Month: September 2016

We all enjoy eating. Everyone has their favorite things, whether it’s freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, a homemade pasta dish or Grandmothers’ pickled cucumbers.  Food can remind us of happy times, bring back cherished memories or just make us feel wonderful as we happily munch away. I understand that. I’m like that. Some things are just too hard to resist.

But Bill is obsessed with food. What are we having? How am I preparing it? Why are we having that? Why do you eat leftovers? Is that food still good or will I get sick? Why do you freeze food? Why don’t you shop every day? Why aren’t all of our meals hot? Why do you use a grill? Why don’t you fry all of the food?  He has a list of rules for food and eating.  It’s exhausting.

He will only eat fruit a few times a week because every day would be too much.  Too much what? vitamins??? He prefers lettuce.

No snacks. Not even after school when he feels woozy, light-headed and hungry. I set a new precedent the other day when I informed him, no snack, no basketball. That’s all I need is for him to faint at a park somewhere. He ate a half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and guess what?  He felt better! He’s slowly amending that rule. Yesterday he ate 7 whole tortilla chips with melted cheese. He looked longingly at the rest of the chips on the plate, but insisted he was full. I gave the leftovers to the dog. It’s a slow process.

He told me his family back in China are vegetarians. His grandmother shops for vegetables everyday and that’s what they eat. For every meal.  And Bill is not a vegetarian. It’s no wonder he tried to get me to serve steak everyday when he first arrived.

I have large teenage boys. It’s certainly not the quantity of the food being eaten that is an issue. We are used to groceries being systemically destroyed as they are unloaded from the car. He’s a skinny kid, and can really pack it away. I’m use to that.  What I am not used to is the quantity of discussion, complaints and analysis of every morsel of food.

I thought this might be a cultural phenomenon. Perhaps this is what goes on everyday in China with regard to food…..  But once again, reaching out to the other international host families, I have learned this is yet another “Bill” thing…..

Now, we do not serve gourmet, five-course, fancy meals every night.  With work, school, activities, there just isn’t time. What we do have are good, filling dinners, ie, meat, veggies, a side. There is always plenty, it’s tasty and no one every goes hungry. And yet the complaints are seemingly endless……

The most baffling objection appeared early in our new living arrangement.

Chinese people don’t eat rice until it is fried with vegetables.

I may not be a Chinese cultural expert, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that millions of Chinese people eat, and supposedly enjoy, rice.  When I said I was making rice to go with dinner, he said that was wrong. It had to be fried with vegetables. He wouldn’t eat it. Just do it his way. I patiently explained that I don’t eat many carbs, and therefore did not want it mixed with the veggies, that he could mix it himself during dinner.  He just shook his head, and said no.

After letting him know, with a little less patience, that there was always PB&J or lunch meat and an apple if he didn’t want to eat what was being served for dinner, he stopped. And then proceeded to eat THREE servings of rice that night.

Bill also does not eat cold foods, or drink cold beverages. This is due to the fact that cold drinks produce stomach ailments, and make you very sick. I wasn’t aware of that little tidbit. (This rule apparently does not include ice cream, now that he has discovered how good it is).

He warms his water. He warms his cold cereal, and then complains that it’s mushy. I’ve tried to show him how to just heat the milk, but that’s now how I want to do it.

The other day he heated up orange juice, and then said it tasted funny. Really????

Another difference, and I do chalk this up as a cultural one, is his need to have leisurely meals. Wouldn’t we all like that? He prefers to stroll through the kitchen, pursuing the cupboards and fridge. He likes to have warmed mike and oatmeal, maybe an egg, some cheese (he makes an exception with the cold for that), a toasted waffle. This would be fine if he was out of bed earlier, but he refuses to get up with his alarm. I have to rouse him out of bed, and we both need to be out of the house by 7:30am.  His morning eating ritual is then hurried and unsatisfying to him, and irritating to me.

The other morning he decided to fry iceberg lettuce with garlic at 7:15am because he felt the need for more vitamins.  That was not a good morning for any of us.

