A Different Take on Life

I want to tell a little bit about something that is close to my heart. I have always been a bit insecure, and down on myself. I  have almost always dealt with depression. I have never felt like I am a good catch, a good provider or a good father. I do not feel worthy of success, or the excitement that it could bring. I have preferred to stay in the background, opting to serve, rather than lead. I put up a wall of humor to mask the insecurities, and when that fails me I escalate to sarcasm or even anger at times, all to try and avoid letting my sensitivity drag me further into internal pain. I can be, and often am a real butthole. But the fact is, I do really care about what is going on around me both locally and globally.

Some of you may know that I have gotten involved with reaching out to the local university and am involved with a program called "Friendship Family". It is an offering to the international students, where a typical local family can be a sort of surrogate family to a young student, while they attend the University for the duration of their studies here. It has been a great experience for us. We hope that our students get as much out of it as we do. I fear they do not, as we really seem to be getting the better end of the deal. We have had students from China, Thailand, South Korea, United Kingdom, France, Czech Republic, Italy, Malaysia, and Mexico. It has been very rewarding. It is not just because college students are young and vibrant, full of hope, vibrant and attractive, (although that does not hurt.) They bring an exchange of ideas and culture to the table. Sometimes they make really good food for us too. We feel that we have some relationships that have transcended a casual friendship that will fade in time, to actually feeling like we have extended our family beyond our borders.

We also have had the privilege of getting to know other international families, some by virtue of me having and Indonesian National for a spouse, but others through the course of my life, where I had the chance to meet various residents from all over the Europe, Asia, South America etc. Even Canadians for crying out loud. For the most part, most of these interactions were casual, and never really developed into lasting friendships. (not talking about you, JØrgen)

The landscape around me is changing. What once was a town that only had either White or Hispanic people living here, has evolved into a city where over 12 languages are spoken. I found this graph for Greeley, Colorado, but it is actually unofficially estimated that there are over 30 distinct languages spoken here now.

So where am I going with all this? Surprisingly it is not about embracing diversity per se. It is not about preaching inclusion, or being a good ambassador for the sake of anything or anyone. It is not about stopping racism or evangelism or any of that. I cannot control that on a high level. I do not even really want to. I am focusing on what my heart is telling me right now.

For several years, I have wondered about the immigrants coming to the USA. I have had coworkers who were labeled as "Boat People" or Eastern Bloc escapees. It seemed easy to talk to them when there was common frames of reference, like our work environment. I often wonder about the people I see in the stores, individual who are very different than the locals. Obvious foreigners.
People who despite the wearing of western clothes, living in western homes, driving the same kinds of cars that the rest of us drive, BUT still stick out like sore thumbs. It is easy to understand the concept of sticking out. When I go to Indonesia, I am about a foot taller than everyone else, at least twice their body weight, and make enough social faux pas that I end up saying sorry, more than I would like.

Here in my homeland when crossing paths with someone that obviously is not from this continent, I have tried to be cordial and offer a smile, only to be glared at, or ignored. Initially it seemed best to just overlook it. Over and over again, then one day, I got a little indignant. While driving by a group of Somali kids who were playing in the street, I slowed down so as not to hit anyone with the car, and then smiled and waved. They all glared at me like I was the white devil. I stopped and rolled down the window and asked what was the reason for the looks, when my intention was to be sure they did not get run over. The oldest kid, maybe 15 looked at me with confusion and it was soon very clear that the looks were more of fear and apprehension. Their countenances changed when they realized that this big fat white guy was not angry with them, did not hate them and was doing something they had not seen here before which was treating them with some common courtesy. It was heart breaking to me. These kids have been treated like untouchables the entire time they have lived here. They are not accepted by the general population because they are "those damned job taking refugees, who are unfriendly, and want their religion to take over the world." As I drove off, a few of the kids even waved back.

So back to present day, and an experience I had this weekend. The family and I went to an International Cultural event, to see some of our students perform. While there I was looking at some of the vendor booths and there was one with a guy giving information about the Immigration and Refugee center, so I stopped to ask a couple of questions.The guy talked for about 20 minutes of the problems that many refugee immigrants have with trust and fear of violence, etc. He also mentioned how many people go to work, and and then go straight back home, only to repeat the routine daily, and he wondered out loud why anyone would really want to come here and face the lonely lifestyle. So at the end of the conversation, I asked if we could get coffee sometime, and gave him my email.

I got a message that night asking if we could get together for a cup of coffee the next day. We met. We talked for nearly 4 hours. We covered subjects that spanned perception of life, politics, religion, tragedy, fear and the human condition. But what really stood was the fact that he was lonely. He said so many refugees are afraid of what will happen to them here. it dawned on me that the sullen looks I had been seeing all this time were perceived with the mind of someone who had not been oppressed. I have no experience where my uncle may have gotten gunned down in the street by some dictators henchmen. Nor would I understand being so desperate that I had to leave my family behind, leave all I know and understand, just to find a place to maybe live in peace, perhaps even just TO LIVE at all.

So why am I telling this to you all? Maybe it is just a plea to think a little differently about those who live amongst us, who we think are so different than us. With very few exceptions, every last one of us are descendants if immigrants. My family emigrated from Belgium, Italy, Ireland and most recently, Indonesia. Hopefully we can all think beyond our comfort zones and reach out a little more. It is uncomfortable for sure. We risk rejection. but please, if this means anything at all to you, try. Try again. Keep trying until you succeed. Even if you never have talked to anyone different, you can. Think a little how a new kid feels in school. They are scared, and shy. Make friends with the new family in the neighborhood. Make them welcome. Sometimes it is a real leap of faith to be that bold. Sometimes it is just as simple as saying hi and introducing yourself and talking about nothing in particular at all. It may not seem like much, but it might make all the difference to a hurting heart.

Better yet, you might make a difference in your own heart.  

You just never know.

A story I like to tell from time to time involves a sort of serendipity if you will. In 2013, I was a victim of a resource action at the big tech company I was contracted to. It was not my performance, it was a business decision and about a thousand others got the axe that day as well.

I was not too worried at first, but the economy was bad and after 2 years, I was still looking for sustainable work. It was a terrible time for our family. We came so close to losing the house, and my 6 year old at the time was starting to have a lot of anxiety over whether or not we would be homeless.

