woman worked at an animal shelter that took care of Axel Roses' ex-pet tiger. Another couple were spending their summer working in Yellowstone and told me how I could buy tracts of old railroad land in Wyoming for outrageously low prices.
Talking to those kind souls, listening and laughing with them about their experiences helped me make it through the day.
After 2 months though I just couldn't take it any longer. I had stashed away a couple hundred dollars and thought to myself "I need to do something more meaningful with my life." I was 18 years old and this was to be the time in which I was to metamorphise from tender caterpillar to daring/caring- handsome- lady slaying- money making-responsibility accepting machine. Or as they used to refer in ancient texts as a "Man."
Yet here I was, fresh out of school and fresh out of ideas of how to grow-up. I trudged through the annuls of my mind in search of what a "man" really was. What does a "man" do? Where does he go? How does he come of age and experience. After many Chuck Norris movies and talks with my brother-in-law I came to the conclusion that it was in the military where such persons of steel were forged.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
In The Beginning
So this is the beginning of my first and only blog. For those of you who don't know who I am. I'm Travis and I'm from Oklahoma. I've been living in Thailand for the past 8 years. I know it's hard to believe an Okie would end up in Southeast Asia but obviously God has a sense of humor. If you're still wondering how I came to this country I guess I'll have to tell you. It all began...
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