Bill buys his lunch at school every day, and when I offered to make his lunch when I made my daughters and husbands, he said yes. Turkey sandwich, pretzels, an apple.  He did not like it. He told my husband the lunch was no good! So he’s back to buying it. It was probably too cold for him.

We have taken him out to several Chinese restaurants, and one Thai establishment. We’ve had more Asian food recently than we have for the past year.  And yet….. It’s not like this in China. That’s not what we eat in China. They don’t serve it like this in China.

Guess what??? We’re NOT IN CHINA…….

and then he proceeds to eat like a horse.

Doing laundry is something Bill, and the kids in the exchange program are required to do. It is one of the very few “regular chores” that we ask of Bill.  Since we would be taking Bill to visit son #2 at college, the plan for the Thursday before was:

I had an event at work and would not be home until 7pm, so Bill was to ride his bike home from school, do his laundry to get ready for the weekend, and then go play basketball until dinner.

Instead, Bill decided to ride his bike to the rec center directly after school, and then proceed to text my husband, who was at work, and ask him to do his laundry.

Seriously. I am at a loss for words.

My husband responded with sarcasm….. Unfortunately, sarcastic comments get lost in texts and translations……..

He took dirty clothes with him for the weekend.

I’m convinced most kids are assigned some sort of responsibility within each family, no matter what country they are from.  It may range from emptying the trash in the kitchen, to mowing the lawn or folding a load of laundry. We teach our children to do things for themselves, so gradually, they become ready to fly the nest, and not starve or run around like wild, jungle people. I do admit, it takes some kids longer to learn how to live like a civilized human beings….. examples being fraternity houses and some college apartments.

We were told as part of this program, the kids are required to be part of the household. They should be assigned chores by the host families as they see fit, such as doing their own laundry and keeping their room clean. Following that criteria, I made a short list of expectations for Bill to follow. I did not honestly care if he made his bed or kept clothes off the floor of his room. I have 3 kids, and very realistic expectations of bedroom neatness. In fact, it took two days of picking up clothes and junk just to see the floor of #2 son’s room after he left for college.

After doing your own laundry, our short list of non-negotiable rules were in fact, pretty short.

Always lock the house when you leave

Always carry your key with you when you leave the house

Always put the toilet seat back down

The other biggie would eventually be Always turn off the gas stove when you are finished cooking, but at this point, he had not earned the responsibility of using the stove.  The microwave, sure. The toaster oven, of course. But a live flame and an extremely forgetful kid do not make a good combination. If he were home alone, a sandwich or heated up soup or left-overs would have to do for a snack.

So we gave Bill a key to the house.

With much of the same fanfare as when we entrusted our own kids with a key to their home (they were probably 11 or 12 at that time), we presented him with the key, on a key ring, made sure he knew how to unlock the doors, and told him we trusted him to be responsible. I was playing fast and loose with that word: responsible.

Two days later, he did not have school. Since I worked  until noon that day, he decided he would sleep in, then ride his bike to a nearby park to play basketball. He used Google Maps to find the park and showed me the route. He texted me the next day when he was leaving. Great!

I was meeting a friend for a quick lunch after work, and while driving in the complete opposite direction of the park he was supposed playing ball, I saw him riding his bike.  I do not mind him going to a different park, but made a mental note to speak to him about telling us where he was going, in case of emergency, etc.

About twenty minutes later, I received the following texts from Bill. (It was a perfectly beautiful day to be outside)

My friend said I should have responded #laughing#……. It was 45 minutes outside on a sunny day.

And I’ll add that if my own kids had texted me such a snarky note, I definitely would not have answered so calmly and politely.

This exact situation happened with my older son when he was younger, and when I said he had to wait outside until I returned, he grudgingly did his homework on the patio for an hour. And he never forgot his key again.

When I drove up, a mere 40 minutes later, I found Bill sitting on the side of the house, next to the trash cans, playing on his IPad.  When I asked him why he didn’t wait on the patio, in the nice backyard, he just said, I didn’t want to. Ok…. He said he didn’t like sitting outside. So I asked him if, from now on if he would remember his key every time he left the house. As grudgingly as my son, he mumbled yes, I suppose so.