One day in early fall, we attended a safety fair. It had trinkets for the kids, demonstrations of firemen putting out fires, huge military vehicles etc. My son and I were looking at the booths and I saw a woman giving out brochures for mental health services. My boy went over to see what free stuff was to be had and I asked about children's counseling. The woman explained available services, then stopped short and asked me how I was doing. She said I looked a really down. I explained my situation and how sad I was that my little boy was bearing the burden or fear, because I was not finding work. The woman then handed me a small stone.

It had a business logo on one side, and the word "HOPE" engraved on the other. She encouraged me to look at that stone, and not lose hope that things could and even would change.  I thanked her and when I got home, put it on my night stand. I would look at it each night and think about hanging on a little bit more.

A few more weeks  pass and each day I am literally hurling resumes out on the internet. I was too the point where I was no longer keeping track of who it was sent to, I just would tailor the resume and send it. I even joined a site where you could apply for several jobs at once.

I get a call, and was asked to interview. I went in thinking it was going to be another day of disappointment, but kept my chin up for the interview. I was shocked to get hired on the spot. I was sent over to H.R. the next day to file paperwork and get a badge. I went home, still not quite believing I had a job. I looked at the badge and realized the logo was the same as the emblem on the stone on my night stand. I trembled a little, because it was not something I engineered, it was just... I do not know, coincidence, divine intervention? I was not sure how to feel, but I took it.

Fast forward 2 more years.

I was in the headquarters building of the company, helping a director by fixing her computer issue. I looked at her and asked if she was the woman who was manning the booth, then told her the story of the stone. I thanked her for the hope she helped instill in me. She got a little teary eyed, and gave me a hug.

I got a letter from her today. She had been thinking a lot about what I said. I had caught her on a day where she had been struggling with a decision to retire,  because she had grown weary of having to solve issues that were not hers to own. She told me that I reminded her that everyone does what they can, and even a small statement can make a difference in someone's life. She ended saying that she was glad that I was here to help make that difference, every day.

She is still here. She has not resigned yet. She is still helping to run a business that helps so many people escape the terrible grip of depression, and addiction.

It humbles me. I did not say anything profound. I just thanked her for saying something to me, that despite being small, made a life changing difference to me.

You just never know.

The Christmas Blessing

Every year, the holiday season comes and goes, bringing joy, laughter, happiness and goodwill.
Just kidding, as Clark Griswald so aptly stated, "We are at the threshold of Hell!"
This year had to be different. I had to make sure that we broke with the striving to have a memorable season, and try and simplify so that we avoided the stress and disappointment of it all.
I wanted to have this:

NOT this:

Every year, I have a plan in my head, one that involves picture perfect moments in front of the tree, swigging homemade eggnog by a roaring fire while listening to the kids sweetly sing Christmas carols while our perfectly decorated home twinkles magically with the warm glow of beautiful, yet environmentally friendly, low carbon footprint, LED lights, (which we bought at 90% off the last couple of years at the department stores!) Yet every year, there is discord, and disagreement over what goes where, which decorations to use this time around, and of course the glorious decision on how much debt to start the New Year with.

So this year was to be different. I would make a less labor intensive plan to execute what would be our best season ever. I planned smaller, cheaper, with less workload. I did not overthink it all. I involved the kids more in the set up. I just about had it dialed in and perfect. ALMOST.

Things got off to a good start. I did not argue over the menu for the Thanksgiving meal. I let my wife dictate how much we really needed. I memorized the public service flyer in the crapper at work on how to manage holiday stress.

We, as a family planned simple, inexpensive and meaningful activities that would warm our cold, icy hearts and fill our heads with good memories for years to come. I talked to the kids about the real meaning of the season. Neither of them believes in Santa anymore, so I was straight with them over perceptions or misguided expectations for this Christmas. Josh went as far as to announce one day, that he did not care if he got any presents, because Jesus was the reason for the season. I could not have been more proud of my son at that point. It was a beautiful sentiment to me, and you should remember this part, as it is important later in this story.

Just a day after Thanksgiving, we had some of our students from China over to help put up the tree and decorate it. We explained to them the meaning of the nativity, and how some of the decorations we put up are really not related to our chosen faith, and are actually rooted in more pagan tradition. I am sure this was a great selling point in convincing them of the true meaning of Christmas, atheist's as they are. The kids began to practice their songs for their Christmas pageant at church, the outdoor lights on timers so they would be less bother, the front yard decorated conservatively, and  the backyard with pretty much every other string of lights, and illuminated plastic statue that we had.
The kids loved it, but the wife, meh, not so much.

I ordered simple, educational, yet meaningful presents for the kids. Amazon was helping take all the stress out of everything. I was avoiding the greed and avarice one experiences in the horrible bustle and rush of Black Friday at the mall.

Everything I did from Thanksgiving onward, I did with careful deliberation. I created scenarios on paper, ran statistical analysis on past Christmas's, did projections, you name it. I was not going to allow myself to do anything that would ruin it all at the last minute. I had a good plan. It was solid, it was smart, it was simple. If I had a whim to add something to the mix I could, at my leisure. We put the old Lionel train under the tree. The kids were loving it. I was happy. I thought it was perfect until...

T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house...

We went to our church for our traditional finger food pot luck, then a candlelight service. It was beautiful. Afterwards we took our Thai and Chinese students around town to see the special Christmas light displays. I was living the dream. I had the quiet elation of one who had won the battle for sanity in a season of potential chaos. It felt so good.

Early Christmas morning, my kids woke me up asking if they could open the presents.
We watched them scamper around and they were so great. They loved the simple presents. We started preparing the big dinner for all our students and family who would spend the day with us.
My oldest child came up and reiterated how he was so glad that Christmas was about God, and not all about toys and Santa. I think I felt a hot tear run down my cheek and I gave him a hug. It was the best Christmas ever. But then, the doorbell rang.

In walks one of our students with a large box. The kids started dancing around and begging to see what was in it. As they unwrapped it with careful anticipation, I saw the lettering, it was a video game console, an Xbox One! I was floored. I told the student that it was too much and thanked him for such a thoughtful gesture. He smiled and them my oldest son, the one who was all about the baby Jesus and loving the simple things in life blurted; "Daddy, We knew a month ago we were getting this, and we had to keep the secret!"

BOOOM! 

The illusion of my wonderful meaningful Christmas exploded like a dynamite cigar. My moth dropped open at the realization that my kid, my precious understanding son, had totally played me.  I almost uttered the words in my still shocked brain, but I managed to keep my composure and smile at him. After all, I was trying to make it a good memory for all, right? I calmly walked back to the kitchen looking for the egg nog. I poured a large cup and lifted it to toast our happy family. I said some kind words to all and let them know how much they meant to me.

