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.
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?
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.
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.