In 16 days (December 28th @ 6:00 a.m. CST) I am headed to Africa. 15 months of planning, organizing and preparing are knocking on my front door. This month is flying by.
The packing challenge began… It actually started in July with a nine page email from my methodical, organized, detail-oriented son. (Gee, I wonder who he gets that from?) Andy, in his infinite humor, compared our Africa Adventure in the following way,
“I like to think of myself as the pioneer, the Christopher Columbus of Africa, if you will. I have made contact with the new world and have settled here. Now I am inviting the next wave of explorers (we’ll call you Lewis and Clark, and Pocahontas, and you can fight over who’s who)”.
He continues in his email, “I want to forewarn you that there is very little in Ghana that is easy, comfortable, stress-free, quick, on time, clean, available, comforting, tasty, cold….should I continue? I’m telling you so that you can prepare yourselves mentally for what is ahead. Included below is a packing list but there are a few items too important to place with the others: patience – this one is key (mom), flexibility (mom), and a sense of humor (mom)”.
The highlights of his packing list email include: #1)Pack only one suitcase, #2)Make sure it is an old suitcase, #3)Pack VERY light, #4)Shop at Goodwill-don't bring good clothes, #5)Bring only four tops and four bottoms (apparently we will wear clothes multiple days and, per Andy, we will “hand wash” when we need to), #6) Being females (and to show respect for the culture) Jana and I cannot wear pants or skirts above the knee or low cut blouses, #7)Bring plenty of underwear (as Andy so delicately puts it – “You will crap your pants and sometimes it really isn’t a toot”), #8)Pack plenty of toilet paper and keep it on you at all times.
Using my packing list as my guide, I began gathering items needed for the trip several months ago. I raided friends’ closets (thanks Karin and Lori), gathered items at second hand stores and Goodwill, and made several trips to Wal-Mart. For five months I have stuffed every available dresser drawer and closet with items I have gathered and shoved the remainder under beds. Yesterday was the day I decided to drag it all out and heap it on the bed to begin packing it in the ONE suitcase I’m allowed to take. You CANNOT believe the MOUNTAIN of stuff piled on the bed! It’s scary….I seriously think I could climb it!
However, I WILL succeed and I WILL get all this stuff in ONE suitcase. Why? Because my son keeps telling me that for the two weeks I’m in Africa, HE is the "parent" and I have to listen to him because I will not be the parent on this trip. AND, he told me I could only bring ONE suitcase!
Look out Africa – here I come…..It’s going to be a trip of a life time.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!!!
Coming mid January 2010 – pictures and details of the trip.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Bon Qui Qui
If you haven’t met Bon Qui Qui, definitely visit her at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZkdcYlOn5M before you read this post.
There truly are reasons why people go postal....after sending close to 100 letters and packages to Andy I consider myself an expert on mailing items to Africa – so don’t cross me or try and fool me about the process involved in sending mail to a third world country.
Andy’s mail situation is far from ideal. Peace Corps volunteers LIVE for their mail. Anything from home that lets them know people are thinking about them is so important to them. Sometimes their mail is literally what gets them through a day. So picture me, the frantic mother who isn’t crazy about her son being in Africa in the first place, dealing with desperate calls from her son requesting various items needed for his security and sustainability (food) and trying to ship those items to him knowing that they may or may not arrive.
It’s a mother’s job to do WHATEVER it takes to protect her children no matter where they are or what circumstances they are facing. So when my son sends his requests for supplies, I do everything within my power to get him what he needs in a timely manner knowing the mail will take six to eight weeks to get to him. Unfortunately, for some reason he stopped getting his mail (letters and boxes with supplies)for several months. This was beyond frustrating to both he and I. Even though he was not getting any mail I continued to shop, pack, and ship boxes to him hoping that eventually something would get to him. Luckily, the mail issues are resolved and he is getting mail regularly again.
I headed to the P.O. this week to ship a box of supplies and as I entered the building I began assessing the postal clerks to determine which one was my best chance at expeditiously processing my package. I was the only person in line (which is typically unheard of) and of the available two clerks, one was helping the only other customer in the building and the other one was pretending not to notice that I was standing in line.
