At this moment a friend of mine is witnessing first hand what is going on in Egypt. His recounting of the situation is tremendous, as is his spirit to continue on undertaking the job he was sent there to do.
For myself it reminds me of a time in my life that forever changed me as a human.
My father’s profession is construction… land development to be exact. Dirt and pipe was the description I received when gathering information for “sharing time” in first grade. Not exactly glamorous and I am pretty sure I put a small spin on it…perhaps adding that he constructed buildings instead of just pushing dirt. But for my dad this lifetime occupation provided him opportunities to push dirt on the most foreign of soils. Bidding jobs in Egypt, the country Jordan, Kuwait, and even Macon, Georgia. These global encounters made me identify with leagues of army brats, but instead of tanks my life was occupied with bulldozers.
My vicarious experiences to these foreign lands were secured in the pockets of his abused nondescript blue suitcases. He would come home after being abroad weeks, sometimes months with trinkets he collected and modified PG versions of the adventures he had while there. These were very exciting moments in my life but they treaded in the shallows compared to the deep water experience that was surging below.
It was the summer before my ninth Leo birthday that I was informed we would be transferred. After being uprooted several times already and attending my third school district, I was completely devastated. Parting with my house that fostered every creative whim a child could manage and a neighborhood teeming with youth, babbling creek forest paths, and community swimming pool situated across the street, I felt sure there would be a void in my life similar to having dessert removed eternally from my diet.
To soften the blow I received a lavish present of a Sony walkman which was permanently borrowed by the folks hired to pack up our house, they were apparently unaware of how precious this gift was to me. Our abode was rented for the term of one year, diffusing the feeling of permanence and the last week before departure we called Howard Johnson’s home.
Next…A mile high but not in the club…