Family

The thing about turning 50 is I never really thought about it. I mean, yes, I thought about it from my mid 40s as an upcoming dreadstone but earlier in life, it just never occurred to me. I thought about being 21 and what it would mean to be an adult. And then I thought about 30 as being a “grown up”. I remember in grammar school doing the calculation of when I would be 30. 1996. 20 years ago now, 20 years ago from then. I thought about 40 as being done with being “young” and while that was true in many ways I felt my mind rejuvenated in my 40s and my body not being that much different that my 30s. The first time I really thought about 50 was when I thought past it – a little while after my 45th birthday I realized I was closer to 60 than 30. But here I am at 50. It was waiting for me. ...

It is Christmas Eve and the US embassy sent out a terror threat warning that foreigners may be targeted at a popular shopping area not far from where I live. First time I’ve received such a warning. We put on masks to protect against the pollution and walk to another popular shopping mall. Along the way we see police holding rifles which, btw, is not normal. Inside the mall there are Christmas decorations and even a line for children to sit on Santa’s lap and make their Christmas wishes. But the line is mostly filled with young women wanting to capture a WeChat moment with Santa. I suspect Santa did not mind. ...

It is Thursday night. Thanksgiving. I am sitting an expat bar. An old one. There is no sign of Thanksgiving here. I am talking with a friend. Listening mostly until I am warmed up by a cold beer and then talking some myself. An old topic comes up, a he said/she said topic. One that used to drive me crazy since what she said was from an alternative universe where truth is warped to satisfy one’s ego. But on this night it did not bother me. I took a sip and said that people do this, they justify their positions sometimes at the expense of others. But that doesn’t make it true and if you want the truth, well there are more pleasant conversations to have. ...

With Americano in hand I receive a weixin from Yang that they are here which means they are close. I see the Mercedes pull up and notice Aidan in the front seat – airbag child warning long ignored – looking nervous. I walk up to him and say hello as Elisa bounces out of the car followed by Lydia. Elisa is ebullient. Lydia smiles. Elisa walks up and gives me a hug as Lydia stands next to me. I walk them the half block to the school entrance and they turn inside, past the four guards. They do not look back. ...

It is Sunday afternoon and I get off my butt and start to clean the kitchen. I start to wipe down the cabinets and then I realize how dirty they are. I move over to the shelves and start to clean and toss. Organize all the junk I want to keep and toss the junk I don’t want. Gone are the two dead plants and their planters. Kept are the two pencil sharpeners the kids use. As the order takes shape I feel a sense of contentment, a sense of happiness wash over me. As much as a relief it is, it is not a huge surprise for it is Sunday afternoon. ...

We are taking the 30 minute taxi ride to Sanya bay. The kids are chatting with each other in the back seat and I am capturing notes and feelings into my phone via Quip. The taxi driver comments to me that my kids Chinese is really good. This occurred on every taxi ride, sans one, we took during our vacation in Sanya. The taxi drivers would invariably ask the kids how their Dad’s chinese was and Lydia or Aidan would respond, “he doesn’t know any”. But I know enough to know that. A few miles down the road I feel a hand brushing my forearm. It is the taxi driver. He likes the hair. He tells Aidan that I am very handsome. ...

The couple was taking their first vacation alone together since they’ve been married. What a year it has been and now they were on their own and loving it. They splurged a bit for this vacation. A five star hotel in Sanya. Breakfast buffet, three pools, a private beach. On this Friday morning they went to the beach. She stood in her bikini (sadly for the onlooker with pool skirt bottom overlay) while he stood in jeans and a tee-shirt. She posed with the South China sea breaking on shore. She posed again, this time leaning towards him. She then jumped and bent her knees backwards giving the illusion of jumping high. She held up the victory sign. And so on. All captured in photos so they could be shared in weixin and all their friends and family could see how happy there were. ...

My hips feel like tin on wood as I get out of the taxi. The kids, who sat three across in the back, are out in the parking lot well before me. The 25 mile ride cost us, me, 180RMB. The taxi driver lingers as we make our way up to the booth. He seemed nice enough and I am suspicious of nice people. There were two lines to get tickets and Aidan told me one was for folks buying tickets online and the other for us. I stood in front of the window and the cashier did not look up. That is not unusual. Maybe wise. I said “ni hao” and I asked Aidan to ask what the ticket options were. The cashier as passive but then eventually friendly when the kids spoke Chinese. 393 RMB later we had three tickets. Two full fare tickets for me and Lydia since we are taller than 1.4 meter, a discount ticket for Aidan since he is less than 1.4 meters (still), and no ticket needed for Elisa since she is just under 1.2 meter (because I had her stand short). ...

It is a lazy, hot, August afternoon and I ask the girls if they want to go for a bike ride to Jenny Lou’s. I need to buy some food for my latest daily diet experiment and I need to get the girls out of the house. Two birds, one stone. One stone, two birds. Aidan is attending the last day of the summer snowboarding camp in the outskirts of Beijing so for the fourth weekend in a row it is just the girls and I. ...

Lydia turned 11 yesterday. I arrived at the party not the last and not the first. Lydia was in her bedroom, playing with her iPad and she came out and greeted me with a hug. This caused Elisa to come off the coach and follow suit. Some of Yang’s old Beijing friends were there. None of her new ones were. Yang invited her old friends since they have kids and it would make for more of a party; she is good at that. As the other friends arrived, I walked the 10 minutes to Baskin Robbins to pick up Lydia’s birthday cake. Ice Cream cakes are a tradition. A light sprinkle joined me for the walk home. ...