My dear Grandma (who is presently enjoying heaven) was once described by my mother (her own daughter) as being (and I quote) “about as cheerful as diarrhea“.
She rarely spoke (and she was rarely not speaking) without mentioning someone who had recently passed on or someone who was about to pass on or how she felt like her time to pass on was coming up quickly. She had a certain offensive obliviousness to her that allowed her to completely insult an entire room full (possibly a city full) of people and genuinely have absolutely no shred of a concept that she might have alluded to something even remotely unpleasant. When we told her we were adopting a child from China her first response was . . .
“Couldn’t you get one from America?”
Then I think she said something awkwardly invasive about the working order of our reproductive systems. It was weird. She redeemed herself, however, after we adopted Rachel by telling her Korean doctor (who proudly displayed a picture of her own daughter on the office wall), “You ain’t got nuthin’ on me . . . I got me a little Chinese girl too. She’s my granddaughter!”
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I never once sensed an ounce of sincere hatred in her heart for any group or race of people (except for maybe Southern Baptists) but by today’s standards she would register on the polar opposite end of the scale from politically correct . . . or polite . . . or acceptable in public.
IRONICALLY . . .I think it might have been my grandmother who planted the first seeds of cross-cultural curiosity in me. Grandpa was a WWII vet and then a General Baptist Pastor (not Particular . . . not Reformed and most certainly not Southern Baptist . . . bite your tongue heretic) for more than 50 years. He and Grandma made several trips to the Holy Land (the General Baptist one) and when they did they took the chance to see some other parts of the world a bit. When I was five they were the only people in my life who had seen any parts of the world a bit which made them my superheros. I had a stuffed camel from Egypt, some wooden shoes from Holland and a “My Grandma and Grandpa went to Jerusalem and all I got was this stinking t-shirt” t-shirt. I was king for three straight weeks of show and tell.
When I was 12, it was Grandma who led me on my first authentic cross-cultural adventure. My cousins and I went on vacation with my grandparents all the way to California. They crammed us, along with the luggage, into the back of a 19 seventy something, Chevy Station Wagon where we laughed and fought and blew southern winds for 12 hours a day (Grandma’s euphemism . . . not mine . . . “Did you boys blow another southern wind? Alva stop this car, somebody needs to go sit on the toilet”). We stopped to visit distant cousins once removed in Yuma, Arizona which just happened to be right across the border from . . . a whole other country. I had never been so excited in my life.
I can’t remember if I begged or not but I so wanted to go to Mexico. In my mind it would make me the coolest kid in Illinois. “Where’d you go for summer vacation? oh really? Iowa? That sounds nice . . . me? Oh no place really . . . just MEXICO!! The whole other COUNTRY!! where they eat TACOS!! and they speak MEXICAN!!”
I didn’t say I was savvy. . . or in touch with reality. Just curious.
So we went . . . and it was amazing. It was at least 150 degrees (Fahrenheit, Celsius . . . doesn’t matter at that point). The streets were dusty because it hadn’t rained in over a century. There were burros in the middle of the road and men with massive hats leaned against the shade trees taking naps or playing enormous guitars (in the interest of integrity I should mention that my memory is actually a bit fuzzy and some of this may be coming from Saturday morning cartoons) . . . but it was amazing.
I do remember very well one shop owner shouting, “COME IN! COME IN! WE HAVE AIR CONDITIONING!” That was the man who would soon hate my grandma. He welcomed us in to look at his hand sewn, Mexican purses . . . from Mexico. Grandma found one she liked and asked if he would accept U.S. dollars. “Of course! Of course, anything for you lady!” And then it began . . .
“How much?”
“For you lady . . . $14”
smiling because she knew in her heart what she was about to do“no no . . . I’ll give you 7”
smiling because he had no idea the force he was reckoning with,“Oh lady . . . for you, 13.”
“Nah . . . 7”
“Oh come on lady . . . I come down you come up . . . I’ll go 12”
squinting confidently with a smirk“mmm . . . how about 7?”
squinting in disgust “you give me 10 lady”
nothing but a grin
He continued “9! . . . 9 dollars, that’s my lowest price!! You give me 9 dollars, I give you the purse. Come on! You like the purse! It’s a good purse! 9 dollars . . . . (long pause) . . . . EIGHT DOLLARS!! You give me EIGHT DOLLARS! COME ON LADY!!”
I swear this happened. My Grandma said “5”.
“FIVE DOLLARS?!! YOU ALREADY SAID 7!! YOU CAN’T SAY 5!!
Still grinning. “Yeah, I think 5 now.”
pulling out handfuls of his own hair. “LADY I GIVE YOU YOUR PRICE, SEVEN DOLLARS!!!”
“hmm . . . nah . . . five.”
“OK!! OK!!OKAAAY!!FIVE DOLLARS!! YOU WIN YOU WIN, YOU *something I think was a Mexican cuss word.*
And I swear this happened too . . . My Grandma said, “nah.”
And she walked away. Seriously, she walked away. She successfully bargained a man nearly 30% below her own starting price . . . and she walked away. I looked back and saw the man turn cherry red starting at his feet and rising to his head. His eyes bugged out, steam came out of his ears and he blew his sombrero off like a train whistle (that may have been from the cartoons too but I really don’t think it was).
We shopped for a few hours and then finally came back around to the same little store.
“COME IN! COME IN! WE HAVE AIR CONDITIONING!” He locked eyes with my Grandma. “Oh you . . . GET OUT!!!!!!”
I miss you Grandma. Thanks for planting (in a way that only you could) a seed in me that has led me all over the planet and given me two of the most beautiful kids in the world . . . Oh yeah . . . we adopted again . . . remember that African-American doctor you had? . . . well he ain’t got nuthin’ on you.”
No animals were harmed in the posting of this blog.
I’m pretty proud of that.
My mother crocheted this basketball for me more than 35 years ago. For context, she was the most gracious, tender, sweet, kind-hearted, loving knockoff artist and brand thief that has ever lived.
This ball was her response to my ridiculous, preteen desire for a Nerf hoop. You know — the kind kids used to hang on the back of their bedroom doors before smartphones were invented. The kind that probably cost about $3 in 1982. The kind all the normal kids had.
She also crocheted a hoop to go with it because she had mad yarn skills and a hypersensitive frugality gland.
I did life with this ball. Perfected my jumper. Dunked like Jordan in slow motion. Played a million games of HORSE. I even used it as the key gauge of discernment for a solid portion of my teenage years.
“If this goes in she totally likes me . . . ok, two out of three.”
Other kids had magic 8 balls. Mom offered to crochet one of those too. I passed.
In many ways, it sparked my life long love for basketball which led me to TWO high school state championships (of small Christian, private schools in Illinois) AND nearly launched a career modeling short shorts.
I’ll pause for a moment and let you take that in.
I realized something important last summer when I stumbled across my ball packed away in one of our sentimental boxes of “stuff we don’t want to throw away but also don’t want to ship all over the world a dozen times” (ask any expat if that’s confusing).
This ball is a ROCK for me. Not literally.
A ROCK is something I talk a lot about and it is CRITICAL for your kids, especially if they’re growing up under the constant cloud of neverending global transition (like mine are).
It’s a super simple concept really:
ROCKS don’t move when everything else does.