Lesson learned. Hopefully.

Unfortunately, the lessons continued.

Twice, I have come home from work to find the front door wide open, Bill no where to be found. (Actually, he could always be found playing basketball at one park or another).  Once, my daughter came home and the back door was propped open. We discovered that was intentional, just in case the dog wanted to go out.

Strike Two.

The toilet seat seems to be a real issue for him. He says basically he just doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t have to do it in China. (For the hundred time, this isn’t China!). My daughter shares the bathroom with him and after a midnight round of falling in the bowl, has become reasonably irritated.

Bill is a smart kid. If he can used google maps to scout out parks in the area to play basketball, he can flip the seat back down.

The other morning, I asked him if he remembered to put the seat down and he said no. I asked to go back upstairs and fix that. You would have thought I asked him to dig a ditch and carry all the dirt to the street……. We had a conversation about consequences.  When I suggested if he couldn’t follow the rules, he would not be allowed to play basketball, he was shocked. He said he has never, in his life, had a negative consequence because he did something wrong. That much was obvious.

Now I was shocked. He is an almost sixteen year old person. Ok, a person from an extremely wealthy family, with a maid and nanny, an only child, only son, who has been told he can do no wrong. Still, no consequences, ever??

Strike Three.

He will learn. He may be rich and spoiled, but my husband and I are determined. Good old American values and all. Responsibilities. This is not China.

This experience is proving  much more difficult than I imagined.

We asked Bill if he would like to visit downtown Chicago his first weekend with us. He was not interested in seeing any Windy City tourist attractions. He wanted to play basketball. I decided he if he didn’t want explore the cultural opportunities our city had to offer, we would introduce him to a few new people.

I made a quick phone call to some friends with a pool, a basketball hoop and a generous nature and obtained a friendly invitation. We packed our swim suits, confirmed that Bill knew how to swim and headed out.

He seemed interested in meeting our friends, and seemed genuinely interested in their three younger children. He ended up playing basketball with the fifth grader, and then joined us in the pool. He answered our questions about life in China with a good nature and seemed to have an enjoyable day. I did have to explain to him that the appetizers our hostess set out were for everyone, not just him when I saw him shoveling food in his mouth while standing over the platter. I also found it strange that he felt it was necessary to face time his father in the middle of the evening, and then proceed to speak with him for a least a half hour.
All in all, it was an entertaining evening.

The next day, we took him to meet Grama and Grampa. They are older, and not in the best of heath. Grama has short-term memory issues, and asked him the same questions over and over. To his credit, he patiently answered her each time. When I told him on the way home it was nice that he was so polite to her repeated questions, he said what do you mean?

He didn’t even notice.

When we had friends over for a Labor Day BBQ, he hid in his room for most of time, joining us only to eat and briefly chit-chat. He claimed he had homework, which I found out later he didn’t do – he told me he was going to ask for an extension because he said he didn’t feel like finishing it on time.

I guess he was done meeting new people for a while.

Bill recently got sick. He thought it was due to the fact the he exerted himself for two hours while doing his volunteer work. (His school requires 25 hours of community service hours per year). I was pretty sure an upset stomach and 103 degree fever was the result of a virus, but you never know. Personally, I don’t like to exert myself either….

I know how it feels to be sick in a strange place, and felt bad for him. I made him take Tylenol instead of the Chinese powder he brought with him for the fever. He didn’t question me, but did check with his uncle in China, who approved of my doctoring skills. I have managed to keep three children of my own alive for 21 years!

Everyone likes something special when they are sick, and Bill was no exception. He asked me to boil already cooked rice in a lot of water, to form a gruel of sorts. With a sick stomach, soft things always make you feel better, and I was glad to help him in this way.

As I was leaving to go to the store the next day, I asked if there was anything else he would like.