As Miss I Don't See A Customer Standing In Line busied herself with stacking envelopes and moving papers around I began to "take in" her appearance. She was wearing a gold lame’ bandana with a navy blue Dr. Seuss hat on top of the bandana. Who the *$%& does that? Did her supervisor not notice how stupid she looked? I’m pretty sure her headwear isn’t even close to normal U.S. Postal Service regulation uniform attire. Seriously, did she look in the mirror before she left her house? Or better yet, don’t employees have to wash their hands before returning to work? Guess what – there’s a MIRROR in the bathroom. Use it!!
Sudden dread set in.... this was so NOT the person I wanted waiting on me. However, the clerk with the customer was pissed that Miss I Don't See A Customer Standing In Line was not helping me that she decided to take extra long with her customer. Somehow, I began to find humor in the situation and realized Bon Qui Qui must be moonlighting from King Burger this week and working at the P.O. Either that or there was a high possibility I was being Punk’d.
FINALLY, Bon Qui Qui removed her finger from her nose and asked me to step to her counter. I gave her the box and paperwork and could tell instantly that she didn’t have a clue what to do with it. First, she asked me what the zip code in Africa is. HELLO? Bon Qui Qui, YOU work at the Post Office, not me. You should know how to confirm that Ghana, Africa doesn’t have a zip code! And, if you don’t know that, punch it in the computer! I opted to politely tell her Ghana does not have a zip code.
She started punching a few keys on the computer then she punched the back key. She kept repeating this process multiple times. Then she started reading some sort of instruction manual. Then she called someone. Then she punched a few keys on the computer. Then she punched the back key several times. Then she apologized about not knowing how the “new system that Customs just implemented" worked. She tried to explain that Customs changed the way the Post Office accepts, tracks, and ships international packages. I politely explained that I’ve never had this problem before and didn’t understand why there is a problem and why it was taking so long to get my package processed.
Side note: It doesn’t matter what I ship to Andy – the description is always the same: books, magazines, and snacks (people like me are probably causing Customs to re-evaluate their procedures). Bon Qui Qui is asking me exactly what kinds of snacks, how many, how much do they weigh, how many books, how much do they weigh, how many magazines, how much do they weigh. Blah, blah, blah. WHO CARES? It’s a flat rate box! I can ship whatever I want as long as it doesn’t weigh more than 20 pounds for a flat fee. Don’t go changing the rules on me now - I'm an expert. I told her I had no idea how much a cup of Jell-O or a bag of pretzels weighed (ha ha so not in the box). I told her to make something up. By now I was 25 minutes into a process that normally takes less than ten minutes to complete. Bon Qui Qui punched a few more keys on the computer, hit the back key a few more times, apologized more, and made another phone call. At this point I am screaming in my head “saacuurity….saacuurity…remove this person before I cuuutt her”.
I begin to have a very blunt conversation with myself to remain cool, calm, and collected. I can feel my blood pressure rising and I know I don’t have long before I turn into the Incredible Hulkette and unleash on Bon Qui Qui. I just kept thinking “how did she pass the Mail Sorting and Zip Code test”!?! - Ha Ha she didn't, see above about the Ghana zip code. She HAS to be a temp.!!! Surely someone this inept wasn’t hired by our government to handle and process our mail.
I proceed to explain to her that I mail packages to Africa a couple times a month and have NEVER run into any problems like this and just don’t understand what the issue is. She keeps blaming the new Customs procedures. Finally, her supervisor comes up front and I mistakenly think great – now the package will get entered in the computer and I will be on my way.
NO, the supervisor just stands there. In fact, she offered no assistance whatsoever. No wonder she didn’t say anything about the gold lame’ bandana and Dr. Seuss hat Bon Qui Qui was wearing because apparently she can’t speak. I am now 35 minutes into this process (by the way, the other clerk was still waiting on her original customer and a line from hell had formed out the door). As calmly as I could, I finally said “I mean no disrespect however, I am losing confidence this package will get where it needs to go and it is very important to me that it does, so I will just take it to another Post Office and have them ship it”.