Say it backwards.
When everything else moves . . . Rocks don’t.
This is a massive game-changer for families who encounter incessant change. If that describes you then you’ve probably uttered these words in a time of chaos and self-pity:
“UGH!! EVERYTHING IS CHANGING . . . AGAIN!”
ZERO judgment here but that’s a horrible lie that we choose to believe. NOT EVERYTHING is changing but when it feels like that, it is time to get CRYSTAL CLEAR on what is STAYING THE SAME . . . what CAN stay the same.
ROCKS are the nouns and the verbs that can be true and present whether you live in a cornfield in Illinois, an apartment in China or a space station on Mars.
So I was thrilled to pass on a stable piece of my childhood to my son.
Then we got a dog — and you know what happens next.
But here’s the big, heart-wrenching REST OF THE STORY.
Ready for this?
My son (who just turned 10) broke the news to me with tact and empathy well beyond his years.
“Uhh. Dad. Do you know how to sew?”
“Yeah, a little. Why do you ask?”
With appropriate fear and sensitivity to what might happen next, he held up the shredded ball.
(next part censored)
After a few minutes (but well before the steam had stopped rolling out of my ears) he spoke with a shaky voice that I’ve only heard from others offering condolences at a funeral.
“Dad.”
Me, still fuming, flaring my nose, gritting my teeth and determined not to take it out on him.
“Yes.”
“I’m feeling two emotions right now.”
“Ok.”
“One. Sadness. Because this is the only thing I have from Grandma Paula and I never even got to meet her.”
“Ok.”
“And two. Forgiveness.”
And here are the morals of the story:
ROCKS matter. Whoever you are — however you are doing life — something needs to NOT change.
Even ROCKS don’t last forever. Stuffed ducks get lost. 8 balls break. Dogs happen.
The things that ROCKS represent, and teach and instill in the character of your kids are worth a billion times more.
It feels really good when you realize you are raising kids who are better than you.
And here is the happy ending.
I think we can save the ball. Won’t be perfect. But even the scar . . . will be a reminder of forgiveness.
And hey — if you don’t know what your rocks are . . . figure them out.
Welcome to Part 2 of Grandparenting Little Expats.
In Part 1 we discussed the first 5 tips (and a number of tools) that address the issue of distance. Specifically the fact that there is too much of it between you and your Grandkids. If you missed it click below.
Let’s be fair. All of your grandkids are unique no matter where they live. Knowing that is what separates the good grandparents from the great ones.
That said, there is something special about your grandkids who are growing up in a different country. They are Third Culture Kids (that will make more sense later). There is a unique set of challenges that comes with the experience that can, at times, be quite confusing. On the flip side, their experience is rich and shaping them to be the global thinkers and leaders that our world needs desperately for the coming decades.
The more you understand about the uniqueness of their experience the more you will be in touch with their life . . . their real life. There is a wealth of information out there that can help you understand the complicated excitement of growing up cross culturally.
These resources will open the door to a whole new world of understanding that you may have never considered. HOWEVER (and this is so important) – NOTHING can replace talking to your grandchild and building that relationship. Use what you learn to build a framework for asking informed questions and understanding who they are.
Here are some good places to start (there are many more resources):
There is something extra special about a grandparent’s pride. Artwork on the fridge. Karate pictures framed and hung on the wall. Exaggerated smiles and hugs when you see their report card.
They know when you’re beaming and they eat it up.
You are the easiest people in the world to impress but it still feels extra good to know you think they are awesome.
Here’s where it gets good. If your grandchild is growing up in a different country they have a fascinating story to tell and they may not even realize it. Be fascinated. Don’t be the grandparent who wrinkles their nose or shakes their head when they hear about “strange” foods or “funny” languages.” Kids love to tell their stories but they will quickly learn who wants to listen and who doesn’t.
You should be at the very top of the “Wants to Listen” List.
Here are some pointers:
They are world travelers
Keep a chart or a map that tracks the places they have been (count the airports).
Ask them to get you something from every place they travel. It could be something really simple (like a rock or a coin) but they’ll think of you when they go and they’ll love telling you the story of how they got it.
Get them the same thing when you travel.
Ask them to save their boarding passes and tell you the story of their travels when you get to see them.
Send them a laminated photograph of yourself and have them take their picture with it everywhere they go.
They are Global Citizens
Keep a map that shows where their friends are from. You’ll be amazed.
Let them teach you a few phrases in the language they are learning.
Try their favorite foods (or the weirdest food they’ve eaten). You don’t have to like it but you’ll get big points for willingness to try.
Go to their school website (if one exists) and learn about it.
Learn about their city/town/village and not just their country.
Most Importantly – Ask, Ask, Ask. Don’t settle for, “How are you doing?” and “Do you like school?” Get specific and give them your full attention. You don’t have to treat them like they are more important because they live far away but if you saw them every week you would know this stuff. Bridge the gap and ask questions.
8. Write A Book
Kids build a relationship with the books in their personal library. They read (or have read to them) the same ones over and over again but it goes deeper than that. Even when they are sitting on the shelf or laying on a messy floor they become a regular part of their childhood. They grow to love books like they love toys, simply because they grew up together.
You need to get in on that action.
Here’s how:
Option 1: Make a Picture Book: Keep it Simple
No need to get fancy. Just go print some pictures and pop them in a scrapbook or a photo album. Add to it if you want but at the very least get some photos of you in their library.
Option 2: Make a Book about Them
Everybody loves a story about themselves. Put them in the story and you’ll have a guaranteed reader. Combine this with option 1 if you’re crafty but even if you’re not there is help.
Try these sites – They’ll make you look way more creative than you really are.
To create a quality scrapbook without scissors, glue and glitter:
It’s easier than it has ever been to create a genuine, full color, hard cover, just like you would buy in a bookstore book. You can include the pictures you want, write your own story and most likely have it shipped directly to your grand kids. Don’t be overwhelmed. Follow the instructions and get help if you’re not familiar with things like uploading pictures or selecting fonts. A little work and some forethought can produce an impressive work of art that will be cherished for years to come.
9. Make Your Mark – Be as present as you can be without being present and when you’re present make it count
You will be remembered by your grandchildren according to two key categories of time:
1. The times they see you
2. The times they see, hear and think of you between those times
We’ve already established the fact that the amount of time between actual, physical encounters with your grandkids is far too long. The core question is what are you going to do with that time?
Think QUANTITY and QUALITY.
All ten of these tips are about Quality. Spend some time working through them thinking about how you can make your time together and away absolutely premium.
Now let’s talk QUANTITY – We need to get your face, your voice and the thought of you into their lives even when you are nowhere near. It is rare for expat grandkids to talk to their grandparents every day but that doesn’t mean you can’t be present.
AND THEN — When you finally get to enjoy those sweet, sweet moments of life as it should be don’t miss the opportunity to make great memories.
Finish this sentence for your grandkids 3o years from now.“I didn’t get to see my grandparents very much when I was a kid but every, single time I did they _____________________.”
What do you hope they’ll say?
Bought me ice cream? Squeezed my guts out? Took me camping? Made homemade pizza? Told me I am awesome?
Make your mark. Be remembered for something great.
