"Normal People"

Let's face it.  When you're a missionary kid, you have no chance of being normal.  Most people treat you as part of the display table--a human country-specific Google.  "What's the population of Japan?"  "Oh, that's a lot of snow you get there, eh?"  "What's it like in Japan?"  "Where do you live?"  (Even worse, most of these questions were answered in the presentation.)  However, there are a few people--a wonderful few--who go the extra mile.  During our second furlough, we kids dubbed them "normal people."  The thing is, they weren't normal.  They were different.  What made them special, though, was the fact that they treated us like normal people.

See, here's the problem.  I'm going to post this right here:  I hate wearing skirts outside of a church/work environment and pretending I don't know a thing about American pop culture.  Granted, I knew precious little growing up, but some people hate Disney.

The most magical place on earth...or the most evil?  You decide.

In other words, I grew up every furlough, pretending I didn't know anything.  Movies and music, of any sort, aside from maybe anything from Majesty Music, were off the table until we were sure.

I think the term "normal" was to distinguish from the term "boring."  Boring people seemed to forget you existed until you did one of the Three Taboos:  Sigh, Fidget, or Interrupt.  All of a sudden, the couple hosting would notice you.  "Oh, if they're bored, they can play with our grandchildren's toys!"  I loved that...when I was five or ten.  By the time I was fifteen though (actually, even when I was ten), I would've preferred if they let me read from their private library or read my own book that I'd brought (which was usually hidden in my bag so as not to offend anybody).  Eventually, we figured out that you could ask if they had any games when they offered toys, and they usually would end up having one with no essential pieces missing.

Don't get me wrong, though.  Some older people are normal.  One couple even had their  grandkids over the same evening my family arrived, and the three of us had a BLAST with the three of them.  That was also the only time I've ever played Pit.  The next time I had a chance to play, I somehow slept through it--which is odd, because it's a pretty loud game.  Honestly, though, if you're an older person who's reading my blog and you happen to have grandkids in the area, let your grandkids come play with the missionary kids!  Oh yes, once when I was ten, this resulted in us getting sick, but my youngest brother still had fun (Their  granddaughter was around his age.).

Another time I met a bunch of normal people was at our board's Missions Conference thingy-ma-jig, I don't remember what it's called.  I was fifteen, and on the second day, we missionary kids all started talking and stuff and got along awesomely.  Some of us even emailed each other for a while after that, and I think I'm still Facebook friends with nearly all the girls from that momentous occasion.

Trust me, none of these people were normal in the slightest.  That's what made them awesome.

"Of course other MKs seem normal to you.  You're an MK!"

Trust me, some MKs are VERY un-normal and boring.  Some kids who've lived their whole lives in America are too.

However, sometimes, some blessed, wonderful times, we would come across a family that made our weekend:

• The family who took us out for Chinese when I was ten, and we kids colored all over the place mats--which weren't kids placemats.
• The family with whom I spent the entire evening with their daughters, discussing "Barbie Outfits That Will Never Exist," learning about how to properly check an electric fence, jumping on the trampoline, swinging in the hammock, looking at one girl's artwork, and in general having a blast.  We had elk for Sunday dinner the next day.
• The family whose mom made the first taco salad I ever actually liked, who taught us how to play Apples to Apples, and whose home we nearly had to be dragged away from because we were staying at someone else's house, and we didn't want to leave this place! (aka, the Ensmingers)  (This was the incident that coined the term "normal.")
• The missionary family we ran into, like, three times on our 2000-2001 furlough who had three boys that we got along splendidly with.  I was sad when we no longer kept running into each other.
• The pastor's son who told hilarious jokes the entire meal
• The family whose daughter I spent the afternoon with talking Veggie Tales, American Girl, and a variety of other stuff (I was ten at the time)
• The few Sunday school classes that either didn't know I was an MK so treated me like a normal visitor or who knew but still treated me like a regular visitor (instead of letting a bunch of kids ask me questions)
• The family who had us over and fed us sandwiches for supper (such a relief sometimes!) before the boys went to the basement to play video games and we girls went down there to talk (Also the first time my Herbst appliance correcting my overbite broke)
• The one kid named Seth (none of the ones from Northland) whose house we stayed at on deputation and then we met up again with on first furlough, who was just a bunch of fun (I was sad I didn't get to meet him again on second furlough.)
• Every single person who ever let us watch their movies/recorded TV shows while the parents talked
• The teens of Community Baptist in Silver Lake who invited us to play Ping Pong because in the words of the guy who invited us, "I hate when I go to other churches and don't know anyone and no one talks to me."
• The teens of one church where one guy said, "I like how you're normal and use like and stuff."

I consider the last one to be one of the greatest compliments I ever received because I felt I had accomplished a mission:  to prove to at least one person that a missionary kid is just a regular kid who was been placed in a foreign country.  At the core, I'm no different than you.  I still long to be loved and accepted and to have friends.  If I'd had my way, I wouldn't have gone to any of these churches.  I was shy growing up.  I didn't WANT to go meet new people.  However, when someone around my age chose to reach out and be my friend for just one day, I was so happy.  They'd pull me straight from my comfort zone of not leaving the display table after services or my parents' side at houses except to use the bathroom.  They treated me like a HUMAN BEING!  Honestly, what more does a five-year-old or a ten-year-old or a fifteen-year-old want than to just be seen for what they are.  I didn't want to have to hide who I was.  I hated it.  Once I could tell you were normal, I would strip away that exterior of what a missionary kid should be like, and you were my friend for a day or two.  You went from ordinary and forgettable to extraordinary and special.