Now I want you to look at this final scene, and reframe this image of Christmas joy. Replace the words calmly walked with "stomped", egg nog with "bourbon" and kind words with "Josh you are a lying a-hole!" That was what was going through my head, anyway.

I understand now that I may be asking too much of my kids to get the whole true meaning thing. I know they did their best. They did make me proud as they performed their songs at church.
We enjoyed the time together, the students were happy to experience a holiday with an American family for the first time. But I guess what they say is true, if you fly too close to the fire, you might singe your wings.

Summer Vacation

When I was a young student, it seemed that there was nothing better in the world than summer vacation. Summers seemed forever back then. Endless days of playing barefoot outside, the sweet smell of afternoon rain on fresh cut grass, adventures that never seemed to end. It was a cascade of fun memories that live with me still, albeit the memories are grey and dusty at times. I remember the innocence of youth, the scrapes and bumps, the cuts and bruises. The trips to Disneyland, and DC. Visiting relatives and places with what my father thought we should become well acquainted.
Salt water taffy, and Philly cheese steaks to new Orleans beignets. Battleships to Mesa Verde.

Summer was such fun back then. I think mostly because our entertainment directors were so much better at it. My parents carefully planned out every detail, had a list of scheduled activities which we followed as best as we could.  One of the things I hoped for when I grew up was that I could give my kids the same enriching experiences. Alas, hopes are not always realized, let me explain...

Since the day we got married in 2006, I had kept promising my wife that we would be sure to visit her home country but life always seemed to get in the way. Finally, after 10 years we caught a break and started planning. Got passports for the kids, made reservations for hotels, flights and immunization shots. We made a plan, I would fly over with them, stay a week, then leave them there for 3 more weeks so the boys could really get to know their heritage and more importantly, their relatives.

As the day of our departure approached, I prepared a list of things to take. I sure was not going to make the mistakes I had made in the past, over packing, because I assumed that I could not buy anything but trinkets and diphtheria in a backward third world country. (Note to all of you; never get travel advice from anyone born in the depression era, or any company that sells travel accessories.) I was going minimalist, dressing for comfort, and the only thing I was taking beside some clothing were American smokes to give out to the locals, because I knew that would curry great favor and give me access to paths most tourists never get to see. I KNEW that.

The great day arrives, time for us to go. I was all excited that I was about to live the dream, see the sights as a seasoned visitor. I get up, load the van, put the kids in the car and calmly drive to the airport with time to spare. Because I am of course a seasoned traveler. I had mentioned that, right?

I wake up early to find my suitcase torn open, and my wife repacking it with gifts, kids stuff, and clothing. "HEY!" I calmly screamed at Dessy, "I had that packed and ready!"  Apparently, the kids had to have 50 changes of clothes each. Then at the last minute I decide to gift Indonesia with one of my famous home made cheesecakes, because it totally makes sense to fly a frozen cheesecake halfway around the world, right?

We finally board the plane and take off, first layover is in Tokyo. I tell Dessy, that we just HAD to try real sushi. We found a place and ordered a modest 2 caterpillar rolls and sodas and a beer. It was so exciting, but not because of the quality. It was the bill got my heart racing. I did the conversions and $100 USD!!! I later was told that the airport was the worst place other than a gas station in Kansas to buy sushi.

We re-boarded the plane and took off for Jakarta. Smooth flight, but just as the plane touched down a crosswind got us and we landed poorly. I looked at Dessy and her wide eyes and said; 'Well, at least you still get to be buried in Indonesia!" We made it to the gate and had a reunion with her family. It was so nice seeing the kids great their Opung mama for the first time. Dessy was tired but excited. Her family was mildly concerned over the cheesecake, as it was no longer frozen, a bit malformed and had an odd after taste of jet exhaust.

Now, it is important to understand that in some cultures, you follow certain rules, and one of those is to properly protect yourself from ingesting harmful bacteria. I knew how to do this because I am a seasoned traveler. I had mentioned that, right? WELL. I managed to spend the remaining 7 days doing the Bogor Bathroom tour. I could not go anywhere farther than five minutes away from a western toilet. It was awesome. I got to expose my bum to squatty potty's, and 30 other bathrooms ranging in luxuriousness from abandoned condemned septic tank to 5 star heated toilet seat with auto bidet. So there was that delightfulness. That, and how everyone seemed to know about the condition, because my wife FACEBOOKED IT!!! Initially I thought people must have known I was from Colorado, because no matter where I went, someone would invariably ask me "How's your Aspen?" Of course I may have understood the accent.

Dessy and the kids fared a little bit better. The kids decided to refuse any food that did not come in a McDonalds, Burger King, or Pizza Hut wrapper. At home they love to eat most Indonesian foods, but heck no, not at the source. They were spoiled terribly by relatives. They got to ride with auntie on a scooter (no helmets), and had so much fun that my youngest informed me on a call that he did not miss me, and wanted to stay and live with his grandmother and aunties. I won that battle though. I said, "Fine, I will give all your toys to the neighbor kids." He must have mulled that over, because a week later he said he might want to come home again someday.

We did get to see a couple of sights, the traditional markets, and some relatives. I tried to give out the cigarettes and found that in the ten years I had been gone, hardly anyone smoked anymore. Everyone wanted to be healthy. Figures. I had nothing to offer at that point.

One last note, I am eternally grateful to cousin Erina, her husband Arief and their son Owen, for watching over the family to make sure they were safe and sound. I hope that we get to go back in a couple of years, and hopefully will have learned some good lessons for the next trip.

Because, you know, WE are seasoned travelers.

The Hiatus

Today I realized that it has been nearly 2 years since I have posted. Please allow me to explain, while offering an apology to those of you who were interested in my stories.
The 2.5 year period that I was unemployed took the joy right out of life for me, and as a result, I just did not have the heart to continue fabricating the gross embellishments that I used to describe daily events. I feared that my words would become too dark, disturbing, or offensive. I elected to stop writing until I was on some happier ground. Sarcasm for me ceases to be funny, when I become embittered. Soon, you will start to see my musings again, and I hope you will enjoy them.

- Mark

Just Another Filthy, No Good, Drain On Society

I saw a posting on social media today, outlining how welfare and food stamps are not entitlements but rather, “handouts”. The comments following had a lot of hatred toward the poor. How we are all shysters, daily committing fraud against the hard working people. We are either illegal aliens, or lazy crack heads who are hell bent on getting everything for free, and loudly proclaiming our inalienable rights to a free ride.  It was the icing on the cake for another otherwise miserable day.