10. Get Your Name on a Plane Ticket
Nothing trumps you going to see your grandkids in their world. It will connect you in a way that you can’t even imagine. You get to see their people and eat their food. You get to experience their reality and they get to play tour guide.
They get to speak their new language while you ooh and ahh. They get to introduce you to the friends that they’ve been telling you about on Skype. They get to bounce on your knee and hug your neck without jet lag . . . at least not for them.
Make the trip. You won’t regret it.
Intentional is the key word. Intentional quantity. Intentional quality.
Excuses are the enemy of intentionality. “They’re so far away.” “I don’t understand computers.” “I don’t even have a passport.”
All of those excuses could be dealt with in a matter of hours. Or you could hang on to them for years but no one knows this better than you do . . . they won’t be young long.
You can do it.
If you are grandparenting little expats . . . I hope this helps.
If you know some grandparents (or some parents) who are too far away . . . pass this on along with PART 1
If you’ve been there and done that, don’t be stingy — What are your tips?
It’s not your fault. You tried to raise them right.
And then those ornery kids of yours grew up, had little ones of their own and moved away. What are they thinking?! This was supposed to be your time. You put in years of hard labor, thinking all along that some day, some glorious day you would enjoy all of the joys of frolicking, adorable children with none of the responsibility. Sugar em’ up and send em’ home. It was a flawless plan.
But now they live far, far away.
Don’t give up your dreams of being the best Memaw and Papaw ever just yet. There is hope.
Even though there are plenty of things that distance makes impossible, you can still bridge that gap with a little bit of research and and a whole lot of intentionality.
Here are some tips and tools to help you get moving in the right direction. Take what is useful but don’t be overwhelmed by the rest.
1. Update Your Technology
I tread lightly here.
There is a new generation of Memaws and Papaws in the world. You may very well already be fully digitized and up to date on the newest and latest technology. Kudos to you. Please don’t be insulted here. However, don’t feel bad if you fit a more traditional stereotype.
Technology can be intimidating but it’s different than it used to be. Today technology is so fast moving and competitive that it must be easy above all else to survive. The result is mind-blowing resources that often cost you nothing and generally take a few mouse clicks to get running. Don’t be too proud to get help if you need it but once you’re set up most tools are simple to use.
Start with this list (hint – click on the blue words)
Consider a Smart Phone – Lot’s of communication potential that is not possible on your old cell phone.
Upgrade – If your computer is more than 5 years old it is an antique. Consider a new one or a tablet to ensure that new technology will run ok.
Get Skype (or FaceTime) – See your grandkids while you talk (think Jetsons). Key word – FREE.
WhatsApp? Send messages anytime without paying texting fees.
Facebook– Just in case this post reaches the last three people on earth who don’t have a Facebook account yet. You should get one.
These are simple resources but not having them in place and running smoothly will mean deep frustration when all you really want to do is see your grandkids.
2. Read Books to Your Grandkids — No Matter Where You Are
Remember back in the old days when books were . . . well, they were books. Paper with words and pictures on them. No more and no less.
Those days are behind us. While nothing in the world can replace holding your grandkids in your lap and reading words from paper while they look at the pictures it is now possible to get closer to that experience than ever, even if you’re on different sides of the Ocean.
Here are three options that all take a little different approach to the same goal. Reading to your grandkids.
Option 1: Recordable Books
These are brilliant. A wide variety of popular children’s books designed with a recording device that lets you read each page. Follow the simple instructions and once you’re finished all your grandkids need to do is open the book and boom . . . they hear your voice. Twinkle bells ring and they move to the next page. These are a huge hit in our home.
Here are some places you can buy them (there are more):
Now you don’t even have to buy a physical book. You can record your voice (and video) reading a book. Your grandkids can watch it as many times as they want.
readeo.com has brought together all the best bits of recent tech advances. This is kind of like reading a book while Skyping but you don’t have to hold it up to the camera for them to see or try to read it while they hold it still. Check it out.
3. Make a Video
I’m about to inspire you. Ready?
Meet Shirley. You can call her Grandma. She is the mother of our dear friends whom we lived and worked with in China. She raises the bar when it comes to loving on grandkids from a distance and it all started with a video.
I quote . . .
“One Sunday afternoon, between meetings and dinners and while Grandpa was taking a nap, I set up our video camera and recorded a ‘lion hunt‘ activity that I hadn’t ever done with our own grandchildren. It was very quickly edited and sent out in the mail the next day so it could arrive for Christmas.”
1. It is FULL of resources and inspiring ideas (books, videos, worksheets, tips, games, recipes, links and more)
2. She is a real Grandma: This is not a high budget, super slick website built by marketing teams and web developers at Fisher Price. It’s a Grandma who wanted to love on her grandkids and then shared it with the public.
3. You can do it too: I quote again —
“I’ve always wanted to be a grandma. You see, I had a wonderful grandma . . . “
You don’t have to be Grandma Shirley. Everything she has put together flows very naturally out of who she is and a life long desire to be a great grandma.
Be yourself but find a way to share that with your grandkids?
For starters — Wait until Grandpa takes a nap and grab a video camera. See where that takes you.
You can get ideas from “My Grandma Time” at her Facebook Page as well.
4. Send a box
You cannot fathom the joy that fills an expat family’s home when a box arrives and Grandparent boxes are the best. Here are some tips.
Consider Flat Rate Boxes: If you are shipping from the US the US Postal Service offers a one rate box (in different sizes). You pay one price no matter how much it weighs (there is a limit but you can still cram it full). Other countries may offer this service as well.
Fill up the empty spaces: If you’re going flat rate you don’t pay for weight. Empty space is wasted space. Also the more space there is in the box, the more likely things are to shift and get damaged during shipping. Pack it tight and fill those spaces with goodies and treats (you may want to get permission from Mom and Dad first depending on the goodies and treats).
Don’t send breakable things: Rule of thumb — If it CAN break it WILL break.
Don’t send liquid: Same basic idea only liquid ruins everything else in the box.
Send things they can’t get: There is nothing more exciting than a box of cereal when you live in a country where cereal doesn’t exist. Find out what is hard to find and send it.
Include something for everyone: No one likes to get left out
Make it personal: Always include a note or a picture. As great as the stuff is, they really miss YOU.
Be Grandma and Grandpa: Remember your plan? Sugar em’ up. All kids need socks and underwear but that’s not your problem.
Shipping internationally is not cheap but trust me you are investing in HUGE relationship points when you send a box.
5. Play Diary Tennis
I love this idea. Buy a journal. A good one. Leather bound, blank pages, no lines.
Now write a note on the first page to your grandchild. Something simple. What did you do today? What’s the weather like? How much do you miss them?
Date it.
Love, Memaw and Papaw
Now mail it to them.
Page 2 belongs to them. They can draw a picture, write a note, scribble, handprints, finger paints, tape a photo, whatever.
And then they send it back to you.
Your turn.
Sounds simple but how incredible will that book be in 20 years?
Ten years ago today I hit “publish” for the first time. I had no clue.
I had no clear agenda. No long term goal. No 10 step plan for optimizing SEO, driving traffic, managing bounce rate, or maximizing widgets.
I barely knew what a blog was.
I just knew that cultures, smashing together, mixing, tangling, merging, jumbling, sometimes exploding, but always blending, was something that sparked my synapses, and I wanted a place to write about it.