With that, the supervisor miraculously found her voice and tried to assure me that this was a new process and that I could leave the package with them and they would make sure to complete the paperwork and mail it for me. You’re kidding, right??? I’m supposed to have confidence that you are going to properly mail my package when it’s obvious that neither you or Bon Qui Qui have a clue about what you are doing??? NOT!!!!
As I leaned over the counter to pick up the box Bon Qui Qui started shakin’ her head from shoulder to shoulder and mouthin’ off that I was not listening to what she was trying to explain to me and that I’m was being ruudde to her. Blah blah blah. It was all I could do to keep from slapping that stupid Dr. Seuss hat off her head. Postal workers beware: Don’t mess with a momma on a mission to take care of her kid.
There truly are reasons why people go postal....after sending close to 100 letters and packages to Andy I consider myself an expert on mailing items to Africa – so don’t cross me or try and fool me about the process involved in sending mail to a third world country.
Andy’s mail situation is far from ideal. Peace Corps volunteers LIVE for their mail. Anything from home that lets them know people are thinking about them is so important to them. Sometimes their mail is literally what gets them through a day. So picture me, the frantic mother who isn’t crazy about her son being in Africa in the first place, dealing with desperate calls from her son requesting various items needed for his security and sustainability (food) and trying to ship those items to him knowing that they may or may not arrive.
It’s a mother’s job to do WHATEVER it takes to protect her children no matter where they are or what circumstances they are facing. So when my son sends his requests for supplies, I do everything within my power to get him what he needs in a timely manner knowing the mail will take six to eight weeks to get to him. Unfortunately, for some reason he stopped getting his mail (letters and boxes with supplies)for several months. This was beyond frustrating to both he and I. Even though he was not getting any mail I continued to shop, pack, and ship boxes to him hoping that eventually something would get to him. Luckily, the mail issues are resolved and he is getting mail regularly again.
I headed to the P.O. this week to ship a box of supplies and as I entered the building I began assessing the postal clerks to determine which one was my best chance at expeditiously processing my package. I was the only person in line (which is typically unheard of) and of the available two clerks, one was helping the only other customer in the building and the other one was pretending not to notice that I was standing in line.
As Miss I Don't See A Customer Standing In Line busied herself with stacking envelopes and moving papers around I began to "take in" her appearance. She was wearing a gold lame’ bandana with a navy blue Dr. Seuss hat on top of the bandana. Who the *$%& does that? Did her supervisor not notice how stupid she looked? I’m pretty sure her headwear isn’t even close to normal U.S. Postal Service regulation uniform attire. Seriously, did she look in the mirror before she left her house? Or better yet, don’t employees have to wash their hands before returning to work? Guess what – there’s a MIRROR in the bathroom. Use it!!
Sudden dread set in.... this was so NOT the person I wanted waiting on me. However, the clerk with the customer was pissed that Miss I Don't See A Customer Standing In Line was not helping me that she decided to take extra long with her customer. Somehow, I began to find humor in the situation and realized Bon Qui Qui must be moonlighting from King Burger this week and working at the P.O. Either that or there was a high possibility I was being Punk’d.
FINALLY, Bon Qui Qui removed her finger from her nose and asked me to step to her counter. I gave her the box and paperwork and could tell instantly that she didn’t have a clue what to do with it. First, she asked me what the zip code in Africa is. HELLO? Bon Qui Qui, YOU work at the Post Office, not me. You should know how to confirm that Ghana, Africa doesn’t have a zip code! And, if you don’t know that, punch it in the computer! I opted to politely tell her Ghana does not have a zip code.
She started punching a few keys on the computer then she punched the back key. She kept repeating this process multiple times. Then she started reading some sort of instruction manual. Then she called someone. Then she punched a few keys on the computer. Then she punched the back key several times. Then she apologized about not knowing how the “new system that Customs just implemented" worked. She tried to explain that Customs changed the way the Post Office accepts, tracks, and ships international packages. I politely explained that I’ve never had this problem before and didn’t understand why there is a problem and why it was taking so long to get my package processed.
