Where Am I From?

I have been awake and hiding under the covers for the past hour ruminating on a deep, philosophical question. I am not embarrassed by this confession. When it is 16 below zero anything that keeps you under multiple blankets is to be considered a positive thing.

The question that I have been struggling with is: Where am I from? As silly as this may sound, I get asked the question a lot in my travels and am more and more confused about how I should answer.

For most of you, this question is probably easy. Certainly it is going to be easier for many to answer than the alternative: Where am I going?

In some ways, I suppose the response to my own question should be easy enough for me.

Lake City, Minnesota, is inked in my dog-eared passport like a tattoo. It is something which I have no more ability to change than the color of my eyes or hair... if I had any. Although Lake City is now being gentrified by money from Minneapolis, it is still a river town on the Mississippi. I was born
looking out on a river that could take me to the rest of the world.

In some ways, it did.

There will always be something of Minnesota in me and about me. I genuinely believe that most children ARE above average. Wherever I am in the world, if given a chance to look at a U.S. newspaper, I will check to see how the Twins are doing. I am not surprised to see lime jello in the salad section of a buffet restaurant. I am not surprised by how large some of the folks are in the buffet restaurant (However, I am surprised how they got THAT big eating lime jello!).

My confusion concerning where I am from stems from the fact that I moved to Texas when I was still of an impressionable age. It changed me in a way that has never allowed me to go home again.

Although one of my seminal experiences in Texas actually occurred in 1972, I didn't move there to live until 1973. My father and mother drove me to Longview. When we said good-bye they both cried. That was completely understandable for my mother. That is what mothers do. However, my father held Minnesota stoicism as a high cultural value. Still, I think that he already knew I had accepted Texas as a state of mind and a worldview.

Now, when I say "Texas" I am not referring to that part of the state many of you are currently imagining. You cannot convince me West Texas is even really part of this world. In fact, it may be proof that Satan has run out of room in his current abode and is leasing additional properties.

"My Texas" is filled with southern pine forests, bass lakes and bluebells. It is a place of big dreams and bigger stories. It has better barbeque, richer ice cream and more "characters" than any other part of the world that I have seen... and I have seen a lot of it.

When Susan and I left Texas to prepare ourselves to serve as missionaries in Bolivia, it was one of the hardest things that I have ever done. Somehow, I knew that I would never hear that kind of music again.

Of course, there is additional confusion in my mind about where I am from because we did our preparation for Bolivia in Chicago. As things turned out, we ended up living several years in the city of big shoulders. To this day, when people in Latin America ask us, "Where are you from?", I will say, "Texas" and Susan responds, "Chicago."

We are a mixed marriage.

Chicago is Chicago. Until you have experienced Michigan Avenue in December and Lincoln Park in July you will not understand that statement. Chicago is a special place in my mind. I say this even though (to borrow a phrase from Steve Goodman) the Cubs have turned me into a criminal. They have disappointed me again and again and again.... and again and again. However, there is always next year. Let's play two!

I have a daughter and son-in-law in Chicago. When I am old Krista has said that I can live with them. I am not sure if she has discussed this with Chris. I am not sure if I am ready to return to Chicago.

Most of my adult life has been spent in Latin America. I am no longer a novice. The surface warmth and charm wore off a long time ago. Still, it has changed me in ways that I can no longer explain.

I have a hard time praying out loud in English... too many meals, church services and graduations where I have had to do it in Spanish. I have a hard time greeting people without hugging or kissing them. This can be difficult. My relatives in Minnesota don't understand why I keep trying to touch them.

Some of the things that so many people complain about regarding Latin America are the very things that endear it to me.

I take bureaucracy to be a full-contact sport. I think driving SHOULD be an adventure. Everyone needs to have a good, "I-have-to-run-to-the-bathroom" story. If you don't, I have several extra which I would be willing to give you for the right price.

All of this leaves me confused. Fortunately, I do not have too much time to worry. Susan tells me I have to pack my bags... I have another trip to make. Another country to visit... maybe another place to be from.