Let’s just back up a second here. I want to give another perspective.  Two years and three months ago today, I got a call from my employer letting me know I needed to clear out my desk and turn in my laptop, as my job had just been off shored. The economy was in the tank, and many people had already been on unemployment for over a year.  This made many of us less marketable, because employers had the advantage of a much larger hiring pool, and therefore wanted the best of the very best, no room for just really competent employees who wanted a mid career wage. 

We suffered a bit, adjusted our lifestyle a bit more, and got rid of any amenities we had left.  Yes, what we had left. You see; the lower middle class salary I once had prior to layoff, actually diminished by 35% over the course of 5 years due to cutbacks, and furloughs. Prior to getting let go from my assignment, our income was considered poverty level for a family of four. We were eligible for assistance, but tried to make it on our own.  Even after the layoff, we managed to keep from sinking by stretching tax returns, eating as much as we could from our garden, and using up our savings. 

Finally, we broke. It came down to either not feeding the kids, or swallowing our pride. We had to apply for food stamps. It was a great relief to know that our children would be able to not go hungry. I am very grateful for this assistance. However, there is a hidden cost to all of this. One they do not talk about in the seminars for the unemployed. It hits you in the face the first time you pull out that food stamp card. SHAME.  Raw, in your face, unabashed shame. You cannot hide it from the other shoppers, as it pops up on the cashier screen for everyone to see. Even the clerks change their behavior towards you when they see how you are paying for your groceries. They go from happy chatter, to stiff upper lip professional courtesy with you. You learn very quickly to avert your eyes so you cannot see the disgust they are barely masking. The people in line behind you look over your cart silently, and you feel that if there is anything but macaroni and cheap hamburger in your cart, you are committing a crime of some sort. I have even heard people complain that people on food stamps are not entitled to seafood, beef, or fresh vegetables. “Government cheese, peanut butter and skim milk should be all you get, you pathetic waste of a human!” 

It makes me wonder, is society really this callous? Do they really think that the majority of people who are on assistance are degenerate burdens on society? I wonder if they can understand that so many of us struggle minute to minute, day to day, week to week, with this poverty?  Each day, I feel the darkness taking a little bit more of my soul. The fear and shame of it all is crushing. My young children do not understand why they cannot have the same toys as other children. My seven year old has developed anxiety beyond what child should have to endure. Last week he mentioned that he wishes he had a good job so he could take us all out to get a burger or see a movie.  It tears me up inside. 

Each day, I wonder if this is the day we get a letter of foreclosure, or if the electricity will get shut off this month? Will we have running water in the morning? Will the phones get shut off just before I get a call for an interview? I lay awake all night, trying to convince myself that I need to keep pushing forward, because the kids need me, yet still wonder if maybe they would get better opportunities in life if I was not holding them back. 

It is peculiar to me, I hear these politicians, the same ones I voted for, issuing statements that America needs to stop coddling the lower class. Benefits need to be cut. Work, damn it or you deserve to starve. Contribute to society or get out. Last week, a commentator in the UK went as far as to advocate that older people, who are not self sustaining should be euthanized. I paid taxes for 35 years. I expect and hope to find work and pay taxes for at least another 20 years. But still, I am labeled as a drain on society, a burden that should be removed. 
 

I am sorry if this is over the top with maudlin, depressive overtones. I do not like feeling this way. A man wants to be able to provide for his family. He desires to make them proud, and have a comfortable, fulfilling life. It is hard not to give up and accept that I have nothing left of value to offer them, and have become a total failure. The heck of it is, I am sure that I am not alone in my thinking, How many other thousands are out there, men and women alike, who deal with this struggle? We want jobs, and not handouts. We do not want to be "a drain on society".

You know how I know you're not in college?

As I was driving up to my house today, I noticed a couple of young men canvassing the neighborhood putting out flyers. Sure enough, there was one wedged in my front door. I took it out and read it, only to find out that it was one of those college painter advertisements. It started out "Hi, My name is Billy Dumas, and I am a college student at the University of North Colorado, here in Greeley. I want to paint your house, yada, yada, yada. "

I have to admit, that my first inclination was to wonder if the boy was truly a college student, and next, if he was truly a painter. One, if he really was a college student, he would either be in class at 10 in the morning on a weekday or more likely he would still be sobering up from St. Patty's celebrations two days ago. (Seriously, I remember not seeing fellow students for a week after March 17th when I was at C.U. but admittedly we were sort of known to be a party school. )

I am on the board of directors for our neighborhood home owners association, and am always on the look out for abnormalities in our development. Not withstanding that I am really getting cagey not having employment for so long, and given the fact that our city prohibits door to door soliciting without a permit, I felt the need to explain to them why strangers should never touch my house.

My little 4 year old son Johnnie was all in for going to talk to the two guys, because even he wanted to see what I was about to come up with. I guess my son knows a good show when he sees one. He ran right out to the van, buckled in and yelled, "Let's get 'em daddy!" How could I say no to that cute little face?

With the flyer in hand, I found the two "students" 4 streets away, and I pulled up next to him. I said, "Excuse me, but which one of you is Billy?" One of the kids turned to me and responded, which unbeknownst to him, was sealing his fate.  I held up the flyer and pretended to read it. "So you are Billy Dumas (and I pronounced the 'mah' part as 'mass'), whats your partners name, Bobby Stoopedschitt? There was a glint of fear in his face, and suddenly I felt a rush of adrenaline, much like the feeling a deep sea fisherman gets when he hooks a trophy marlin. Time to start the trolling motor.

Billy stammered "H-h-h-how can I help you sir?" Well, young man, let me tell you how you can help me. Show me your permit for door to door sales that you got from the county clerk." He turned a little ashen and mumbled that he did not know he needed one. I raised my voice slightly and said; "Well now boy, you DO. I oughta call the police and have you fined for solicitation." He squirmed a little and squeaked "Doesn't that mean prostitution?" I knew now that I had three runners on base and was about to hit it out of the park. I barked loud enough for the mailman three houses over to hear, "Did you just ask me to pay for SEX??!!!" His buddy slowly started backing up, looking for safe passage out of this neighborhood. "Is that how you plan to get through college, sleeping your way to good grades? You had better figure out something, cause I know you not a very good painter!" Billy looked very confused at that statement, but I was about to cross home plate. "My house has a brand new paint job, are you even able to see that?" He started to wilt a little, and replied "Uhm, yeah, I saw that." to which I shot back "Oh yeah? What color is my house?" Again with the squirming. "Uhhh, gray maybe?", he guessed. "WRONG, it is puke green! Are you colorblind too?"

