In 1963 my parents simultaneously received Fulbright Awards to study abroad for the year. My mother went to India (and traveled through Nepal, Bhutan, and a forbidden sliver of Tibet on the border.) My father traveled to West Africa, where he made his way down the coast through 13 countries, meeting with emerging African authors and poets — among them Chinua Achebe and Leopold Senghor. It was an interesting year for my brother and me — since neither parent wanted to relinquish the award nor take us in tow on their travels. My brother was sent to a boarding school in France, and I remained at home with a newly married couple (she was Tibetan, and he was American). I was nine.
Over that year, I received a lot of mail from my parents — my father was especially fond of sending postcards because the cards were visually wonderful, and he could write short, loving messages. (He also sent sea dolls from many countries too.) I have saved them all. And going through them for the first time in 100 years (ok, it feels like that!) I am delighted once more by his selection. These two cards he purchased in Casablanca at the start of his trip. They are embellished with embroidery. I wonder if they still make these?
Your parents must have been incredibly interesting people. I wonder how you felt about being left with others as they pursued their passions? I lived with my ex-husband and two small sons in Africa for ten years. It was not easy but I could never have left my children in the states. I am not passing judgement but am curious about your thoughts?
Nancy — you are right. It was an awful year for me. I missed my mother so very very much. I stopped sleeping, had night terrors and the young couple (newlyweds really) I lived with had no idea how to help me. I don’t think I have ever felt so alone in my life. If my parents had kept my brother and I together it might have been easier. But we were scattered over four continents.
There were good moments — Chunden-la, my Tibetan “mother” had a bunch of elderly relatives who came often and played raucous games of mah jong. They taught how to play (and gamble!) and swear in Tibetan. And in the Spring, when school let out I was sent to California to live on the beach with old family friends (that I loved) who had two teenage daughters that doted on me. The ocean saved me…and when my parents returned, I honestly did not want to go home! My brother spoke only French, my parents had changed quite a bit, and one could feel the undercurrent that would become their permanent estrangement.
When I got older I realized with some poignancy that while I knew my parents loved me very much, they loved themselves more and did not hesitate to be selfish when it suited them. The good thing about adulthood and the gift of time and perspective was being able to resolve all those moments — and in a sense undo them as I became a parent to my children and a caregiver to my mother.