So, with the expert tech support of my way cooler and much more savvy colleagues, we launched a blog with this post.
The Culture Blend has been a decade long whiteboard for scribbling out the thoughts that keep me up at night and a platform for sharing what I am learning along the way. It has followed me through repatriation, re-expatriation, experimental expatriation, and re-repatriation and it has given birth to three books.
More than anything … it has been a point of connection. A watering hole where global beasts and traveling herds with vast differences and similar stories have come together, interacted, gotten some refreshment, and moved on to the next thing. I am so thankful for the kindred souls that I may never have met had I never hit “publish” in 2011.
So if you’ve got a minute, celebrate with me. Reminisce a little. Dig into something you missed along the way. Connect. Reconnect. Reach out to your global people and remember how good it is when cultures blend.
Here are the Top Ten Culture Blend Posts from the past ten years
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A little back story . . . I grew up in the largest cornfield in the world.
Illinois, (one of 50 United States), is geographically and politically broken into two distinct regions.
Chicago and corn.
You could literally travel for hours in any direction from my home and never leave the cornfield. You’ll pass through some tiny towns and an occasional “big city” (city in finger quotes) but from a bird’s eye you will always be engulfed in corn.
If you had asked younger me where I was from, I would have told you “Decatur” and likely followed that up with, “it’s the third largest city in Illinois”. I was pretty proud of that “fact” (fact in finger quotes) even though it was only true for a short bit of my formative years.
“There are 100,000 people here!”. That number blew my mind. It was also exaggerated by 5% and then 15% and then 27% as my childhood moved forward.
The stats (true or not) made me feel bigger. It was classic overcompensation especially since I didn’t technically live in Decatur.
I lived in the countryside nearby (population 212 counting cows and horses). We bought groceries in Decatur so it seemed right to say I was from there.
We played baseball in a cow pasture and used dry manure for bases. When the cows interrupted the game we would chase them away and they would leave new bases on their way out. It was a sustainable model.
Airplanes excited me. They made white lines in the sky that turned orange when the sun went down and I remember vividly standing on second base, looking up and thinking, “there are people up there . . . and they’re going somewhere.”
I wanted to go somewhere — but airplane travel would be overkill for people who never left the cornfield. I heard once that you could dig a hole to China but even with the shortcut it felt too far away.
If you had offered me a ticket to anywhere I would have chosen anywhere but Illinois.
only sees corn next to the steamed buns and shriveled hot dogs on a stick at the shop outside of our apartment.
If you ask her where she is from she will proudly tell you “America” but don’t let the quick answer fool you. It hasn’t come without some challenging forethought. She wasn’t born there. She doesn’t live there. She hasn’t spent most of her time there but right now . . . in this season . . . she feels like she is “from” there.
I say “fair enough”.
She lives in a big city. Like a real one with no finger quotes. I tell people there are 8 million people in Qingdao and she corrects me instantly.
“9 million Dad.”
She’s right . . . and we both feel a little bigger.
Airplanes excite her. They are the best place in the world for a movie marathon. Back to back new releases for 14 hours.
She prefers the aisle seat but if we fly to Chicago and she leans over at just the right moment she gets to see the largest cornfield in the world.
Turns out it’s a bunch of tiny squares and rectangles all smashed together. Who knew?
I don’t know what she thinks when she sees that but I look down and think, “there is probably some kid down there on second base . . . who needs to clean his shoes before he goes in the house.”
When I ask my daughter where she would like to go I try to throw out options that were unthinkable when I was her age.
Thailand?
Philippines?
Indonesia?
Japan?
I get giddy just thinking about it but she says, “meh.”
Paris on the other hand . . .
If you offered her a ticket to anywhere she would say anywhere but Asia . . . because Asia is her Illinois.
Here’s what I love about raising global kids
Our vast and dramatic differences are actually points of connection. Even though she is growing up both literally and figuratively a world away from where I did — even though we are so very different, I love those moments when it is crystal clear that we are precisely the same.
Sometimes, she thinks exactly like me — she just has a much larger playing field.
That makes me excited about her future.
Feeling different, distant or disconnected from your global kid? Take some intentional time and find your common ground. You’re probably not as different as it feels.
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Like the time I got 28 enormous hickeys on my back or the day I discovered I might be Amish.
You can’t make this stuff up.
Life as a bumbling foreigner makes me laugh — some days simply because the alternative involves some combination of thumb sucking, a fetal position, and dents in my wall that match my forehead.
If you can relate — even a little — then you should read this new book:
“THE DAY GRANDMA GOT US KICKED OUT OF MEXICO (and other fun stories about life as a bumbling American foreigner)“
It’s a short compilation of my favorite and funnest stories, interactions and reflections over the past several years and it’s free.
This book is simply about stepping back and enjoying the expat ride . . . bumps and all. There is no moral to the story. No great self-help wisdom. Just a few light-hearted thoughts from the perspective of an American living in China. Incidentally, it might even make a good read for a German living in Brazil . . . or a Kenyan living in Russia.
Probably not a Canadian living in Greece though. That’s pushing it.
Here’s how you get the book. Just sign in below and click on the big red button. Check your email to prove that you are a human (easier for some) and enjoy.
Thanks for reading . . . and for laughing at my Grandma. I hope to return the favor someday.
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Hey expat. You too repat. When was the last time you laughed?
Like really laughed. Belly laughed until your ears hurt and you actually had to force yourself to think of something sad for fear that you might pull a muscle in your gut. Laughed so hard that you had to fight to catch your breath even after you stopped laughing . . . and then you snorted and started laughing all over again.
I’m not talking “lol” here. I mean “BWAAHAHA!”
How long has it been? How often does it happen?
Too long? Not often enough?
Why is that?
Let me guess. Life happened. Transition got real. Culture shock or re-entry stress hit you like a ton of bricks and you can’t even remember what gut laughing feels like.
In the economy of major life transition, laughter sometimes feels like a luxury that you can’t afford.
I’m right with you . . . but we’re both wrong.
It’s hard to find a better value proposition than laughter. Your investmentment is virtually nothing and the returns are astronomical. Try to get that deal from stress . . . or worry . . . or anger . . . or complaining . . . or overthinking . . . or even venting.
Bottom line? You need to laugh.
Here’s why.
Laughing is healthier and tastes better than Kale
The only thing that disqualifies laughter from being classified as a superfood is that . . . well, technically it’s not a food (if you want to be all picky). However, the studies are in (lots of them) and all of the data points to the same conclusion. Laughing is actually crazy healthy. Physically, emotionally, mentally and socially.
Here are some of the benefits (not making this up).
LAUGHTER CAN:
Lower blood pressure
Increase short-term memory
Lower stress hormones
Protect against heart disease
Defend against respiratory infections
Improve alertness and creativity
Increase oxygen levels in your blood
Increase pain tolerance
Improve metabolism
Make you blow milk out of your nose which makes other people laugh which resets the whole healthy cycle
Seriously. Kale isn’t even funny. At all.
Laughter is the opposite of everything that stresses you out
Important to note here. Laughter doesn’t SOLVE all of your transition challenges. It’s not going to magically infuse your brain with a foreign language or explain to your family why you’re crying in the cereal aisle. Laughter is not the answer to all of your pain but it might be the break that you need to STOP being consumed by the hard stuff. Even for a little bit.