The poor kid had just about had all he could take. He looked desperate, like he wished he had studied harder in high school so he could have gotten better scholarships and not have to work during spring break. "Mister, I do not know what to say, what is it you want anyway?" I handed him back his flyer, and said; "I think I want some ice cream.", at which point my little boy squealed with delight and we drove off.

Teach Your Children Well

My first grader goes to a charter school that demands excellence from their students as well as their families. Academic rigor from the students, absolute surrender from their parents. Each month we are required to donate at least four hours of our time "volunteering" to help out in and around the school. Not that I am overtly complaining, mind you. I am grateful for the care that the staff shows to our little munchkins.

Today, I was scheduled to participate in a fatherly activity called "Watch D.O.G.S. It stands for Dad's of Great Students, although in my case it should be renamed to Father's Assisting The Academically Successful Student, or F.A.T. A.S.S. for short.: It amounts to me showing up in the early morning, working as a crossing guard, then providing security patrols to the campus and helping a little in the classroom and the cafeteria.

Now, when I signed up for a day to help, it was the first week of school, when it was warm, and I was not thinking of Colorado's convoluted weather patterns. The day I was scheduled finally arrived, and it was 5 below zero degrees. I rushed around trying to get the kid ready for school, and out the door we went, totally prepared to deal with the cold. I had warm ski gloves, a thermal carafe of extra stout coffee. I jumped in the car and hurried over to the school. Parked in a special designated spot just for the Watch D.O.G.S. volunteer. Josh came with me, because they like to take a picture of student and father for the "Wall of Fame", which turned out to be more of a pictorial line up to identify those who botched things up.

After I had parked, climbed out of the car, grabbed my gloves and coffee, I realized I had forgotten a coat. No worries, I thought to myself, I like the brisk weather. I walked up to the security door, and followed a set of cryptic entry instructions that were scrolling on an old style monochrome blue LCD and keypad next to the door. Nothing. No answer. I tried it again, and again. Josh looked at me with all the admiration of an awestruck child, and said, "Dad, no one ever has this problem!" then ran off to meet his crew on the playground. Five more tries, and finally someone buzzed me in. They gave me a safety vest, two pages of instructions, a STOP/SLOW sign on a stick, walkie talkie, and a metal whistle, and told me to go to my post.

I walked on over there, and cars were already dropping off kids. One stopped near me, rolled down their window, and asked why I had no coat, because it was 3 below zero. I answered that I was on a weight loss program, where I could freeze off the fat.  The twenty something mom, svelte, blond, buxom, and driving a Lexus looked me up and down and casually remarked that it was not working very well for me. A few minutes later, some kids show up needing to cross the parking street. I turn the sign to the stop position, and motioned for the kids to cross. A car was not paying attention and was moving toward the crosswalk, so I took grabbed the whistle, and blew it. There is a certain physical peculiarity that occurs when a piece of frozen metal touches skin. Much like the kid who touches his tongue to a frozen flag pole, my lips were glued to the whistle. To make matters worse, my nose was now running, so as I exhaled through the whistle, a bubble of steamy snot formed, then popped, followed by a faint toot of the whistle. It was so mesmerizing to the children that a crowd formed to watch, and 23 children ended up being tardy to class.

After the classes had started I was summoned to my son’s room to assist the teacher with filing of papers, passing out supplies to students, and other busy work. While I was cutting up construction paper for an art project, the teacher called up a student for show and tell. A little boy got up and showed his treasure, a dream catcher. Now, this kid was as fair skinned as an Irish choir boy, but he was telling how he believed in the protective powers of this Native American artifact, and how he and his father had gotten all the feathers dangling off of it by shooting a hawk with a .22 rifle. This captured my attention. Notwithstanding that hawks are an endangered species in Colorado, but that this kid was explaining how he hunted and expertly relieved a poor bird of its life spirit so that he could not have nightmares delivered to his slumber. After he got done with his presentation, the children were allowed a question and answer session. Most of the questions were what you expected, "How does it keep the nightmares out but let good dreams through?", or "What happens to the bad dreams when the catcher is full?" I raised my hand and the teacher said, "Go ahead, Mr. LeClere, ask away." It was a shame that no one had warned her ahead of time to not let me interact directly with the innocent hearts and minds of the children. "Yes, I do have a question. Aren't you a little bit too vanilla, to be acting like you have a tribal affiliation?" The teacher gasped and asked me to go see if I was needed elsewhere for a while.

I made my way to the cafeteria to help take out trash and monitor the playground. In the center of the lunchroom, there is a table with an ice bucket chilling squeeze bottles of mayo and ranch dressing. Apparently, when children balk over eating veggies, they are coaxed into eating them smothered in fat and cholesterol. This turned out to be a blast, because I asked the kids if they wanted ranch on all their foods, except the veggies. "Hi kid, howsa bout some ranch on the sammich?" The kid stammered. "But, it is peanut butter and jelly!" "Yeah, that’s what I am talking about, a PB,R&J sandwich was my favorite when I was a kid!" Blank, confused stares.  Another kid raised his hand, wanting to be excused to go to recess. I walked by, and he asked very politely, but I answered, "Pardon et moi, mais je n'est parle pas Anglais!" The kid next to him said,"What did he say?" and I replied in Spanish, "No habla ingles, soy no comprendo!" The third kid, looked at them and tried to gesture that he wanted to go outside, so I used sign language to ask him if he wanted to go outside.  I walked over to another table and saw a child whose Indonesian parents are friends of ours. The little girl beamed and said how I was her uncle. When the kids looked at me and commented I did not look like her, I told them I was a rare albino Indonesian, and was starting to tell them about how my tribe was famous for being warrior headhunters in the islands, when a woman introduced herself to me as the dean of students, and asked me to go empty the trash cans.

As I headed out the door to the back playground where the dumpsters were located, a kid lobbed a snowball at a window near my head. Out of nowhere, a short haired woman saw me and started yelling at the kid, "DID YOU THROW A SNOWBALL AT THE WINDOW? Why is my Watch D.O.G. out here? DID HE SEE WHICH ONE OF YOU KIDS THREW IT? ANSWER ME!!!" I was not interested in being part of this disciplinary process, and blurted; "Who are you, R.Lee effing Ermey, from the effing Marine Corps? Stunned silence. I made my way to the trash cans, and hid for a while.