Side note: It doesn’t matter what I ship to Andy – the description is always the same: books, magazines, and snacks (people like me are probably causing Customs to re-evaluate their procedures). Bon Qui Qui is asking me exactly what kinds of snacks, how many, how much do they weigh, how many books, how much do they weigh, how many magazines, how much do they weigh. Blah, blah, blah. WHO CARES? It’s a flat rate box! I can ship whatever I want as long as it doesn’t weigh more than 20 pounds for a flat fee. Don’t go changing the rules on me now - I'm an expert. I told her I had no idea how much a cup of Jell-O or a bag of pretzels weighed (ha ha so not in the box). I told her to make something up. By now I was 25 minutes into a process that normally takes less than ten minutes to complete. Bon Qui Qui punched a few more keys on the computer, hit the back key a few more times, apologized more, and made another phone call. At this point I am screaming in my head “saacuurity….saacuurity…remove this person before I cuuutt her”.
I begin to have a very blunt conversation with myself to remain cool, calm, and collected. I can feel my blood pressure rising and I know I don’t have long before I turn into the Incredible Hulkette and unleash on Bon Qui Qui. I just kept thinking “how did she pass the Mail Sorting and Zip Code test”!?! - Ha Ha she didn't, see above about the Ghana zip code. She HAS to be a temp.!!! Surely someone this inept wasn’t hired by our government to handle and process our mail.
I proceed to explain to her that I mail packages to Africa a couple times a month and have NEVER run into any problems like this and just don’t understand what the issue is. She keeps blaming the new Customs procedures. Finally, her supervisor comes up front and I mistakenly think great – now the package will get entered in the computer and I will be on my way.
NO, the supervisor just stands there. In fact, she offered no assistance whatsoever. No wonder she didn’t say anything about the gold lame’ bandana and Dr. Seuss hat Bon Qui Qui was wearing because apparently she can’t speak. I am now 35 minutes into this process (by the way, the other clerk was still waiting on her original customer and a line from hell had formed out the door). As calmly as I could, I finally said “I mean no disrespect however, I am losing confidence this package will get where it needs to go and it is very important to me that it does, so I will just take it to another Post Office and have them ship it”.
With that, the supervisor miraculously found her voice and tried to assure me that this was a new process and that I could leave the package with them and they would make sure to complete the paperwork and mail it for me. You’re kidding, right??? I’m supposed to have confidence that you are going to properly mail my package when it’s obvious that neither you or Bon Qui Qui have a clue about what you are doing??? NOT!!!!
As I leaned over the counter to pick up the box Bon Qui Qui started shakin’ her head from shoulder to shoulder and mouthin’ off that I was not listening to what she was trying to explain to me and that I’m was being ruudde to her. Blah blah blah. It was all I could do to keep from slapping that stupid Dr. Seuss hat off her head. Postal workers beware: Don’t mess with a momma on a mission to take care of her kid.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
My Hero - Our Worlds
Andy and I communicate weekly via Skype and snail mail. Just about every Sunday when I disconnect from our conversation I ask myself “where does he pull his mental and physical strength from to get through each day”? The stories he shares regarding the situations he faces is more than you and I can comprehend. Unlike my son, who is determined to make this world a better place, had I been faced with the situations he has faced since his journey began, I would have thrown my hands in the air and marched off that continent months ago. However, he just takes it in stride and finds a way to move on.
Before he left for Africa, Andy started running regularly and participating in several races. He keeps up his exercise regimen in Africa by continuing to run. Running in Africa has its challenges due to the climate, terrain, and physical ability (loss of muscle, protein, and energy from improper diet). A few months ago, Andy started training with several Peace Corps friends for the Accra Marathon – that’s 26.2 miles - on dirt roads, in worn tennis shoes, in nasty weather.
Accra Marathon - September 27, 2009 - 26.2 Miles
Approximately 120 people representing several different countries participated in the marathon. Visit www.aimghana.com for pictures and details. Unfortunately, the race didn’t start on time. This means instead of starting at 5:30 a.m. before the sun comes up and gets blistering hot, the race started an hour and a half late. Apparently the day just kept getting better (NOT). As described by seasoned marathon runners, this was THE MOST MISEARBLE RACE they have ever participated in. Challenges included strong headwinds, an uphill course routed along major thoroughfares not barricaded from traffic, empty water stations, no mile markers to track time/distance, and an unmarked course (runners were constantly guessing which fork-in-the-road to take). When runners weren’t navigating the bumper-to-bumper traffic and dodging 18 wheelers they were tripping over goats, dogs, and chickens.
