My Pal Mason

It tore my heart out last night to have to leave Katie and Lucy in Hanoi. I felt so utterly deflated that we got so close to getting them out at the same time as me and Mason.

However, it is wonderful to get to travel with Mason. He is the greatest traveler. I love watching him walk through crowds in Hanoi, Osaka, Europe, wherever and not even appear phased by anything. He has an attitude that says he has seen everything there is to see. He can deal with an 11 hour layover or 12 hour flight like it was nothing. He just pulls up, pulls out his sketchpad and starts drawing. Or reads another book (seven so far on this trip). Or takes a nap.

It is so fun to have a son develop into a pal, a great friend. I am grateful that Mason is that and that he'll travel around the world with me. What fun to be with him.

We are on an 11-hour layover in Osaka. Then we'll fly to LA and have a seven hour layover. Getting a flight at the list minute does not lend itself to pleasant itineraries. However, in less than 24 hours we'll be home with Bryn, Madison, Porter and Winnie. How exciting. 

A Hard Day

I don't think any emotion in life has compared to the feeling I have had when each of my children was born. I remember when Mason was born I was completely caught off guard by the emotions I felt in the moment. It almost felt as though the veil cracked momentarily and heaven was shining through into the hospital room. That same feeling has recurred each time a child was born to us.

I was curious when we met Lucy and when we took her out of the orphanage if I would have similar emotions. When we first met Lucy it was similar yet different. I had the same sense of "so there you are and I know you" that I felt with each of our kids. But I was as fascinated with witnessing Katie's reaction as I was with my own. Taking Lucy out of the orphanage had a very unexpected emotion though.

As Katie has written in her blog, Mason had a little buddy at the orphanage named Quoc. Each day when we went to the orphanage Mason would take Quoc out of his crib and play with him. He nicknamed him Chub-Chub. He was such a sweet little boy. In a room full of children, Quoc was the one that we played with every day, other than Lucy. We held lots of children, but Quoc was who we never missed playing with.

On the day we picked up Lucy for the last time, Mason went right to Quoc's crib to get him out. I told him to leave him because we weren't staying. I could not believe the urgent look on Quoc's face while we waited to leave with Lucy. He cried and grunted and yelled. He seemed to know we were leaving and not taking him with, and he was alarmed and dismayed. I must admit that never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would some day be raising six children. Four was always my magic number. But as I stood there, I asked myself over and over if we weren't supposed to take #7 along with us. Of course it was not possible to say, "Do you mind if we take him too?" Quoc is clearly for another family and they will be blessed by his sweetness.

But I hope the feeling of urgency I saw in Quoc's face will always be with me. I think there really is an urgency about things. There are children to feed and clothe. There are sick and lonely to visit. And not all of them have a family on their way to take them home. I hope I live with a sense of urgency to pick up those who lie alone and bring a bit of happiness to their lives. Thank you Quoc, for adding to the emotion of Lucy's "Gotcha Day". In a way, there were two breaks in the veil this time and heaven shown through and touched my soul once again. I will miss that. I hope grandparents get the same privilege. 

A Calling Unforeseen

One of the unforeseen blessings of being in Vietnam has been seeing how much Katie has enjoyed spending time each day writing in her blog. I have had the good fortune to not only read her blogs each day, but to watch her formulate her thoughts and see her smile as it comes together. I've been so impressed by the things she has written. I thought it would be a nice idea for her to journal a bit around some of the pictures. I did not expect that she would pull layers out of our experiences so far beyond what I was noticing. I particularly love the blogs that have multiple layers. I've given her my honorary Pulitzer for her piece on Amanda the Laundry Goddess.

Now I just have to figure out how to fit enough hours in the day once we get back to make sure that she can continue her hobby in addition to triathlon training. What a welcome relief that there is a space in my head for thoughts of being back home finally. It has felt like we would be here forever. Now it seems like we are leaving too quickly and too suddenly. There are still so many wonders of Vietnam to be shot and blogged. I guess we'll have to come back with Lucy when she's a little older.

Alternate realities

I have felt reminded several times in our time in Saigon how much something has been missing in my life. When I lived in Costa Rica, Dallas and Chicago, I was reminded almost daily about how difficult life really can be and how hard it can be to find a few dollars for dinner. In Costa Rica, I lived among and loved people that many times literally served me their last handful of rice as their guest of honor, as I reluctantly accepted. In Dallas, I had friends who were working nearly around the clock to scrape together enough money to support a family in Mexico or Peru while maintaining just enough to pay their fair share of the rent for the two bedroom flat they shared with several other men. In Chicago, I was befriended by women who were so hopelessly dependent on others to feed them and their fatherless children that they could not see a way out. How distant this reality of life can feel in a neighborhood like Holladay or Hobble Creek.

A few months ago Katie and I attended a photographic exhibit by Sabastiao Salgado. He has spent years taking pictures of refugees around the globe. It was raw, honest, stark. A fair response to such an exhibit is to feel grateful for what one has. One of the last photos in the gallery was of a deadpan child of perhaps five. His eyes bored through my soul. They did not say, "Be grateful for what you have." They said, "What are you doing about it?"

Last night we stopped at a small grocery store on the way home to buy a few sodas. Katie was excited to see she could have a treat - an American candy bar. We had walked quietly through the din of Saigon, me and Mason holding hands and Katie cuddling Lucy in her little carrier. As we passed out of the door of the shop, there appeared a woman. She stood there holding a young girl, though not so young as to hide the sag and the backpain of lugging her around. As Katie passed her it looked as though she was a reflection of Katie, but there was no mirror. Katie was clean, bright and happy; the woman was dirty, tired and solemn. Both women looked at each other, with each one's beloved leaning from her hip, as if recognizing one another from somewhere - another time, another lifetime. Without missing a beat Katie handed her the candy bar and walked on. How wonderful to know the woman I loves so instinctively reaches outward.

I suspect that in the weeks to come I will be on my bike out for a ride somewhere in the foothills of the Wasatch. Despite my outward appearance, I may pass by the reflective glass of an office building and out of the corner of my eye I wonder if I won't see staring back at me the image of a Saigon cyclo-driver, waving for a tourist, hoping for the chance to earn a few dong to buy dinner for his kids. There but for the grace of God go I.

Second fiddle

I'm used to being second fiddle.

When I was in business school I only had one child and I was already the third most popular member of my family on campus.

Katie is the real blogger in the family. People weep as they read her prose. I call her the Blogner, because she is to blogs what Wagner was to the opera. My blog is best when it is linked to hers. Like my life.

Mason is the most popular fella in the family, though Porter is gaining on him. Saigon cyclo-riders think I'm pretty popular though. They are always waving to me. Here's an example.



Porter is definitely tougher than me. He base jumps. I'm the landing pad.

Madison is smarter. Way smarter. And a better swimmer. And she can make my back hurt when we ice skate together, and then just keep on skating.

Bryn is more graceful. She can stand on her head. I can only compete if I hold on with my tippy toes on the ceiling in the basement.

Molly is more angelic. She screams way louder to. And she hugs my legs harder than my legs can hug back. Even though they want to.

Lucy is more serene and has more friends. She's got me figured out. With nary a word she can convince me to hold her and bounce her and make her laugh. She's not unique that way though. I have four little girls that have the same ability. The older ones forget how to do it without talking though, which makes it far less effective.

They are all a lot more funny than I am. Mason taught Bryn who taught Madison who taught Porter who is teaching Molly. I think he's teaching her quite a few things.

I'm a second fiddle. But I'm still the dad. One hip dad.