A good laugh can be a great reset.
There are no Laughter Rehabs
People with issues (like you and me) want to detach. It’s what we do. Unfortunately the unhealthy options that offer a break from hard realities are as unlimited as the devastation that comes as a result of engaging with them. Laughter is all natural with zero negative side effects. So is kale but we’ve covered that.
A good laugh can give you a break without disconnecting or doing damage.
Laughter crosses cultural boundaries
Some of my most enjoyable laughs have been shared with people who speak about five words in my language (which is three more than I speak in theirs). To be clear . . . HUMOR does NOT often cross cultural lines.
Like, hardly ever.
Your jokes are probably not funny to the rest of the world. Sorry, but it’s better you find out here . . . from the guy who has learned the hard way.
HOWEVER — humor is not the only thing worth laughing at. If and when you find that point of connection with someone who is on the other side of a cultural line, it is golden. A good laugh not only crosses cultural barriers — it crushes them and builds a rapport that is hard to find elsewhere.
A note for repats — You’re crossing cultures too.
A good laugh can be a surprisingly great connector.
Laughing at yourself means you’re doing transition right
If you can’t laugh at yourself in the context of being a bumbling foreigner or returning “home” (and feeling like a bumbling foreigner) you are likely to do one of two things: Explode or Implode. Neither of those is good (just in case you were wondering).
There is only one reason you should laugh at yourself. Ready?
Because you’re funny.
Not so much in the brilliant, well thought out comedic genius kind of way. No no, you’re funny in the cat who falls off a ceiling fan kind of way. You’re making mistakes and falling down even though you look and feel like you shouldn’t be.
Frustrating . . . but funny.
Bumbling and falling can be a shot to your pride for sure — but laughing at yourself can be an indicator that your pride isn’t controlling you. I’m not talking about a self-loathing, self abusive, “I’m too stupid to do anything” laughter — but a healthy acknowledgement that you are not, in fact, the first person to do transition without falling down is a good sign.
A good laugh at yourself is a great gauge for transitional health.
Laughter is a good sign of things to come
Transition is a thief. It temporarily robs you of the comfort and confidence that you enjoyed back when you were settled. Remember those days? You had it all figured out. Now it’s just awkward. You don’t laugh when things are awkward.
Ok you might “lol” . . . but you don’t “BWAAHAHA!!”
So finding a way to genuinely laugh, even before you’re resettled, gives you a glimpse of something good that is coming.
A good laugh can be a great reminder that it’s going to get better.
One important disclaimer that could change everything:
It matters what you laugh at
All of this is out the window if it takes ripping someone else (or yourself for that matter) to shreds for you to laugh. You might still get the sugar rush but it’s not worth the damage you’ll leave behind (and carry with you).
So take some time and get intentional. Try this — Write down five times you can remember laughing til it hurt. Now start making connections. What do they have in common? Where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with? What can you recreate now? What can you not?
Even if transition has made it impossible to reproduce your most laughable moments, don’t give up on finding some new ones.
Why not start with a chuckle? — scroll up to the blue box at the top, right of this page and download my new ebook, “The Day Grandma Got us Kicked Out of Mexico.” It’s full of some of my most frustrating and enjoyable laughs as a bumbling foreigner.
Christmas has become a convoluted affair, hasn’t it?
Frankly. I’m confused.
As an expat, I’m admittedly behind the curve on the most current culture wars and feather ruffles. I lose track of what I’m supposed to say and what I’m not supposed to say.
Let me see if I’ve got this straight.
If I say Merry Christmas, I’m a jerk-faced religious radical who hates anyone that doesn’t believe what I do.
If I say “Happy Holidays” I’m a cowering sellout to my faith and I hate baby Jesus.
Is that about right?
The whole conversation typically spirals into a painful pit of political, cultural and religious trump cards, slammed on the table with an unhealthy dose of insecurity and power plays.
“SANTA is a LIE . . . You want to LIE to your kids?!!”
“JESUS is the reason for the season!! You jerkface!”
“What about the CRUSADES?! You celebrate murder?!!”
“You know this whole thing started with the pagans right?!.”
“HAPPY HOLIDAYS??!! Let’s hope Jesus doesn’t forget YOUR birthday?!!”
“HOW DARE YOU!!”
That’s not what I was going for. Really — it wasn’t.
Can I try again?
At the risk of horrible offense and huge misunderstanding can I just step out on a limb and say . . . My wish for you . . . whoever you are . . .
is GREAT JOY
For those who love Christmas
For the ones who frolic and skip and “fa la la la la” all the way through December. The ones who get jolly with every yule tide song and jingle bell and twinkly light and wake every morning with visions of sugar plums . . . good for you.
May you be filled and overflowing with unspeakable joy that spills out into the broken world around you and touches the souls of someone in a different reality.
For those who used to love Christmas
To all of those for whom Christmas is just a big, stupid reminder that your heart hurts — that someone you loved deeply is gone — that someone you trusted crushed your spirit — that something you need is lacking — that something you want is out of reach.
For anyone who sees the sappiness and the happiness of the “Christmas Spirit” all around you — and wants to punch it in the face.”
I don’t say it lightly.
I’m so sorry. And my wish for you is joy. Maybe just for a moment. Maybe from a place you least expect it. Maybe it could never be nearly enough.
But my genuine hope for you is that even in your darkest moments, a flicker of true joy lights up your room.
For those who are too far away.
For the expats, like me, who are on the wrong side of the planet. For the homepats who love them and just wish they would smarten up and come back. For the misplaced, and displaced, and refugees, and prisoners and all of the other people whose greatest pain is felt in the distance between you and the people who aren’t next to you.
I hope you find some joy in the people who are.
I also hope you find some joy in those skype calls, and packages and pictures and memories and tiny little moments that remind you of the people you wish were closer.
For those who don’t celebrate Christmas.
For my Jewish and Muslim and Hindu and Atheist and Agnostic and many, many other friends — I love you — And that goes so much deeper than tradition.
Don’t get me wrong, I would love to share my stories with you. I’d jump on the chance to sit over a tall, cold glass of egg nog and tell you about waking up on Christmas morning and Grandma’s squash pie.
AND
I would absolutely love to hear your stories too. Your holidays. Your celebrations. Your fondest and sweetest memories from childhood and your boldest dreams for the future.
My wish for you is joy with no disclaimer. No stipulation. No agenda.
Just joy.
For those who have been hurt by people who celebrate Christmas.
I don’t really feel like dancing around this one with veiled insinuations wrapped in insecurity so let’s just be straight. Deal?
For those of you who have been hurt by Christians and Christmas just stirs it up.
I am sorry.
I can’t apologize on behalf of the entire Christian world (they didn’t sign the release form) and I can’t promise a better collective showing in the future (that’s beyond my seniority level).
I can say this though:
I have played my part in your pain. I have hurt you deeply both directly and indirectly. I have shut you out. I have judged you wrongly. I have told jokes at your expense. I have marginalized you. I have huddled up with my own kind, high fived and chest bumped because we dealt shame and arrogance and it served our shortsighted purpose at the moment.
I have misrepresented my own faith.
I have loved you poorly.