After facing these extreme conditions for four to five hours they finally crossed the finish line.
Evansville, Indiana ½ Marathon - October 11, 2009 - 13.1 Miles
Since my daughter and I couldn’t train with Andy physically, we trained with him mentally. Our experience started this past July with Team 13. Team 13 is a dedicated group of YMCA volunteers (experienced runners/walkers) who designed a training program for approximately 400 people (many of which had never participated in a ½ marathon or walked more than five miles – I’m in this group) who met three times a week for 13 weeks to train for the half marathon. Now, I am not a runner – I am a walker. I couldn’t run a city block if I had to. Walk, I could do all day (or at least I thought that before I actually walked the 13.1 miles). Prior to Team 13 most of my walking consisted of a couple of miles a week. By the end of Team 13 training, I was walking 20 miles a week! I can remember when I used to say, We’re walking THREE MILES today? Are you serious?” Now I say, “Just three miles left!”
I woke up race morning at 5:00 a.m. with adrenaline pumping and ready to go. Due to unusually cold (40 degrees) weather, I made a major wardrobe change, ate breakfast and headed to the start line at FJ Reitz High School.
Over 2,400 people were gathered EVERYWHERE on “the hill” ready for the race. Participants lined up in their respective time areas (runners, run/walkers, walkers), Gina Moore sang the National Anthem (and I have to mention the flag and wind were perfectly choreographed with “Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave”…totally gave me goose bumps), the Mayor spoke, the race gun sounded, and we were off!
The ENTIRE race course was blocked to traffic and every major intersection was manned by police and fire department personnel. At every side street, a volunteer was stationed to hold up traffic. Crowds of people cheering us on gathered everywhere along the 13.1 miles.
We had mile markers, and bib numbers, and electronic timing devices attached to our running shoes. We had water stations galore (with Gatorade, grapes, and orange slices) and best of all, four of us (my amazing walking buddies and I) had Elisabeth who delivered WARM pepperoni pizza about half way through the course (okay so runners like their “Goo” … walkers like their fresh pizza).
There were people along the route we “Hi-Fived”, people we hugged and people we waved to. There were notes of encouragement written in chalk on the street and when we crossed the finished line, our names were announced over a loud speaker.
This race story is just one small example of the differences in the life I live in America versus the life Andy lives in a third world country. Andy and I - our worlds are so different right now, yet so the same. We both stepped out of our comfort circle and achieved a goal…. he a full marathon – me a mini, he with his friends - me with mine, he on dirt roads - me on pavement...but the best part is, we crossed the finish line together in each other’s hearts.
Before he left for Africa, Andy started running regularly and participating in several races. He keeps up his exercise regimen in Africa by continuing to run. Running in Africa has its challenges due to the climate, terrain, and physical ability (loss of muscle, protein, and energy from improper diet). A few months ago, Andy started training with several Peace Corps friends for the Accra Marathon – that’s 26.2 miles - on dirt roads, in worn tennis shoes, in nasty weather.
Accra Marathon - September 27, 2009 - 26.2 Miles
Approximately 120 people representing several different countries participated in the marathon. Visit www.aimghana.com for pictures and details. Unfortunately, the race didn’t start on time. This means instead of starting at 5:30 a.m. before the sun comes up and gets blistering hot, the race started an hour and a half late. Apparently the day just kept getting better (NOT). As described by seasoned marathon runners, this was THE MOST MISEARBLE RACE they have ever participated in. Challenges included strong headwinds, an uphill course routed along major thoroughfares not barricaded from traffic, empty water stations, no mile markers to track time/distance, and an unmarked course (runners were constantly guessing which fork-in-the-road to take). When runners weren’t navigating the bumper-to-bumper traffic and dodging 18 wheelers they were tripping over goats, dogs, and chickens.
