Home part 2

I used to be somebody. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I was a celebrity or anything. But I was somebody. I lived in a small city where I knew hundreds of people by name. I was a regular at at least six or seven Tex Mex restaurants. I couldn't walk down the street or go to a store without running into an acquaintance. Chatting time had to be factored into any outing. If nothing more, I could count on a familiar nod or a smile of recognition every time I left the house.

I attribute this to a number of things. For one thing I lived in San Marcos, on and off, for nearly twenty years. The jobs I did in San Marcos were quite social. I was a vet assistant, a pizza driver, and a teacher for a number of years. Teaching and working for the school district particularly made me feel like a part of the community. Also I am a pretty gregarious and friendly person. I enjoy visiting. And Texas is not a bad place for chatting. Folks tend to be friendly, particularly in smaller cities and towns.

I left every so often, but have always been lured (some say sucked)  back to live amongst my adopted people, the San Martians. Even now, as I toil in the Egyptian desert, I check nightly for sheep's blood over my door or some sign that exodus is at hand and I can escape to the promised land. As yet, I have witnessed plagues, but no relief.

Let me tell you about growing up. I was born in the Netherlands to American parents. At three we moved to England, where I lived and went to school until fifth grade. Then we went to a place my parents referred to as 'home' where I had no idea about anything, America. I was nine but had never seen a full episode of Sesame Street. I didn't even know that Greg and Marsha were brother and sister, sort of. After an awkward seven year stint in Houston, we moved to Egypt where I completed high school amongst other oddball kids. Just three months ago, I learned that there is a word for people who grew up like me - people who hold passports from countries that they know almost nothing about. They (we) are referred to as 'third culture kids'. Cool. I lived less than half of my childhood in the United States, but I am not a foreigner, at least not exactly.

This was problematic socially for a long time. I was always a fish out of water. Ten years ago, I left a good job as a brewer, escaping to Mexico in the hopes of finding myself outside of the US. It was terrific and might have actually worked if economics and family hadn't pulled me back. Being an American outside of America felt like home to me at that time.

Something funny happened when I started teaching in San Marcos and my first daughter was born seven years ago. I think it was a sudden thing, though I can't describe the moment. Maybe it was an event or maybe just a realization. I became an American, and more specifically a Texan, and to be even more specific than that... I became a San Martian.

But the mind is a roamy thing and mine always wanders, goes on trips looking for greener grass and springier springs. That impulse may always follow me. And so now, we find ourselves in Egypt. But this time is different. This time I am not ecstatic or relieved. Though the adventure is intense and we are never bored, there is a pull that I cannot deny. In truth, I am terribly homesick, as I never was in Mexico or any of the other temporary homes of my past. At the risk of falling prey to melancholia, I revel in this homesickness and how it reveals to me that I finally have something that I (and maybe other 'third culture kids') always longed for....  home.