Chinese pickles. Odd choice for an upset stomach……

I was running to Trader Joe’s, not Chinatown.

I told him we could get some when his stomach settled down, but while he was throwing up, soft foods were a better choice.

The next day, he was feeling better and marched down to the kitchen and demanded,  I want noodles. 

I gently reminded him that please and thank you are the polite way of asking for things. I felt like I should have received an award for my patience, but justified his attitude as a result of his illness. My husband disagreed with me.

When I showed him the type of noodles I had, he got mad. Apparently, unless they are long (spaghetti-type) they don’t count. My husband explained that pasta is all basically the same, just different shapes and Bill got very angry, yelled that’s not what we have in China,  and marched back upstairs.

My husband was all for giving him nothing until he asked politely, but I felt bad. I made the pasta shells, took them up to his room and left them. He brought the empty bowl down later, without comment.

We had yet another conversation with him about manners, not yelling and demanding when he wanted something, and how this isn’t China. I am all for making him comfortable, but more and more, we are seeing that he would rather have us behave more Chinese-like, as opposed to him assimilating to American ways.

The next day, our neighbor, who is half Chinese, gave me some unopened Chinese noodles she purchased for her son. She also said that Bill’s behavior was very un-Chinese-like, and more spoiled rich-kid…..Which is what we thought.

When I showed the noodles to Bill, he examined the packaging, which was written in Chinese, the handed them back to me.

These are no good.

I had no response.

We took him to a Chinese restaurant that night. He ate an enormous bowl of noodles. The rest of us had a lovely dinner, and left the restaurant full and satisfied.

He said it was just ok. Not like in China.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

Bill said that he didn’t eat anything cold. He had been vigilant about his warm water drinking, and he did like his milk heated, even with cereal. It had only been two days with us, and our daughter was going out with a friend for ice cream. She invited him to join them.

I don’t eat ice cream. It’s too cold. Cold is bad for you.

She told him he could just come along for the ride.

Will that be weird if I don’t eat the ice cream?

She told him no, just come on. So he did.

According to her, when they got there, and ordered, he relented and had a double scoop in a chocolate cone (he supposedly did not like sweets either) and ate the whole thing!

A few days later, we drove through McDonald’s…. I like a little sundae treat there once in a while, and though he had to look up the meaning of caramel, he downed that ice cream like a champ in a few bites.

He invited another Chinese student over for basketball and dinner. Naturally, what does one make for dinner to serve Chinese boys? Mexican food! They loved it… Bill is a big eater. After dinner, we took them to a frozen yogurt shop. They had never been to one, and we showed them how to work the yogurt machines and try a few different flavors and toppings.

They both kept filling their bowls until they were heaping. The Chinese don’t have pay by the ounce establishments.  It cost $38.00 for frozen yogurt. Bill didn’t even finish half.

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The agency had given me a copy of his application and accompanying essay. It stated his hobbies were basketball. Just that one word.  He’s a 15 year old boy, so not unusual at all.

Was I wrong.

He is obsessed with basketball. It’s all he wants to do. Unfortunately, many international students cannot play high school sports based on IHSA rulings. There is an appeal process, and I helped him fax the paperwork to the agency to see if it could get approved so he could try out for his high school team. In the meantime, we have a local youth basketball association. If you have $175, you can be placed on a team that starts in November. He wanted to sign up immediately.

I introduced him to our park district, which has at least 8 gym locations and open hours to play basketball. While I was glad to drop him off (and he wanted to stay for 3 hours at a time) it would not be feasible every single time he felt like going.  Between work, my daughters tennis matches, errands, and his school work, some days basketball might just not work out at a gym. Our neighbors generously offered him the use of their basketball net if their car wasn’t in the driveway.

One of the first days here, he wanted to go get a haircut and then go to the gym. By the time I got home from work at 4:15, picked him up, took him to the barber shop, there wouldn’t be much time left for the gym, which closed at 6:00pm. I explained I wasn’t driving him all the way over there for him to play for 20 minutes and then turn around and drive right back.

He threw a fit.