After facing these extreme conditions for four to five hours they finally crossed the finish line. Evansville, Indiana ½ Marathon - October 11, 2009 - 13.1 Miles
Since my daughter and I couldn’t train with Andy physically, we trained with him mentally. Our experience started this past July with Team 13. Team 13 is a dedicated group of YMCA volunteers (experienced runners/walkers) who designed a training program for approximately 400 people (many of which had never participated in a ½ marathon or walked more than five miles – I’m in this group) who met three times a week for 13 weeks to train for the half marathon. Now, I am not a runner – I am a walker. I couldn’t run a city block if I had to. Walk, I could do all day (or at least I thought that before I actually walked the 13.1 miles). Prior to Team 13 most of my walking consisted of a couple of miles a week. By the end of Team 13 training, I was walking 20 miles a week! I can remember when I used to say, We’re walking THREE MILES today? Are you serious?” Now I say, “Just three miles left!”
I woke up race morning at 5:00 a.m. with adrenaline pumping and ready to go. Due to unusually cold (40 degrees) weather, I made a major wardrobe change, ate breakfast and headed to the start line at FJ Reitz High School.
Over 2,400 people were gathered EVERYWHERE on “the hill” ready for the race. Participants lined up in their respective time areas (runners, run/walkers, walkers), Gina Moore sang the National Anthem (and I have to mention the flag and wind were perfectly choreographed with “Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave”…totally gave me goose bumps), the Mayor spoke, the race gun sounded, and we were off!
The ENTIRE race course was blocked to traffic and every major intersection was manned by police and fire department personnel. At every side street, a volunteer was stationed to hold up traffic. Crowds of people cheering us on gathered everywhere along the 13.1 miles.
We had mile markers, and bib numbers, and electronic timing devices attached to our running shoes. We had water stations galore (with Gatorade, grapes, and orange slices) and best of all, four of us (my amazing walking buddies and I) had Elisabeth who delivered WARM pepperoni pizza about half way through the course (okay so runners like their “Goo” … walkers like their fresh pizza).
There were people along the route we “Hi-Fived”, people we hugged and people we waved to. There were notes of encouragement written in chalk on the street and when we crossed the finished line, our names were announced over a loud speaker.This race story is just one small example of the differences in the life I live in America versus the life Andy lives in a third world country. Andy and I - our worlds are so different right now, yet so the same. We both stepped out of our comfort circle and achieved a goal…. he a full marathon – me a mini, he with his friends - me with mine, he on dirt roads - me on pavement...but the best part is, we crossed the finish line together in each other’s hearts.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The History
This opening blog is rather long; however, the journey I am about to share will mean nothing without "the history"…..It all started 24 years ago with the birth of Andrew Wayne Head….the first male born on my side of the family in 46 years and who rounded out five generations.
Andy is blessed with a magnetic charisma, a wonderful sense of humor, a determination to succeed, a willingness to please, and a natural ability to make everyone around him feel special. People of all ages gravitate to him. Being presented the "Most Considerate" award by his eighth grade peers pretty much sums up his genuine interest and compassion for those around him - including family, friends, teachers, and complete strangers.
Growing up Andy gave several sports a try. Soccer, T-Ball, baseball, wrestling, track, and football. I was proud of his efforts because Andy had this invisible comfort circle around him that he didn’t like to step out of. It didn’t matter how hard I suggested (AKA pushed) he had his limit and wouldn’t budge out of that circle. The sport that held his heart the most was “instructional basketball”. It was a split team of “normal" kids and special needs kids. The philosophy was for the “normal” kids to teach and mentor the special needs kids in social skills and athletics. Andy so enjoyed being a part of this special group of athletes that he decided to pass on the family spring break vacation to Florida and go with his teammates to their state championship playoff game in Indianapolis.
Andy's real passion, writing stories and making movies, started early in life. Because of this interest I tried (AKA pushed really hard) to get him involved in theater in middle school. My mother’s intuition said that with his love of writing and “producing” he would be good at theater and enjoy it. Even if it was behind the scenes working on props …… a mother just knows. Again, there was that invisible comfort circle around Andy that he didn’t want to step out of to try something new. He had his comfort level and wouldn’t budge. No to theater.