And I am truly sorry.
And my wish for you is that you find the joy of bumping into someone who does it better than I have.
Someone who listens with humility.
Someone who loves without condition.
My genuine Christmas wish . . .
Is for GOOD NEWS of GREAT JOY for ALL PEOPLE.
And in the interest of copyright infringement, I should let you know — I wasn’t the first to write that.
One final note:
For those who are still offended.
For anyone who might be thinking, “that’s too far” or “that’s not far enough” or “you left out the best part” or “how dare you”.
I would invite you to discover the joy of extending your own wish for all people.
Let’s start with a quick summary of this whole post.
This is a longer one (at least for a blog post) so let’s break it up. I’ll give you all ten questions up front and then you can work through the rest as you please.
There are lots of resources and extras below but first things first:
Here are10 QUESTIONS THAT EVERY EXPAT (OR REPAT) PARENT SHOULD ASK ABOUT THEIR KIDS
#1. What are our ROCKS? (What stays the same when everything else changes?)
#2. What is a Third Culture Kid (TCK)?
#3. If my kid were in Star Wars who would they be? (what is their personality profile?)
#4. What is my kid’s Love Language?
#5. When my child grows up how would I like them to finish this sentence: “When I was a kid, we always . . .”
#6. Same question, only flip it around: “When I was a kid we never . . .”
#7. What pictures (that I haven’t taken yet) do I want to someday show my grandchildren?
#8. What do my kids love about their international lives? (and do they know it?)
#9. What do my kids hate about their international lives?
#10. What is our family culture?
There you go. Feel free to chew on that or move ahead. This is a great conversation to have with your family, your friends and your community.
And Here is the long form version:
Raising kids with an international twist is hard.
Scratch that. Raising kids is hard – doing it internationally just adds an extra, very specific layer with specific challenges and specific benefits. I’m actually a big fan of the whole concept.
I love what my kids are getting out of this experience. I love what is being built into them. I love who they are becoming . . . but I’m not an idiot. This is hard.
It’s hard for us and it’s hard for them. So as a parent I want to be in touch with the realities — the specific realities, good and bad — of who my kids are and what they are going through.
Here are ten questions that every expat (or repat) parent should ask about their kids.
NUMBER ONE: What are our rocks?
It’s a simple concept. The lives of global families are marked by change (did I hear an amen?). Packing, moving, airports, new people, new places, new languages, new foods, new friends and old friends constantly running through the revolving door of expat community.
Even when you are not the one moving, life moves around you.
A lot.
Here’s the thing . . . When everything changes, something needs to NOT CHANGE.
Those are your rocks. That’s where stability comes from.
Knowing what your family rocks are frees you up celebrate them, emphasize them, debrief them and critique them. Sit down with a piece of paper (an iPad if you’re under 30) and ask yourself “what are our rocks?”
What are the things that you can do, will do and do do no matter where in the world you are? (I know . . . I said do do. Grow up.)
Think in terms of:
RELATIONSHIPS: What people will be a ongoing presence in your children’s lives regardless of time apart or distance?
STUFF: What physical objects (toys, pictures, blankets, collections etc.) can and will travel with you no matter where you go?
ROUTINES: What do you do daily and weekly as a family that can be reproduced anywhere in the world?
TRADITIONS: What do you do annually that can be reproduced?
NUMBER TWO: What is a Third Culture Kid (TCK)?
I tread lightly here for two reasons. One, some of you have heard this so much you’re bored sick with it.
Fair enough — however, for many it is a brand new, mind blowing concept worth repeating.
Here’s the textbook definition (and the starting point):
“A TCK is an individual who has spent a significant portion of his/her formative years in a culture that is different from their parents.”
“A TCK builds relationships to all of the cultures, while not having full ownership in any. Although elements from each culture are assimilated into the TCK’s life experience, the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of similar background.”
This concept (and the narrative around it) has shed light and breathed life into global families that didn’t exist 30 years ago. It has given life-changing insight to befuddled parents and hope to kids who just thought they were weird.
It is brilliant. Genius. And good.
However (and this is my second tread lightly reason) like any culture TCK’s are fair game for stereotyping. If your kid is a TCK, learn everything you can. Read the books and the blogs. Go to the seminars.
BUT — Don’t forget that they are completely unique.
In fact . . . the books will all say exactly that. You’re kid may fit into the TCK category but don’t put them in the TCK box.
Keep reading.
NUMBER THREE: If my kid were in Star Wars who would they be?
Don’t like Star Wars? Not a problem. You have a ridiculous number of options (hold that thought).
Let me pause and make my point before I jump down this rabbit hole. You should be a student of your child’s personality. It’s what makes them pop. It’s who they are. It’s how they process the world. If being a TCK is what connects them to a group then personality is what sets them apart.
There are a billion tools to help you define and assess a personality. Pick the one you like.
If you weren’t a Psych major and you just need a place to start then go with Myers Briggs (MBTI).
Have fun with that but learn something about your kid.
NUMBER FOUR: What is my kid’s Love language?
Love Language goes one layer deeper than personality. Knowing how your kid gives and receives love is golden insight into what motivates them. It is also likely to shine the light on your most common miscommunications.
In a nutshell the Five Love Languages are
Words of Affirmation
Physical Touch
Quality Time
Gifts
Acts of Service
So if you keep telling your little girl how great she is but what she really needs is a hug, you’re missing something. And if your boy keeps bringing you a bouquet of weeds it might tell you something about how to love him back.
NUMBER FIVE: When your child is grown, how do you want them to finish this sentence: “When I was a kid we always . . . “
There are so many directions this could go right?
. . . we always moved around.
. . . we always fought.
. . . we always ate dinner together.
. . . we always stayed connected to Grandma and Grandpa.
. . . we always tried to guess which row of the airplane we would sit in.
. . . we always ate pizza and popcorn on family night.
Memory is a funny thing. It is selective and fuzzy and at the very same time vivid and emotional. If you ask this you are answering a question that won’t even be asked for years.
What do you want to be the FIRST THING that pops into their brain when they hear this question years from now?
Once you have the answer you can be intentional about moving towards it.
Here’s a tip— If you’re not sure how to answer for your future kids, try answering for your present self first. How would YOU finish the sentence about YOUR childhood? Do you hope the same for your kids or something completely different?
NUMBER SIX: Same question only flip it around: “When I was a kid we never . . .”
. . . we never traveled for fun.
. . . we never had family dance parties.
. . . we never ate out.
. . . we never missed a family night.
. . . we never played outside.
. . . we never listened to music.
Same basic concept but you’ll learn something new if you ask it this way.
NUMBER SEVEN: What pictures (that I haven’t taken yet) do I want to show my grandkids?
Someday your grandchildren may climb up on your lap and say, “what was my mommy like?” or “tell me about daddy when he was my age.”
Pictures are powerful story tellers but lives marked by transition tend to have missing chapters. In the chaos of consistent moves and constant changes you typically end up with the highlights (portraits, birthdays, Christmas and selfies in front of major global landmarks) but . . . the real life stuff gets missed.
None of these really answers the question — what were they like?
Build your list of pictures that tell the story. Family portraits? Sure. Eiffel tower and Pyramid selfies? Absolutely.