You need to take me. I need to play basketball. This is not fun. This is what I do. I don’t care if it’s not a long time. I want to go now.

Wow.

Had this been my own kids exhibiting this sort of horrible behavior (maybe when they were four) I would have not only reprimanded them sharply, they would not have been going anywhere near a gym for a week. For Bill, I simply said, no, I’m sorry, but that is not the plan for today. When he started to argue, I said, more politely than I felt like being, No more. He pouted all the way home. I know he comes from a very wealthy family, is an only child with a nanny and maids, so I was beginning to see that his behavior wasn’t a cultural difference, but a spoiled rich kid one.

It turned out, his father had convinced Bill of many strange things. Aside from the poison basement gas and poison pea pods,  he told Bill he would come to America and play in the NBA. (The agent did not find it necessary to mention now obnoxious the father was, to the point of being scary, and that Bill was her most difficult student she ever had to place.) While I applaud the notion of having a dream, it is highly unlikely he will be joining the Bulls anytime soon. I could be wrong. But I doubt it.

My other suggestion was for him to learn how to ride a bike so he could take himself places. We live in a suburban area with parks all over the place, just a quick bike ride away. He said he hadn’t ridden a bike since he was little, but was would be willing to try.

We borrowed a smaller bike for him, ours being  too tall, made him purchase a helmet and had him practice. He did well, except for the instance where he rode directly into the street, without looking or stopping into oncoming traffic. We explained about stopping at crosswalks, and while he has been speaking English since he was six, and understands 99% of everything, it was like talking to a three-year old.

He progressed in the bike riding arena, and has only had one minor fall, resulting in a small knee scrape. He didn’t complain too much about it after the “finger incident”.

While dragging the bike out of the back of my car, he got a little cut in the finger from the bike wheel. When this occurred, he dropped the bike to the ground and threw himself on the driveway, clutching his finger and moaning, oohhhh, ooohhh, ohhhhh. I had to pry his other hand away to examine the damage, expecting to see half his hand missing. It was a tiny scrap, a minuscule flap of skin cut, barely bleeding. Summoning my fleeting patience, I told him to go in the house and rinse it off. He carried on until I found some Neosporin and a Band-Aid. He carried on for two days, and after seven band aids, I finally told him to knock it off. He was fine. I’m wondering what he do if something actually bad happens to him.

A few days later, I had my own little kitchen accident. I tripped over a bar stool in the kitchen and went sprawling, leaving me with a badly scrapped knee, bruises on leg and wrist. When he saw this, he seemed surprised I was continuing on with my day. Surprised I hadn’t taken to my bed…….. So with the minor knee scrap, I do believe he is beginning to learn.

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There was a boy….. He was part of the group of kids connected with her agency, looking for host families in our area.  His father had accompanied him from China, and they were not satisfied with the accommodations they had been assigned. He was to share a fully finished basement with another exchange student. The father wasn’t thrilled with him staying in a basement and wished to make other arrangements. Would we be interested?

The enthusiasm for this project had faded considerably by this point. Our daughter said no, she didn’t want to. She had already made plans to completely take over the guest bathroom when her brothers left in a week. My husband didn’t have much of an option and I, while still interested, was consumed with emotions due to our sons leaving for college. I quickly fired off an email  stating that if they could find someplace for him to stay for the next week until we returned home from the drop offs, we would be glad to host him.

She responded almost immediately and said he was ours, he would be dropped off the following Tuesday. His name was Bill.

I shopped and made last minute touches to his room, planned an American dinner of grilled cheese burgers and corn on the cob, and the day was upon us. His interim host father would stop by before school, drop his belongings off and quickly meet me. I would pick him up after work, one hour after school ended and begin our adventure.

When I answered the door that morning, I found a short, extremely thin Chinese boy, watching me through over-sized glasses. He spoke English without much of an accent. He didn’t seem to mind our enthusiastic 60 pound Labradoodle and nodded his head approvingly while looking around the house and said nice. 