Struggling to make sure Andy kept involved and active over the summer school break I enrolled him and his sister in a week long church camp – OMG! Rebellion kicked in and both kids refused to go to camp (I’m sure his sister, the social butterfly, was very excited about attending camp where she would spend a week making a bunch of new friends, but being a loyal baby sister she always sided with her big bub). So neither packed, neither looked forward to the camp, and neither had any intension of going to camp. The night before we were to leave, I was packing two kids for a week long church camp. I woke them up Saturday morning (they both conveniently forgot to set their alarms), force fed them breakfast, and packed them in the car - kicking and screaming (okay sulking and pouting). Camp was an hour away and neither of them said a word to me all the way. A week later when I went to pick them up – guess what - they didn’t want to come home. They both had a tremendous experience and chatted all the way home about what fun they had and friends they made. They both continued to attend summer church camp every year thereafter for several years. In fact, Andy eventually became a camp counselor. (This is a little side story about how smart mothers are and will feed into the rest of this blog where I eventually get to eat my words about being a smart mom).
Following my motto of reach for the stars, experience life …. do something you’ve
never done before…. get involved….. follow a cause… I continued to push, push, push, nag, nag, nag Andy when he started high school. “It will go fast. You should get involved. Try something new”. I was still on the theater kick and didn’t get very far UNTIL Andy’s sophomore year when he fell head over heels in love with a junior – WHO WAS INVOLVED IN THEATER!!!!! (Side note – moms at this point don’t know shit, but girlfriends are the smartest thing ever.) He jumped into theater with both feet (literally) and tapped danced his way through "You're a Grand Ole Flag" in "George M". By the time he graduated high school, he wrote and directed a play, had parts in several others, and had the lead in two. So there is my kid, the one who won’t step out of his comfort circle, performing on a stage in front of tons of people and loving every minute of it.Okay back to the nag, nag, nag, push, push, push thing. I thought it was important that Andy go away to college and someplace that wasn’t a convenient drive home. Since he was the first person on my side of the family to attend college and knowing that for him to get the full experience he had to ….you guessed it….. GET OUT OF HIS COMFORT CIRCLE. So God love him, starting his Junior year, he spent countless hours reading books containing “everything you need to know” about universities and colleges. After narrowing his search to eight schools his dad and I divided up the campuses and off we went for visits.
Andy decided to study Theater (go figure – mom’s are always right – refer back to comments about church camp if you don’t believe me) at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois (five hours from home). It was a very good choice for him. A small private Division I school with a very strong Theater Department. He immediately immersed himself at college and wrote a play that was voted on by a committee of theater professors to be produced, he acted in several productions, had the lead in "The Night of the Iguana" his senior year, and managed several productions. During summers he interned for the University of Illinois Theatre Department in Champaign. Needless to say, I puffed up proud as a peacock at all of his accomplishments.
Something begins to happen in college. All of a sudden that comfort circle was disappearing. He was comfortable being away from home, decided to study in London, England for a semester, and pursue a volunteer opportunity with the Peace Corps. So what do I say to my son (who worked his butt off and graduated college with honors in 3 ½ years, who worked so hard to make me proud of him, to make the right decisions, do the right thing, and be the best person he could be) about his thoughts on the Peace Corps? I wanted to scream – NO, get a job and start your career. If you want to volunteer and help out your fellow man, stay in the states - there are tons of causes where you can make an impact. Why do you have to go so far away? (This is where I start eating my words about pushing him out of his comfort circle). I chastised myself. It’s my fault…I pushed too hard…I nagged too much… I dragged him to my board and committee meetings… made him volunteer at all the events I was involved in….. The Peace Corps…. Seriousily??? He had so much passion inside of him about his decision and believed so strongly that's what he wanted to do. HOWEVER, (only west-siders will get this one): He wasn’t supposed to join the Peace Corps....
He was supposed to:
Graduate from Reitz
Go to college
Get married (to a west-sider)
Have babies
Buy a home (on the west-side)
Send his kids to Reitz
Period – not move half way around the world!
