When my daughter was 16, I let her go to Belgium. Looking back, I’m not quite sure why I did that. But it seemed like a great opportunity for her at the time and hey, who am I to stand in the way of adventure?
But now that my son has just turned 13 and can’t seem to remember to change his underwear every day without prompting, I can’t help but project three years ahead and think to myself: “You want to go to Europe for the summer, Parker? Are you out of your mind?”
It’s not like I sent Becca to Europe on a plane by herself. True, she didn’t really know anyone over there and it would have been funny to do that, at least to me. Instead, she went as part of the Lion’s Club Youth Exchange Program. If you don’t know about YEP, it’s pretty cool. Basically, Lion’s Club members exchange children for six weeks – an American teen goes to Europe, and on the return trip, they bring their host family teen back with them. The idea is to expose each other to the culture of another country.
So, off Becca went. Her destination was a family in Belgium. On the appointed day, we put her on the plane, which flew from Seattle to New York to London to Brussels. We waited anxiously for Becca to call us from overseas to tell us she was safe. The next day, the phone rang.
“I’m here dad.”
“What does it look like? What do you see?”
“Cows. Lots of cows.”
This was definitely going to be a real eye opener for her. As I came to find out later, Belgium is very different than the U.S. Here’s Becca’s abbreviated observations as best as I can remember them: They have very small refrigerators. The housekeeper goes to market every day, but not a single market. They go to the butcher, then the bakery, then the produce market, etc. There is no such thing as ketchup for fries. They are served with a dollop of mayonnaise. The Belgians invented them, not the French.
She made it sound pretty boring. As I came to find out later, Becca had a blast. She ended up going with a caravan of circus performers through France and Germany without my knowledge. They were part of Carolyn’s extended family. I’m glad I didn’t know this… I would have had a hissy fit that she left the country she was supposed to stay in.
But such is the nature of Europe. Carolyn explained it to me when she arrived with Becca. They treat the various countries like we do our states. People weekend in another state all the time… in Europe they just happen to go on a “holiday” in another country instead.
I was glad when Becca came back. I had really missed in the month and a half she had been gone. Carolyn, for her part, had never visited a part of the United States that wasn’t a compound. She had been to Florida, but she said outside of Disney, Europeans stay on the resort property because of all the crime in America. They don’t want to be raped or robbed.
What a nice perception of our country, I thought. Port Orchard wasn’t exactly a bastion of crime, unless you count the little juvenile delinquents who threw snowballs at your car in the winter.
She settled in well and was terribly polite. I’m not really sure what she thought of the food an average American eats. I saw her eyes bug out when we had French fries, sorry, fries (pronounced ‘frease’ in Belgian), and pulled out the bottle of Heinz. I do know that she was fascinated the day we went to the bank, the car wash and Jack in the Box, without ever leaving our car.
I really loved taking her to Costco. As I said, they don’t have anything like it where she is from. This shrine to American overconsumption of virtually everything fascinated her. As we entered, I saw her jaw actually drop as she noticed that the food and general merchandise rose right to the ceiling. If she could have had any experience in America that was truly American, it had to be a Costco.
She also really enjoyed visiting Seattle. This was her first time being in a big American city. I sometimes wondered if she was waiting for a rapist to step out of a darkened alley as we walked along the downtown streets. It must have been a real eye opening experience. I also know she was intrigued at how we could run a business at home in our basement, right next to her bedroom.
I think she took such an interest in our work habits because she was smoking in our house. This was a no-no and when I went under the deck once to retrieve an errant ball, I found the butts outside the downstair’s bathroom. Originally Becca was blamed, but under cross examination, she blabbed on Carolyn. There was nothing we could really do. She wasn’t our child. So I just bit my lip and let her continue to think she had gotten away with it.
I had to laugh when Becca did return home from Belgium. Her bag was filled with goodies she had fallen in love with there, including this amazing product that she ate every day on bread. “Oh my god, dad, you will love this. I brought two jars home.” She turned and in her hand was Nutella.
I started to laugh. I said, “You know they sell that in the stores here, in little old Port Orchard.” I guess it was good that they didn’t have the weight limits they have on luggage now. She would have been mad that she brought back three pounds of something that she could get down the street.
For Carolyn’s part, her bag was packed with Belgian chocolate as a gift to the host family. Now we’re talking. Shortly before she left she made us chocolate mousse from scratch with some of it. It is by far the best mousse I have ever had.
And it was far better than the Belgium Waffle I had done when I wondered if Becca should go to Europe that summer of 1997. It turned out to be a very good decision.
Out on the Treasure Coast, craving Nutella and mousse,
– Robb