After dumping his belongings upstairs in his room (which he also approved with a quick nod of his head), his previous host dropped him at school as I headed to work with a promise to pick him up at 4:00pm.

His school was a private Catholic prep school (my kids all enjoyed the hospitality of the local public high school) that offered after school homework sessions for kids that might need some extra time at school. When I pulled up, he was the only kid outside and I was the only person in the parking lot. I waved, he looked, and didn’t move.  I smiled, while gesturing him over and calling out Hi Bill!.  He looked and didn’t move. I finally got out and jogged toward him, smiling and waving. When I was close, he said, oh, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you. I asked if he saw me in the car and he said yes, and walked past me without further comment. It would be the first of countless times I would think cultural difference or rich arrogance?

I attempted small talk on the short drive home but he was not forthcoming with information. When we arrived, he marched straight to the refrigerator, opened it and took inventory. I asked if he wanted a snack and he replied, I can tell a lot about a family by what they have to eat. My last house had a lot of processed food and not enough Chinese things. You have a lot of vegetables and fruit, so that’s good.

I tried not to roll my eyes. I had just gone shopping the day before. The day after a big grocery shopping excursion makes everyone seem like ambassadors for good eating. I thought, wait a few days and see what you think then… He did not want a snack.

We went upstairs to his room so I could show him around. I showed him all the drawers in the dresser and desk, and the empty closet, but he did not want to unpack his enormous trunk. He had several shopping bags as well as things he said he bought while his father was still in town. I noted a winter coat and a king-sized Ralph Lauren down comforter (which later proved to be a mattress pad), as well as a huge stainless steel bowl, the kind I would use for salads or fruits for a large crowd.

I inquired about the bowl.

That is to wash my underpants in. I do it in the bathroom and rinse them in the bathroom sink.

ahhhhhhh.

I politely offered to show him the laundry room downstairs. He said Chinese people don’t put underwear in the washer and he would use the sink for his dirty underpants. The sink where my daughter brushes her teeth and washes her face. I told him in America we use the washing machine for dirty underwear, and I would show him how. He seemed unconvinced but didn’t argue.

After a tour of the kitchen, he informed me I would boil his water and give him warm water to drink. I tried not to be offended at being ordered to doing something.  Assuming it was a cultural thing, I informed him that our Chicago water was perfectly clean. Apparently, he didn’t drink cold water, at all. Ok, I showed him how to work the kitchen faucet to make his water the perfect temperature for him. He went on to tell me cold water and cold foods give you stomach sickness, like cancer.  Not sure how to respond to that at the moment, I let it go.

We dined outside that night while he was getting to know the rest of the family. For such a skinny kid, he ate like he had a hollow leg. Not being a stranger to big eaters, I encouraged him to have a second and third burger! He did have a slight issue with the tray of raw vegetables I put out. Chinese people cook vegetables because they are bad for you that way, and pea-pods are poisonous. He didn’t seem overly concerned that any of us would drop dead at the table as we were eating said vegetables, but he still refused to try them.

In an attempt to get to know him, my husband asked how he pronounces his Chinese name. He didn’t want to tell us. Of course I had that information from the agent and his school records, it wasn’t a national secret. We inquired why not? I don’t like to hear my name with an accent so I don’t want you to know it. After some good natured ribbing, he relented and we tried it. My daughter, who has been taking Chinese for 4 years passed the test, my husband was ok…. I failed miserably and he looked pained. I promised to just call him Bill.

He also told us the reason his father wouldn’t let him stay with the first host family was because the bedrooms were in the finished basement, and American basements are full of poison gas. I hoped he wouldn’t have issues doing his laundry in our basement……

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We had two and half months to prepare for our arrival. #1 son was back home for the summer, with even more belongings that he had when he left.  #2 son had to get ready to leave for college for the first time, and showed absolutely no interest in shopping or packing. He threw a lava lamp, an Ohio State sweatshirt and Frisbee in a pile and declared himself set to go.

After taking a load of his “stuff” to his apartment, we gutted #1 son’s room, scrapped off the kiddy fish wallpaper and thought about painting. No hurry, there was plenty of time.