Andy wouldn’t give up. He was determined. The Peace Corps was calling and he wanted it. He immersed himself completely in pursuing his dream of being a Peace Corps volunteer. He faced tons of criticism and negative comments from his family about his decision and he never wavered one time from it. I was frantic. I'm the mother – I know best (remember church camp and theater). He wasn’t listening. Andy was full steam ahead with a plethora of paperwork, learning a new language, preparing mentally and physically for the adventure ahead and no one was talking him out of it. At 23 I was giving birth to him. At 23 he was leaving my nest and heading in his own direction. (Was I ever cussing myself for every time I pushed him to step out of his comfort circle).
As I began to ease into Andy leaving for 2 ½ years (not really - it was bad pretending) the only consolation to me was he was assigned in the Caribbean. Sweet. I could cruise to his port or drive to St. Louis and hop a plane and see him in about six hours. I was settling into vacationing a couple of times a year on beautiful beaches, enjoying warm breezy days, and fancy drinks with umbrellas. Okay, maybe this Peace Corps thing wasn’t so bad.
About a month before Andy was to leave for the beautiful Caribbean he stopped by my office one afternoon. I could tell instantly by the look on his face I was not going to like what he had to tell me. He wanted to know if we could talk. I grabbed a box of Kleenex and sat down with him anticipating his news. As he delivered the words I fought back the tears, tried to swallow the knot in my throat, and picked my heart up from my toes and put it back in my chest. The words coming out of his mouth were “The Peace Corps called. They have re-assigned me. I’m not going to the Caribbean. I’m going to Africa”.
At this point my mind is spinning. AFFREAKINGA!!! Not six hours away from St. Louis or a pleasant cruise away, but 21 hours in flight and 14 hours on a bus. Are you serious? My world turned upside down. I could have hurled on his shoes. I knew that when my son left his hometown for Africa I would not see him for 2 ½ years. (Why? Because, I DON'T STEP OUT OF MY COMFORT CIRCLE to spend 21 hours on an airplane and 14 hours on a bus and crap in a hole in the ground)! OMG the panic set in. He had no idea what type of communication we would have – assumed no cell phone or internet access and just hoped for snail mail. Someone please wake me from my nightmare.
So how did a woman who has never flown for more five hours or traveled further than Aruba decide to travel 21 hours on an airplane and 14 hours on a bus (not a Greyhound with air conditioning, but a bus with no windows, livestock in the aisles, and more humans crammed into a small space than the Hadi Funster’s car) to visit her son in Africa? Because leaving your kid five hours from home his freshman year in college without a car and not knowing a soul on campus or in the town he would be living in ISN’T EVEN IN THE SAME LEAGUE as watching your kid walk through the airport, down the escalator across the tarmac, up the loading stairs, and disappear into an airplane that would deliver him half way across the world in Africa.
When they shut the door to the plane I looked at his dad (my ex-husband) and said “I've changed my mind. I can’t make it 2 ½ years without seeing him - get me a ticket I am going to Africa with you”.
At the time of this posting Andy has been in Ghana for 13 months and here I am nine immunizations later, passport in place, airplane ticket purchased, Ghanaian visa approved, and ten weeks from departure on my African Adventure with my ex-husband (who swears he bought me a round trip ticket not a one way ticket) and our 21 year old daughter. The fancy drinks with umbrellas were replaced with….. no toilets, no electricity, bathing in a bucket, self purified water, unidentifiable food, and bats, rats, and lizards sharing our sleeping quarters.It’s been a long 13 months and there are only ten weeks to go – as Andy likes to remind me – “Mom, it’s an adventure not a vacation”. No shit honey.
I’ve started packing:
. Prozac (will need for ex)
. Ear plugs (will need for ex)
. Sleeping pills (will need for dreaded plane trip and gawd awful bus trip)
. Hydroxyzine (for shits and giggles when I want to behead someone who doesn't understand about times and schedules - which probably accounts for just about everyone in Africa)
. Migraine medicine (for when all of the above don’t work)
Andy – I just want to say thank you… Since you’ve been gone, I’ve learned to Skype (no, not from Oprah), joined Facebook, designed a blog, walked a half marathon, and bought an airplane ticket to Africa. Funny how things change – now I’m the one being pushed out of my comfort circle.
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