Soon it was time for the kids to go home, and I took my place back in the crosswalk. I was not there 1 minute when the drill sergeant shows up and apparently I am in her spot. I politely ask, "What would you like me to do?" She glared at me and spit out; "I would LIKE you to die in a fire, but why don't you go to the other end of the parking lot and stay there?"

I walked away and started to make sure the kids got safely to their parents who were driving up single file to pick them up. I was getting along alright, when a quiet little boy walked up and stood near me, waiting for him mom. As it turned out, she was Deaf, and as she pulled up in her car, she signed a hello to him, and then flashed the "I Love You" sign to him. I looked at her, and signed right back, "Thank you, I love you too, hot stuff!" A look of embarrassed horror crossed her face and I think that she momentarily considered gunning her engine and running me over. I saw her sign to her child who immediately picked up a cell phone and started dialing. 2 minutes later, the assistant principal came out, and told me how my volunteer hours for today would count for the rest of the school year, and added that my son was remarkably well adjusted, given what they imagine his home environment must be.

I took it as a compliment.

You Can Dress Me Up.....

Last summer, I had a date. A real live bonafide dress up, leave the kids somewhere's and forget 'em date. This was a big deal, because Dessy and I have only gotten to dress up and go out twice before, once for our wedding and the other time was to go to a country-style wedding. The second one really does not count as a date,because it was really more of an opportunity to go and gossip that it was uber tacky to get married at a campground, wonder if the groom was unhappy about not getting to see the results of the paternity test, how trailer park it was to have a cake made of Hostess Twinkies, or how the bridesmaids dresses made them all look like Miss Piggy in silky, powder blue potato sacks.

About a year ago, Dessy mentioned that someday she wished that she could see this group called 'Il Divo'. I checked the interwebs for them and without really looking closely determined that they were kind of a pop opera troop, sort of a Euro - boy band made up of the illegitimate spawn of Doris Day and Liberache. I decided to surprise her and six months ahead, I ordered tickets.Now, the last time I had attended a concert, tickets were $15 dollars a piece, which tells you how long it had been since I have been allowed out. I got a shock, because seats ranged from $90 to $500. I blame Babs Streisand for the inflating ticket prices, because she charges 1100 dollars a pop to watch her engage in a personal wine and cheese tasting fest. The only way you would get me pay that much for a concert would be if if you  could get The Who, Elvis Costello, Aerosmith, and the the other Elvis onstage at the same time. I am talking about the skinny, cool Elvis Presley, not the fat,drunken, bloated-dead-on-a-toilet, Elvis.

The big day arrives and I am told that I had better dress up for the occasion, and that spray painting my sandals black, and wearing a tuxedo print T-shirt, is not going to fly. I go to the closet and dig out my best suit, which would have looked really great, if I could have just gotten my pants to button up I ended up wearing a dark blue blazer and what I thought were dark blue pants. Threw the kids in the car and dropped them off at the grandparents. Once we arrived at the concert hall it turns out parking was like $15 dollars. I was not having that so we drove around for half an hour looking for something reasonable. We found a parking spot about a half a mile from the concert that only cost $12 bucks,  and it was only about a half mile walk so I got to think about how I was saving 3 dollars as I walked in ill fitting shoes.As we approached the venue, the sun shone in such a manner so as to let the world know my outfit was mismatched, blue on black. Oh well, it was dark inside and It was not like I was going to be on stage or anything.

We found our seats and the lights lowered. It was all a man could have hoped for. Lots of women with low cut dresses jumping up and down, screaming their admiration for the four sissies on stage. I looked at my wife hoping to get a little appreciation for putting up with this, but it was not to be, as she was too busy trying to capture all the moments on her camera. I made an excuse that I had to go to the bathroom and made a beeline to one of the many cocktail stands. I waited in line with about 50 other guys, all who had the same defeated look on their faces, all wearing mismatched suits and ties. I ordered a lite beer. " That will be EIGHT Dollars, sir," said the bartender. I raised an eyebrow to this, but realized that this was the least expensive part of the event so far. I downed it, and returned to my wife's side. Not that I needed to be there, she was enthralled with the greasy haired Spaniard who was singing Italian versions of all the songs that most real men hate anyway.

After 10 more songs, I made an excuse to go back to the bathroom, saying I had forgotten to wash my hands. This time I decided to order a little stiffer drink. I asked for a very very dry martini, one so dry that the gin had only seen a picture of the vermouth bottle. The girl smiled knowingly and proceeded to pour half a cup of olive juice in the cup, the ice then topped it off with I can only describe as bottom shelf gin. I was about to protest when she winked and said, "I don't know how to make martinis, tee hee, you should have gone to that guy over there. That will be ten dollars please." Sonofa.... I pay her and walk away with my plastic cup of disappointment.

I get back to the concert, and Dessy looks to me and frowns. "Another drink? What are you, an alcoholic?" I reply by noisily slurping my olive juice on the rocks. Finally the concert ends. We go back to the car and I start to try and find our way home. Naturally I get lost in downtown Denver and
drive an extra 15 minutes to find the highway. Got honked at by a light rail train, a sports car and a horse drawn carriage beeped at me. And by beeped at, I mean the horse nearly crapped on my hood.

Apparently the excitement of it all was too much for my wife and she falls asleep almost immediately. I drove home in silence and was almost home when I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the kids from my folks place. Fortunately, Dessy was still asleep so I did not have to admit the mistake.Would not have wanted to spoil her night, ya know?

Travel Advice.

This is a departure from my normal story line, but I was asked for advice on traveling to S.E. Asia. I will take this opportunity to help alienate other cultures and maybe even thoroughly piss off my in-laws.

I took my first trip to Indonesia back in 2006. I did research on how to travel, how to be sure to not return to the USA in a near death state, and what to expect from other cultures in terms of social constructs and customs.  Largely that information turned out to be misleading if not outright incorrect.  Here is my take on visiting countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, Taiwan, and China.

This first thing I did was to look up information about foreign countries on U.S. Government websites like http://travel.state.gov/content/passports/english/go.html. It was recommended that I register my trip with the feds. I did so and immediately started getting emails warning me where not to go, when not to go etc. I arrived with trepidation, knowing that some Islamic extremest was waiting to gun me down. I still think it is a good idea to register, because in the event you lose your passport or run into trouble, at least the consulate will be aware of your trip and you may be able to gain an audience with them quicker if needed. I would largely disregard all warnings except those urgent matters like all Americans must leave the country due to impending wars or hostilities internally. So overall let your gut tell you when to heed the warnings.