And then the agent called. She had a wonderful surprise….it’s a girl! There was one girl in the group of kids arriving and she was being placed with us. She was almost exactly our daughters age. She loved fashion and make up and played in band, according to her application essay. We would be a perfect fit for this girl.

My husband jumped into action. A girl needs a nice room. He bought paint, patched the boy-made gouges and scrapes on the walls. We were all so excited.  She and our daughter would become best friends. They would hang out like sisters, spend the year together. Bond. Friends for Life. Maybe even visit China with her someday.

The girl was scheduled to arrive 3 days before we took #2 son to college for the first time. We figured since she was going to be part of our lives for the next year, we planned to include her is this emotional aspect of our lives.  I had spent several hours online, picking out girly bedding and window treatments so she would feel comfortable. I had actually added it to the Bed, Bath & Beyond shopping cart, but for some reason, got distracted and hadn’t completed the transaction.

When I went back to my computer a few hours later, there was an email from the agent. Our girl was no longer our girl. Her mother in China had decided that she did not want her daughter living with a family that had other children. The agent was confused, attempted to change her mind, but the mother would not be swayed.  She was being placed her with an older couple that lived 45 minutes away, and she would ride a bus to school, an hour each way. We live 1.1 miles from the school, and while I had planned on driving her, she easily could have walked home on a nice day, or rode a bike. We all felt it was an opportunity lost on both ends.

Our daughter was crushed. Her Chinese sister evaporated. My husband was irritated that I had crabbed at him all summer to get ready, and for what? He finished the room, which looked great, and we moved on to prepare for the exodus that accompanied two teenage boys leaving for college.

And then a week later, yet another email from the agency……

Six months ago, I saw an ad in the newspaper. International Organization Seeks Host Families for Chinese Exchange students attending a private school.

At that moment, we were at a family gathering and I read it out loud. Didn’t this sound like an interesting opportunity??? The responses were sure, yes, that might be fun….. No one took it seriously, not even me. At that moment, I had #1 son in his sophomore year of college, #2 son a senior in high school, committed to his college of choice and a daughter in her sophomore year of high school. I was working  doing public relations, had a husband, a dog, booster volunteering and tons of laundry…. I didn’t have time for a foreign student.

But during the next week, the idea kept creeping into my thoughts. Why not? My daughter had been taking Chinese in school for years. She could learn even faster with a native speaker in the house.  Both boys will be gone. We have the room. It could make life more interesting. Every time I shrugged the idea away, another reason to do it popped into my head.

After perusing the website countless times, I decided to just apply and see what would happen. I had to include photos of the entire house, with specific attention to the room the student would live. I decided that our guest room was too small for our new foreign friend, so #1 son’s room would be the best fit. He was getting an apartment at school anyway the next year and I’d been wanting to give that space a good purging. So naturally, I just stuffed everything under the bed, closed the closet doors and snapped away. I decided not to mention his room eviction to him before finals.

Once I sent in the application, I went about convincing my husband and kids this was what they wanted as well. The boys could have cared less, they wouldn’t be here. Our daughter thought it was sort of weird, but was indifferent. My husband was not convinced but was willing to wait and see.  Of course we were approved the next week.

I asked the agent about hosting a girl, but she said it was rare to have girls in the program. We would get a freshman boy, who probably would be quite sad that he had left home, knowing he would not be going back to China to live. She said it was difficult in the beginning for these students and they required patience and understanding. I was envisioning being the adopted American mother to a sweet, quite Asian boy that would immediately fall in love with us when he stepped through the door. He would be shy, at first, wanting only to stay in his room. We would coax him out with homemade cookies and interest in his country and our lives would be enriched even further. He would blend into our family and it would seem like there was never a time he wasn’t part of us.

That is not what happened.

Welcome to my brand new blog…….I hope you enjoy my tales of hosting a Chinese teenage exchange student. The journey has only begun and already is providing oodles of interesting conversation…..