But don’t put the camera away when they’ve painted the baby’s face or thrown a ball through the window or fell asleep in the airport or created a superhero costume out of underwear.
Get the day to day stuff, the frustrating stuff, and even the painful stuff . . . it all tells the story.
Here’s a tip: Don’t keep everything.
At the very least have a file for “keepers” that is separate from the massive, multi terabyte wasteland of “every picture ever”. It’s the paradox of living in a digital camera age.
Think about how you want to tell their story and go get the pictures to illustrate it.
(Again, if it helps to frame the question, think of it this way — What pictures do you wish you could see of your parents now?)
NUMBER EIGHT: What do my kids LOVE about this experience (and do they know it)?
I’m pretty vocal about the fact that I love raising my kids cross-culturally. There is so much to love but a fair pushback goes something like, “well that’s nice, but do THEY love it?”
I think that question is unanswerable. It only has two possible answers and both are wrong . . . “YES” or “NO”. One way everything is perfect and the other they are falling apart. Neither is the case.
Some of this life is awesome and YES they absolutely love it.
Some of it is NOT.
As a parent I can’t answer, do they love living abroad BUT I can have a pulse on what they do love.
My kids love airports. They love going home in the summer. They love it when Dad gets to drive a car. They love their international school (even though they’re not thrilled about school in general). They love having friends from all over the world. They love eating seaweed.
They love a lot of things that are unique to an international life. Stuff that I never dreamed of at their age.
Here’s the kicker . . . they don’t think it’s international . . . it’s just life.
For me the contrast is huge but for them it’s just day to day stuff. Knowing what they love helps us as parents do more of it and do it well.
NUMBER NINE: What do they HATE about this experience?
Don’t be the Happy Stamper parent (I have to fight this tendency). Some of this is hard and it is hard specifically because you are living (or have lived) internationally.
You’re a foreigner — so are they.
Know what my kids hate?
They HATE saying goodbye over and over. They hate getting stared at. They hate not having a big house with a big back yard. They hate not having roller coasters nearby. They hate not having a car.
My daughter, who is ethnically Chinese, absolutely HATES it when people expect her to speak for our family. She hates it 6 levels deeper when they make her feel stupid because she can’t.
I hate that too.
And it’s ok.
Global life is not multiple choice. It is a sliding scale. My kids can love it and hate it at the same time but I should know where they’re at.
NOT so I can fix them — so I can know them.
NUMBER TEN: What is your Family Culture?
Hands down the greatest definition of culture that I have ever heard came from a 5th grade girl.
Ready? Here it is.
“Culture is the personality of the group.”
Simple. Brilliant. She said it one time and I will remember it for the rest of my life.
Every group has a personality. They have distinct characteristics that set their herd apart from the rest of the animal kingdom.
Countries do for sure. Continents too. Churches. Schools. Rock bands. Basketball teams. Chess clubs. Protesters. Gangs. All of them.
Anytime people move together in a group they take on a personality.
That is their culture and your family is no exception.
Your family has a culture.
Why not take some time to deconstruct it?
What are your values?
How do they show up in your actions, your clothing, your language, your relationships?
What makes you weird?
What makes you the greatest family on earth?
What about your history makes you proud?
What would you rather forget?
How do you celebrate?
How do you mourn?
Any question you would ask about a country — ask about yourselves. It will give you a whole new perspective.
There they are. Ten questions that we should all be asking. They are not the only ten. There are many more.
What would you add? What questions have given you a broader, better perspective? Which conversations have strengthened your family in the context of global life?
Life abroad is a trade off isn’t it? You give some things up. You get some things back.
Some would call it a sacrifice which is perfectly accurate for so many. I prefer the term investment for myself. Both start with letting go of something but a sacrifice let’s go with no expectation or hope for return.
Truly and entirely selfless. Those people are my heros.
BUT
I’m getting way too much out of this to think that I have genuinely sacrificed anything (especially in comparison to those people). I’ve given things up but I’m an investor and frankly the returns are phenomenal.
To be clear — I’m not talking money here.
My investment has been comfort, connection and confidence.
I’ve given up things like a room full of power tools, a bathroom that doesn’t smell like raw sewage and literacy. Those are trivial compared to the relational investments — sure would be nice to drop the kids at Grandma and Grandpa’s for the day.
I’m whining a bit but I’m not complaining. The returns are not lost on me — I’m getting a bottomless adventure, a network of close friends from every continent (except Antarctica), kids who will never be held back by words like, “that’s too far to travel”, free language lessons with every taxi ride, fabulous family selfies, street food that would make your head spin and a chance to live out my calling every single day.
Seriously — not complaining — but I do miss my family. Especially this time of year.
The holiday season has me thinking about traditions. Are they an investment or a sacrifice?
I feel like many expats buy into the idea that when you live abroad you have to check your traditions at the airport. Just put them on pause until you get back “home”. A total sacrifice on the altar of “that’s not an option here”.
I don’t buy it.
Traditions, for the expat (and the repat), are one of the great opportunities for something solid in a life which is otherwise incessantly marked by change. Adaptation is required to be sure. Adjustment is essential. You can’t do this without some tweaks and twerks and modifications but rock solid traditions are worth the investment.
My family needs that. I need that.
So I’m investing in a solid set of traditions (holiday and otherwise) that can remain constant here, there or anywhwere.
sidenote: Twerks are probably less essential to this process than tweaks and modifications. Please consult a doctor before you include twerking in your family traditions. Please also consult your family.
When you squeeze the old, stable customs through the filter of expat realities you end up with a set of TRAVELING TRADITIONS that can go with you wherever you land.
I’m working on mine and here are some things that I’m considering:
Traveling Traditions should focus on people not places.
We don’t have the luxury of going to Grandmother’s house every year let alone going over the same river or through the same woods. Our stability will likely never be a place. It is people (namely us).
Traveling Traditions should be focused on what “can always” instead of what “can here”.
Every true tradition must be held to the test . . . could we still do this if we lived in Dubai or Moscow or Bangkok or Atlantis? If not then it always runs the risk of extinction with the next move . . . or the one after that.
Traveling Traditions should be focused on small and not large.
Ornaments travel. Trees, not so much. We are mobile people. Our traditions should not be tethered to “things” that cannot move with us.
Traveling Traditions are more likely to need “translating” than simply “transplanting“.
Traditions probably won’t ever move seamlessly between spots on the planet but discovering how to convert the heart of the old into a new location or culture is worth some thought. sidenote: something is always lost in translation which does not render it unworth translating.
Traveling Traditions should be firmly flexible.
I am 100% dead set, unflinchingly convinced and resolved that our traditions will move forward according to our plan, absolutely . . . until they don’t. Then I’ll be flexible. We’re expats so we’ve already learned something about flexibility. It keeps us from breaking.
Traveling Traditions should break the time-space continuum.
20 years from now I want my kids to finish the sentence, “When I was a child my parents always made us ______________”. Then I want them to wrack their brains figuring out how they’re going to get their families to love it as much as they did.
We have a wonderfully challenging, beautifully transient life. Things change regularly and rapidly even when we don’t go anywhere. We make more friends than we ever dreamed we would, engage more cultures than we even knew existed and say more goodbyes than we ever signed on for.
Considering the fact that pretty much everything changes on a regular basis for the average expat . . . something needs to stay the same.