The next thing to do is find out if you need a visa to enter the country or countries you want to visit. Some countries require a formal visa application process, others have a VOA program, (Visa On Arrival). With the VOA, you can generally step off the plane, get in line and pay cash for the VOA. Check ahead, but normally you can pay this with US currency. Note, bring new, fresh, crisp unfolded bills for this. Wrinkled money will likely be refused. I have no idea why. Many countries limit the amount of undeclared American cash you have on your person to $2000. Check ahead. I advise that you use your Visa debit or credit card anyway. When you use a local ATM, it converts from USD to local currency and calculates the currency exchange automatically so you are good to go. Make sure to alert your bank that you are traveling overseas. If you do not and they see that your card is being used out of the USA, they will block it, and you are truly hosed. Only draw the amount of cash you need for a day or two at a time while traveling. That way if you happen to get mugged, you will not lose a lot. When using an ATM ensure you log out when you are done. Broke and alone in Jakarta is no way to go through vacation, son.

Keep your card in a safe place which is safely concealed, not in a front or rear pants pocket, or inside a sock. This is where a one of those concealed pockets that hang around your neck inside your shirt may come in handy. Google "Neck Safety Pouch" for examples but the smaller the better. You do not want to have something so large that you stand out. You will become a target for theft. Money belts are not really needed, in my opinion. I traveled with a torso body wallet during my first overseas trip and I looked like a freakin idiot every time I reached deep inside my shirt to pull my papers out at customs, or when wanting to buy a drink at the various airports. It also made my belly sweat. while you are in the confines of the airports and all, your are most likely safe from being mugged. Once you get to your destination you can most likely carry what you need in that neck pouch. Purses, camera bags, and fanny packs are easy to breach with a razor blade. A skilled thief can slice open your bag, take your goods and you won't feel it, and discover it way too late.

The third thing I did was to go to the AAA website and find out where to get vaccinations. Chances are, you will need to get several before you go. DO NOT go to any travel company to get these. I recommend looking on http://wwwnc.cdc.gov/travel/destinations/list, plugging in your destination then seeing what vaccinations are required. Next go to your local county health department office and get the shots there. It is much cheaper this way. Also make sure they set up your yellow book (vaccination record for traveling. ) Have a record of all the vaccination you have ever gotten with you when you set this up so that the physician can sign off on it. Keep it with your Visa and passport as you travel.

The fourth thing I investigated was asking seasoned travelers (my parents) on what to take. I highly recommend that you NEVER ask an elderly person what to pack in your kit. I took nearly an extra suitcase of toiletries, cleaning items like clothes lines for the shower to hang my clothes that I clean in the tub, shaving gear, bug repellent kits, flashlights, first aid kits, stand alone currency calculators, toilet seat covers (butt-gaskets) etc. Big mistake. Unless you are actually going straight to a remote area with no amenities, you can pick it all up at your destination city. Most of the stuff they recommend at the travel shops are unnecessary. There are some things that are nice to have for packing however. Individual pouches for socks, and shirts, skivvies, etc, can be helpful to organize your luggage. I recommend sturdy, hard sided luggage with wheels and a handle for lugging log distances. Get the best luggage you can afford. Cheap ones will bust open easily, or only last one trip. Make sure to get enough TSA locks to secure everything, zippers and pockets.
If you have a laptop, get a car adapter for it so you can use it on the plane. Load some  movies and music so you do not have to pay the airline for that sort of entertainment.

Here is an additional list of things I found to be helpful:

1) Bring electrical plug adapters as well at power converters. There are converters for low and high wattage. Your hair dryer may have a switch for 220, so you can just use the plug adapter.
A word of caution, if you are on layover and decide to charge your cell phone or computer, make sure that your charger is dual voltage. Sometimes the plug you see looks like what you are used to but will be 220 volts. I learned the hard way on this and blew up my phone charger in Taipei.

2) Load a couple of apps ahead of time on your smart phone. a currency converter and a local language dictionary may help. Try and have google maps installed.  If possible get your cell phone unlocked before you travel so you can use the local phone services. It is cheaper, works better than here, and keeps you in contact with your fellow travelers.

3) Airport travel is both exciting and harrowing. Check ahead on your flight schedule to ensure you have time to make connecting flights.  Security measures can throw a wrench into the works. If you fly out of LA or San Francisco, ensure you have at least two hours to get through customs.
Make sure that you get in the right lines, as sometimes airport handlers will try and guide you to the wrong place. If you have a carry on, and have already checked your luggage into the international airport, get in the line where people do not have regular suitcases. You will save at least an hour in line.
International airlines are great. Prepare to be treated like a human. For comfort, bring light loose fitting clothing, noise cancelling headphones and comfy loose shoes.

4) When you get on the plane to leave the USA, look at your fellow passengers, memorize a couple of the faces. If you get to a layover destination,  follow them to the layover waiting area. Often the airport handlers who yell instructions on where you should go have very heavy accents, and you can get confused. If you see fellow passengers in the waiting area, you most likely are in the right place.
It is ok, to ask them if you are in the right place too.


5) Take appropriate clothing for the region, Any country that is near the equator is going to be hot and humid. Take light breathable items. Try not to take items that are totally western like short cargo pants. Most male adults in S.E. Asia wear long pants. You will totally stand out if you have sandals, black socks, and khaki shorts. Just wear cotton slacks, and light breathable shoes that will not readily mildew. Keep your clothes to a minimum. You do not need to pack a fresh set of clothes for every day you are there. The hotels generally have reasonable cleaning services, a basket in your room that if you put your dirty items in, will be returned clean to you in the evening. I only had to pay about 10 dollars for 2 weeks of doing my laundry. Totally worth it. So, skip the travel iron, the clothes line and the calgon packets.

6) Make a photocopy of the first two pages of your passport and laminate it. Keep it with you. Often a hotel will require you to surrender your passport until you pay your bill. It is a security measure for them, and non negotiable. You may need the copy in case you have to engage the consulate in an emergency. 

7) Do not take toiletries, except maybe a toothbrush and a trial size toilet paper in your carry on. You should buy all this stuff at your destination. Cheaper and less baggage. You can also get clothing tailor made in many of the countries you visit. Very inexpensive, fast turn around, and it is nice to return home with well fitting items.

