As American as ____

My wonderful five year old and I took my new Bhutanese friend and her son to the park today. I've been meaning to get my friend out of the house for awhile, but knew I needed a whole day to devote, plus nice weather.

When spending time in cross-cultural situations, the crossing of cultures part is inevitable. I would like to think myself a student of all cultures, a bit adventurous, and not so entrenched in my own lifestyle that I cannot appreciate the perspective of others. Turns out, you can smell that Starbucks on me before you see me coming. I am undeniably a product of middle class, white America.

Exhibit A: I am a clock watcher. Americans are the only people who count seconds, let alone minutes and hours. I arrived at my friend's house at 10 am sharp. She opened the door in her pajamas and said,"Oh you are right on time. I am not quite ready." An hour later, we left for the park. We had to eat breakfast first. And they had to get dressed. And she had to show me a video on the computer of the Indian Miss World of 1996 or something. I don't know; I have learned when to ask and when not to. No big deal, I planned for diversions. Anna handled the whole waiting around the apartment thing beautifully. Better than she handles some trips to Target, for sure.

Exhibit B: I actually do eat like an American. Breakfast was a version of ramen-like noodles fried up with ginger, onion, chili peppers, and other spices that would earn the dish at least a "3" in Indian restaurants in America. Sweet little Anna tried her best, but didn't make much progress. Kids are given generous allowance for such things in any culture. I did the best I could, but I had eaten breakfast at my house, and it was 10 am. When my friend fretted that I didn't like it, I tried to assure her I did, but I had just eaten a meal. And Americans kind of stick to eating the spicy stuff after noon.

It was a nice day for the park, and her three year old son has never been to a park. He was delighted. She was having fun watching him have fun and kept saying, "I know he will sleep tonight!" He loved the swings, the slide, watching the fish swim in the water, and beating on the statues of kids playing. He ended up being quite smitten with Anna, insisting on holding her hand and giving her lots of hugs. He does not understand English at all. But my Anna, she's getting quite good at communicating with kids who do not speak English.

Finally, I had to break the news it was time to go. I was trying to build in time for other unplanned events and still make it in time for Moll to get off the bus with her mom at home.

On cue, my friend announced that she did not think her husband would be home-could we stop at her brother and sister-in-laws house? When we got there, we simply walked in the house, and two adults were sleeping in the living room. She walked through the house looking for her husband, then shook who I assume was the brother-in-law awake, got a key from him, and he rolled back over and went back to sleep with hardly a glance at us.

Exhibit C: I like my private space and time. White middle-class Americans have fences and garages with remotes and schedules and locked doors. I realize the whole extended family thing is different even in different parts of American culture. Add to my previous self-categorizing that I am also a Northerner. Some sort of grievance would be filed if my sister-in-law waltzed unannounced into my house with strangers in tow while I was sleeping.

I dropped them off at their place, and we said good-bye, see you again, etc. Anna said she had a great time and really liked the little boy. And she was hungry. Could we stop at Mc Donald's? More evidence for Exhibit B.

Even though my friend must shake her head at my strange American ways, we share things that provide us some common ground. My friend is expecting, and constantly sick. She's even had to be IV-rehydrated and slapped on anti-nausea meds. Didn't I have lots of empathy for her, stuck in a stuffy, old apartment that smells its part (not to mention with husband making pungent food...)! Her husband was a high school teacher in Nepal. Her little boy loves cupcakes, or at least eats the frosting and leaves most of the cake. She loves him and is stymied by how to get him to listen to her sometimes. I may like my door knocked on before it is entered. My life may be a game of Beat the Clock. My breakfast may be bland and caffeinated. But, Sister, I know those experiences, I know those feelings, and I know they are enough to build a bridge of sorts across a culture gap.