Traditions are worth the investment but they are certainly not without return.
What have you learned about maintaining your traditions in a constantly changing life?
I could easily be convinced that making all decisions, major and minor, foreign and domestic by means of Rock Paper Scissors is the purest and most diplomatic form of government . . . but that’s a different blog.
This one is about kids.
Kids like mine. Kids who have been through or are right in the middle of major life transitions. My kids have done it before (when we moved to China) and are doing it again (now in America). In fact if transition were a person he would be one of the most familiar faces in our family and my kids would know him well.
The question is, “would they like him?”
Would transition be the cool uncle who brings them great gifts, opens their eyes to new things and takes them to awesome places or would he be the creepy uncle who puts them in a headlock, gives them noogies* and says, “pull my finger”?
Transition is one relationship that my kids cannot ignore. So instead of complaining about it, ignoring it or making excuses for it when we know it is coming over for the Holidays I would prefer that they develop a healthy outlook towards it.
I think Rock Paper Scissors is the answer.
Let’s start with ROCK
Rocks don’t move when everything else does. Wait. Flip that around. When everything else moves . . . rocks don’t.
If your kids are like mine (and you are like me) you worry sometimes. You worry that transition is going to break them. You worry that the constant moving pieces in their every day lives are going to be too much for their fragile minds to handle. You worry that all of the third culture kid stereotypes and statistics are going to do permanent damage.
• “I don’t know how to answer the question, ‘where am I from?'”
• “I’m not sure where home is”
• “I feel rootless”
This is where the rock part comes in. I am genuinely convinced of what I’m about to say however it is attached to a HUGE BUT (don’t go there).
TRANSITION ≠ INSTABILITY
(BUT . . . If there are no rocks it does)
Rocks are the pieces that don’t move when everything else does. They are the things that will always be present and real and unchanging even when everything else in your child’s life feels like a tornado. Rocks are the objects that always travel with you, the traditions that you never miss and the quirky little mannerisms that make your family distinct. The single requirement is that they can and do remain constant no matter where you live or how much your surroundings shift. When everything else changes . . . they don’t. There’s a good chance that they’re what you roll your eyes at as a kid and remember with great fondness as an adult.
What are your rocks?
You’re not alone if your first response is the big stuff. Love, Family, God. No argument from me. Those are rocks for sure but they’re not what I’m talking about here. I’m going one level more specific. If love is an unchanging rock in your family, how do you express it to your kids? And could you still do it that way if you lived in Mexico City, or Nairobi or the International Space Station? If God is an immovable rock in your faith how do your kids know it?
There can be tremendous stability in a home that is in consistent transition when kids know . . . really know . . . that some things never change.
Here are Five Ideas of the Practical Sort . . .
1. Rock Your Family Night
Lots of families have family night but it takes on life when you give it a personality of it’s own. Pizza and popcorn are the rocks in our family night. From there we watch a movie or play a game but pizza and popcorn are the non-negotiables. No matter where in the world we have been so far we have successfully found some variation of these two things. We have scoured unfamiliar cities to scrounge up some dreadful, nasty pizza and stale, practically petrified popcorn but we have always arisen victorious and family night has lived on.
What can you add to your family night that is 100% transferrable to any location and will become something that your kids recognize as a symbol of the strength of your family?
2. Rock Your Own Family Day
Think of it. What if June 14th was (insert your family name here) Extravaganza Celebration Day? Think back to your childhood. Which days stand out more than any others? Remember blowing out candles on your birthday cake? Waking up your parents on Christmas morning? Passing out love notes or ears of hardened feed corn with your 2nd grade dream girls name on it which you spelled out by meticulously removing one kernel at a time in hopes that she might choose you as her Valentine over Chris Tomkins?* Anyone? Me Neither.
What if there were one extra special day of the year that belonged entirely to your family? A holiday just for you.
You decide what the traditions are. You choose the special foods, write the special songs and buy the special gifts. Take the day off work. Pull your kids out of school. Play it up and make it something worth looking forward to every year. Your kids will grow to love it and you can celebrate no matter where you live.
Declare it to be so. Pick a day and name it “The Annual Festival of the Joneses Day” (only change it to your name – that’s our day).
3. Rock a Family Mascot
If you’ve lived overseas, you’ve more than likely been asked to accompany “Flat Stanley” on a tour of your neighborhood. Flat Stanley is a brilliant idea where 1st graders color Stanley, cut him out and send him to visit friends all over the world. Then they compile the pictures of his travels to the Grand Canyon, the Great Wall and Grandma’s back yard. Stanley’s got it good.
What if your family had it’s own Stanley? Only instead of traveling without you he only went where you go. Important side note: it’s not essential that you call him Stanley. You can call him anything you like. Call him Goober if you want to.
Including a family mascot, whether it is a colored piece of paper, a stuffed animal or a rubber chicken, in your family pictures is a fun way to run a simple unifying thread through your memories. Think of the wall of pictures that you will someday have with your kids at various ages in different places all accompanied by a rubber chicken named Goober.
Let your kids choose a family mascot who will accompany you from this point forward on all of your adventures.
4. Rock the Old Traditions
Holiday traditions are an extremely important part of building stability in chaos and giving your kids a connection to your passport culture even if they have never lived there. The most memorable traditions though are the customized family ones that you and your kids can own and will stick with them forever. This is your chance to upgrade the run of the mill celebrations to distinctly yours. It can also be a good chance to incorporate your host culture and your home culture if you are living cross culturally.
For example:
We always sing happy birthday in English, Chinese and Korean. It’s a tradition we picked up in China because all three languages were often represented in any given birthday party but now it’s a part of who we are.
On Christmas Eve we give each of our kids a small amount of money, draw names between the four of us, split up at the mall and buy small gifts for each other in one hour. Then we get ice cream.
We take a picture of our kids every year in the same Santa hat.
Be creative. Make a plan to customize the old traditions.
5. Rock the Generosity
Simply put, I want to do things that build character in my kids. I don’t want them to simply see me doing something generous now and again. I want generosity to be a rock that they see in me no matter what else changes. This can be a tough one because generosity wears different robes depending on the culture it is being expressed in. Giving gifts for example, always comes attached to a cultural obligation. Where I come from it is humble appreciation. Not expressing appropriate gratitude can be extremely rude and may impact a relationship. In China, however, the obligation is repayment. Not repaying a gift or a good deed, with something of equal or greater value may lead to a loss of face and/or strained relationships.
Consider the cultural implications and commit to living generously. Ask your kids for ideas. They’re smarter than you.
Kids who thrive through transition ARE an option. Rocks are a decent place to start. Paper and Scissors are good to . . . but that’s another blog.
I’m anxious to hear about the rocks that have worked for you.
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*For those with no older brothers or creepy uncles
noog • ie – ˈno͝ogē
noun – a hard poke or grind with the knuckles, esp. on a person’s head.
*Chris Tomkin’sname has been changed to avoid any legal recourse surrounding the defamation of his conniving, two bit, no good, box of chocolate giving, no creativity having character (or lack thereof). But you know who you are Chris Tomkins. You know.
mother of our dear friends whom we lived and worked with in China. She raises the bar when it comes to loving on grandkids from a distance and it all started with a video.
