Hey, what's he doing in my car?

At the Falon Gong Demonstration

Paisano's Pizza in Sai Kung

Aspiring Model, Aspiring Photographers

In HK's famous Jade Market

Mahjong game in progress

Family BBQ in the park HK style

Dragon Boat Six-pack

Your Guess is as Good as Mine

The Hong Kong Trifecta

Michael Jackson wanna-be street performer

Ambushed part 2 of 2

Recently, the family and I were on Lantau Island just west of Hong Kong. I was chatting up a British expat on the street corner from whom I was buying a couple of used paperbacks. He was a leftover hippy with crooked eyeglasses who has been in Hong Kong for over 30 years because he cannot go back to his native England for unspecified reasons. Something about a contested tax bill.

At first, I was getting a little frustrated because I mistakenly thought I was engaged in a dialog. Once, I realize it was a monologue, it went much better. I settled in and buckled up for the ride. And quite a ride it was: George Bush, Alan Greenspan, George Bush, The IMF, Iraq, George Bush, Afghanistan, George Bush.

Ai-ya.

But even the current administration is not immune. A couple of weeks ago, I arrived in the teacher lunch room five minutes too late. I was told that I had just missed one of my otherwise even-keeled British colleagues going off on a riff about the death of Osama Bin Laden. Something about transgressing the borders of another sovereign nation. Who do we think we are?

Ai-ya.

There are universal rules that govern polite conversation that hold true from one culture to another. But those rules seem to go out the window when discussing America’s presidents past and present and the U.S.’s role in the world.

Whether I like it or not, I have come to realize that I am an ambassador for my country. That’s fine. I figure the best thing that I can do is simply conduct myself well in all my interactions. Beyond that, there's not much I can do. No sense in arguing.

-Jack

I don’t know much about Canada. But I was thinking about reading up on our neighbor to the north. I don’t know what kind of dirt I'll dig up, but I'm sure I can find something to build on: some hockey scandal, maple syrup price fixing, something. That way, the next time I come across a Canadian on the train or in the park or at church, I can unleash my prepared stream-of-conscience, rambling diatribe against our neighbor to the North.

Or maybe I’ll set my sights on New Zealand. Any country with more sheep than people can't be up to any good.

Nothing personal mind you, just wanting to try my hand at the world’s fastest growing sport.

Ambushed part 1 of 2

Recently, we were honored to be invited to have a traditional family dinner at some Chinese friends’ house. We felt like v.i.p. guests the way that we were treated so hospitably. It was a great night of food and fellowship.

At about 9:30, just as we were finishing up dinner, the delightful Uncle Bohai pushed his chair back from the table, looked at me, and asked “So, what do you think of George Bush.”

AmBushed.

Didn’t see that coming. Deep breath. Pause to collect my thoughts. Okay, let’s do this. An hour and a half later, we wrapped up what had been a lively, invigorating, and always-respectful conversation. We left as friends.

But it was a workout. It was a narrow road I was treading. I didn’t want to put myself in the position of being an apologist for the previous administration, but I also didn’t want to leave uncontested some of the assertions Uncle BoHai was putting on the table.

In fact, I agreed with some of the critisms Uncle BoHai was offering. But it reminded me of being in elementary school when I reserved the right to mercilessly pick on my sister. But the minute I heard somebody on the playground picking on her, my fraternal instincts kicked in and the gloves came off. I found myself being a little more defensive in my conversation with Uncle BoHai than I would have been if I were on my home turf chatting up a fellow American.

Hey, that’s my guy you’re talking about there.

When it comes to international sports, breaking bad on the Bush administration seems to be second only to soccer in popularity around the globe. It isn't a daily occurance, but in my two years abroad, I have regularyly found myself the sounding board for some anti-Bush rhetoric.

Chinese checker

Being fourteen and in high school, Annika has asked for some autonomy with her school work. Fine by me. To her credit she has really stepped it up. Her report cards are good, so I am happy to give her some space.

So I don’t really keep up with her daily work. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to help her with her Mandarin homework anyway. She gets her work done, I don’t get emails from her Mandarin teacher, everyone’s happy.

The other night Annika was lying on the living rug working in her Mandarin workbook when she audibly scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s just my Chinese workbook. They try to keep us students interested by having this ongoing teen drama. It's supposed to be like a Korean drama –and I guess it is because it’s just bad. This boy Da Wen likes this girl Li Yu, but he has never told her. He suspects she likes him too. They are chatting and Li Yu asks him what his plans are for Friday night. He says he is going out with his girlfriend. She says, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. He says, You’ve met her before. She replies, I have? What is her name? Da Wen responds, her name is Li Yu; she is you. Dad, so cheesy! So bad. Worse than a Korean melodrama.”

I said “Wait a minute, let me see that Chinese workbook.” As she handed it to me, I asked her, “Did you get all that from this workbook?”

“Um, yeah,” she answered puzzled.

I looked down and saw half of a page covered in small, complicated looking Chinese characters. “You got that story from this page?”

“Yeah.”

“You can read all this?” I asked her incredulously.

“Um Dad, I’ve been taking Mandarin for two years. What did you think?”

I still didn’t believe her. I pushed the workbook back at her and said “Read this. Outloud.” I poked the page with my finger.

She started reading. In Chinese. Like a champ.

When did this happen?

Man, I have got to start paying attention to what’s going on under my own roof.

-Jack

Me? Two years and I know how to say two words in Mandarin: Ni hao. And I already knew that before I came to Hong Kong. Like every parent, I hope my kids surpass me in life. But in this case, that’s not setting the bar very high.

White Baby part 2 of 2

“That’s right folks, we got yer White Baby, right here. Step right up. Uh-huh, it’s a genuine White Baby.” While none of the women could understand what I was saying, they knew I was talking to them, and that’s all they needed. The unspoken social barrier had been broken. Implicit permission had been granted. Several women approach Amber and Malachi.

I couldn’t switch my camera to video mode fast enough.

Malachi was swarmed. In the melee, I‘m pretty sure I heard Amber mumble “I feel so exploited.”

“I’m so sorry Amber!” I said over the din, “But I’m getting the best video footage of the weekend!”

Women were squatting down in front of Malachi each one of them engage in goofy antics trying to get his attention.

My buddy Tim –speaking Chinese- had to step in and tell the women “You can look, but don’t touch.”

Some of the women decided that it was a two-for-one opportunity, so after ogling Malachi, they came over and sat on the bench next to Julie -who was on the other side of me- to get their picture taken.

I kept panning back and forth between the two of them with my video camera.

Finally, our kids finished with their final ride, ran up to us, and we were able to make our escape.

I tried to make it up to Amber later that night on the way home. I held Malachi for an hour and rocked him to sleep while she ate her dinner. I still don’t think she has forgiven me.

Hey, it’s not my fault. I couldn’t help myself.

Man, it’s a wonder I have any friends.

Jack

I am so uncouth. Maybe the American Lumberjack Show! wasn’t so far off the mark after all.