8) Take a water bottle with either a decent filter or get one of those ultraviolet pens for sanitizing your water. Or both. Third world counties have incredibly scary water. Always request bottled water at your destinations, or buy it in their super markets. Make sure it is sealed in plastic bottles. Don't accept glass bottles and a bottle opener. Often these are bottled locally and sealed without actually using pure filtered water. Dua tang brand comes in what appears to be a pudding snack cup but these are sealed and safe. Use sealed bottled water to brush your teeth too. Never trust tap water. It is common to get served a glass of water at a restaurant that is boiling hot. It may throw you off, but this is safe to drink, if not a bit unsatisfying. Do not ask for ice. It is scary. Most places do not filter the water in their ice machines, or get ice blocks delivered to them daily, then chip off chunks to serve. If you saw how it was delivered, off the back of a truck, dirt all over it, and some worker in flippy floppies standing on the blocks, you will understand why. If you have to have ice water, buy some bottles at the store, and put them in your hotel fridge.

9) Be careful what you eat. Street vendor food is enticing but if you get the wrong thing, like those exotic drinks served in a plastic bag, or shaved ice on the cart, expect to spend your next half day crapping your brains out. This is a two fold curse, and I will get to that in a moment. Never order salads, as they most likely are rinsed with water that is not purified nor boiled. The bacteria you ingest will come back to haunt you. Only eat fruit that you peel, or that is freshly cut in front of you.
Cooked food is generally safe. Most desserts are OK too. Cooked veggies and meets are usually safe. Do not expect to get much pork unless you are in a non Muslim country. Do not expect to find napkins at the table, as it is not customary in many places to have them. Watch what you eat. Literally. Sometimes you will find objects in your food that you are not meant to eat. Like a large chunk of ginger. It makes the food taste great, but you do not want to bite into it. I routinely forget this rule at home and it is a shock to your mouth.
Alcohol may be an issue at times too. Many hotels in Malaysia and Indonesia are Halal, which means they follow Islamic dietary laws. You can pack a couple of flasks in your luggage if needed, but it is easy to find beer at most establishments that serve international clients.

10) If possible find someone at your destination country who is an expat, or a local resident who you are acquainted with for a guide. They can take you to the best restaurants, and tourist attractions, and they may even help you to avoid being fleeced by the local vendors. Americans are considered to be very rich, and therefore are targets for sales pitches. I often would step out of the hotel or a cab and would get mobbed. There are great deals to be had, and I was willing to buy some things but I got taken advantage of at times. It was not terrible but my wife, would tell me I was an idiot for paying that much for trinkets. Bartering is the norm for street vendors, but do not try to get TOO good of a deal. Remember, these people need to eat too. Supermarkets are non negotiable. No bartering is accepted.

11) When it comes to traveling, have a trusted source. Local buses have a set price, but taxi travel is an opportunity for cheating you. Ask the concierge about hiring a local driver service for the duration of your stay. It is better than a taxi, you get a driver on demand and a local guide all in one. Well worth the cost.

12) Now, back to one of the most important things of all. Bathrooms. In S.E. Asia, you need to ensure that your lodging has a western bathroom. You do not want to use a squat toilet unless you are in reasonably good physical condition. Even western bathrooms have their own sets of surprises. Next to the toilet, you will often see a sprayer like you have on your kitchen sink. This is how you wipe your butt. Do your business, rinse good then use the toilet paper to dry. DO not flush the toilet paper. It will clog the systems there, and you may get charged for the repair. The little wicker basket next to the toilet is the proper mode of disposal. Do yourself a favor and do not wipe your can with the TP. Just use it to dry.
One thing to look out for when you go to the bathroom, is how the whole toilet seems to be covered in little drops of liquid. Many people in Indonesia like to take the sprayer and rinse the toilet, and even walls and floor after they have eliminated. It is unsettling to the uninformed, but know that it is clean and you can even spray it down and wipe it dry with some tp, if you want to be sure it is clean.

13) There are also social rules related to bathroom use. Your left hand is the "impolite" hand. It is the one you use to clean yourself in the bathroom, and therefore is not used to shake hands, serve food, to point at,  or touch anyone. I would advise watching the first half an hour of the movie "Outsourced" to get a quick primer on what behaviours are acceptable. It is not all inclusive but it is a good start.
Try hard to be respectful of local customs. You do not want to become the "Ugly American."
You are not entitled to any special treatment, and you do not have any of your American rights in these countries. Be accepting and polite, non judgemental and you should be ok.

14) Be aware of the the local religions. Islam is very much the prevailing or official religion in many S.E. Asian countries. I received  many warnings from the state department about being careful, or even vigilant against being abducted by Islamic factions. This proved to be fear mongering at best. My first day in Indonesia, I was walking with a local friend, and suddenly I heard Arabic being yelled over a loudspeaker and I knew I was about to get shot. As I prepared for a sudden and violent death, my friend casually mentioned that the local mosque was calling people to pray, something that happens 5 times a day in the Muslim faith. Later that evening, I was invited into the home of a family who owned a prestigious Muslim school. They kindly fed me dinner and made me feel welcome. Much of what I had been advised about the terror of Islam turned out to be propaganda. Do not be too complacent however, there are exceptions. Just be aware of your surroundings.

15) Respect monkeys. Hindu's usually consider them to be sacred, or even incarnations of gods, and you need to be careful. Do not fight or tease them. One, they bite. Two, they scratch. Oh, and they always win. They like shiny things you are wearing.  If they take your sunglasses, let them have it, because man, they are gone. You can also be fined for messing with them.

16) Watch out for police. They do not serve the same function as they do here in the USA. Often if you get stopped for a violation, the goal of the officer is to get a bribe, rather than issue a ticket. This is a touchy area so really stay clear of them. if you have a driver, let them deal with it, and have your wallet ready. Usually the equivalent of 10 - 15 dollars takes care of an issue. Most of the time. If you have really committed a crime, and get caught contact the US consulate ASAP.

17) Be aware that as an American, you are very spoiled by our traffic patterns. In larger cities in S.E.Asia, traffic is like nothing you have ever experienced. It is your responsibility to not get hit by a bus, scooter, car or bicyclist. Sidewalks are not always for walking by the way. They are often platforms for the street vendors to sell their wares.

18) Know drug laws. Indonesia has a death penalty for drug dealers. Malaysia will beat drug offenders with a bamboo cane. Make sure your luggage does not get tampered with, as this can happen in transit and it is a tough rap to beat if drugs are found in your bags. Get certified TSA locks for your luggage. Be careful with what you bring into a foreign country. Know the laws before you pack, just to avoid delays at customs.

That is a lot to think about but it is not all inclusive. Feel free to message me if you have specific questions. Traveling abroad is a wonderful experience, and if you are mindful, you will have a great time. Keep it safe, keep it simple.Enjoy your adventure.