Navigating

It is July.  A luminous day with just the right breeze to be extraordinarily comfortable.   I am seated in my white plastic chair, one of thousands. 

Induction Day at the United States Naval Academy class of 2023.  The very same brigade my firstborn is about to officially join.

Hurried plebes and detailers rush to and fro.

The notes of the United States Naval Academy band fill my ears.

The United States flag waving at me, reminding me of freedom's gift;  reminding me of the land of my birth and the privilege that comes with such a birth certificate.

I want to pinch myself as I silently ask ... how did my kid, born in the US, raised in the pine savannas on the far side of a Honduran jungle make it here in this space?

A swath of blue and white catches my eye.  Blue, white, blue.  5 white stars.  Cinco estrellas de palido azul.  The Honduran flag!  How many times have I heard the Honduran national anthem and watched that flag being proudly raised on our school ground in Honduras? 

Why is the Honduran flag waving on the stage at the Naval Academy Induction?

15 exchange students, one from Honduras, are taking their oath of office alongside the other US-born candidates.

People ask... is Aidan the Honduran exchange student?   No, but I guarantee he will find the one from Honduras.   Aidan was born in the US, carries a US passport, was raised among the indigenous Miskito Indians of Honduras and bleeds a global compassion which drives him to serve humanity.   The United States Navy is a powerful way to live compassionately.   The Naval Academy is an excellent way to simultaneously receive a high caliber education.

My chair squeaks a bit as my legs change position.   I am a shifter.  My appearance changes, my clothes upgrade a bit, my hygiene becomes a little better each time I cross the border from Honduras into the US.  

I pause and let the profound reality sink in.

I am not in Honduras anymore.

Another sunny day.  The perfect moment for cul-de-sac bike riding in suburban USA.   My 12-year old son, Aaron, walks dejectedly through my mom's laundry room door.  He impulsively states, "I will not play with those boys anymore."  Knowing my son and that quick-to-forgive heart, I humor him and say, "Okay, tell me what's up?"

He replies with deep hurt... "we were playing, having fun and I did something funny that my friends in Honduras love.  One of the boys here hated it.  I told him that me and my friends in Honduras enjoy playing in that way.   He told me... 'Well, you're not in Honduras anymore.' "

Deep breath.

"Son, your blood runs deep the red, white and blue of United States of America and your precious heart beats the indigenous beat of La Mosquitia.  These two things, in one little boy, confuse people."  I say.

Not ten minutes later, he bounds out the door; all forgiven and ready to tackle the challenges of cross-cultural tween friendship one more time.

I pause and let the profound reality sink in.

We are not in Honduras anymore.

A sunny day on the shores of the Newport Naval Station more than one year ago.   My oldest son, the same one who has now entered the Academy, takes his place.  He arrived here in this competitive academic environment at the Naval Academy Preparatory School by sheer grit and God's grace.  There were no SAT prep classes, or college development counselors to assist him in his high school path.  He did not have elite athletic training or even a full Chemistry lab.

He stands before a squad leader and mispronounces an English word.  Giggling is heard around him.

The leader asks,  "WAITS, do you EVEN SPEAK English?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" my son replies.

"WAITS, you are NOT in Honduras anymore!"

As he shares this story with me, many months later, I pause and let the profound reality sink in.

My son is not in Honduras anymore.

You don't really know how deeply connected to a place you are until you find yourself navigating another equally interesting place. 

As a family living between worlds, inside and outside of the United States, we must navigate.

Sometimes we just tread water.  Sometimes, we are swimming along at the pace of other swimmers, smiling and feeling like we belong.   And other times, we feel like we are bobbing up and down waiting for a rescue.

Navigating.
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The last week of writing prompts with @hopewriters have helped me realize that it is time to write.  It is time for me to dig deep, be brave and just connect.   I have no idea who I am writing to, or why folks read.  Maybe these answers will come as I write and find my people.   Until then, I will keep putting thoughts out there. :)