I've written briefly about Third Culture Kids before, but it's really been at the forefront of my mind this week. As you may know, "Third Culture Kid (TCK)" is the term used to describe children who have spent a large part of their lives living away from their country of origin. When I use this term back home people often ask me, "so what are the three cultures?"
The first culture is your own. Technically my boys are American. They were born in America, they lived in America for 2 years, they speak English without any accent (well, almost no accent; they slip in a few Indian-isms here and there), and a large portion of their day-to-day life is influenced by American culture since their parents are American.
The second culture is their host country. As expat kids they will rarely live in their country of origin. We left America when Zack was two and Gabriel one. They are now four and five and living in their third country. In 20-44 months they will be packing up to head for their fourth. These are boys who greet their compound guards with a cheerful "Selamat Pagi!" every morning. They are boys who say they miss their Indian ayah but love their new Indonesian pembantu. They have trekked the Himalayas, jumped off ferries onto pier-less Thai islands, played in the North Sea, tasted various street foods, ridden elephants, have their own frequent flier accounts, and can explain to you the difference between healthy stool, loose stool, and diarrhea. Their vocabulary includes embassy, time zone, commissary, Dengue, and a variety of words in French, Hindi, Thai, and Indonesian.
The third culture is much more abstract. Third Culture Kids live in a culture all their own. The only ones who really understand them and their experience are other TCKs. The third culture is the balance of all cultures to which the TCKs have been exposed. The TCK struggles to find an answer to the question "where are you from." In truth, the TCK would probably tell you he feels most at home in an airport. My children have trouble answering the question, "which is your country's flag?" They have three to remember and choose from. The TCKs are the proverbial "man without a country." They are forced to create their own idea of home.
This week in school Zack's whole campus (K-5) is preparing for UN Week. The week involves a parade of country flags, performances for the parents, a day of touring country tables which have been set up by the parents of various countries, and Zack's class has been making culture baskets. Each child is supposed to put together a basket of items from their country. Suggestions included toys, book, money, flags, sports, clothes, etc. Imagine the difficulty for the TCK! Many of Zack's toys come from Khan Market in New Delhi. A lot of his clothes come from the export reject market, Sarojini, in Delhi. He doesn't know what a dollar bill is. He isn't sure which country is "his" country. It was actually an eye-opening exercise for me. Am I failing to keep Zack and Gabriel rooted?
As a mother of two TCKs I've been struggling to figure out how to give my kids roots while still allowing them to reap the full benefit of a life overseas. We try to take the good and fun with us from every country and use the bad to learn how to live better. It's not easy. An article my friend, Jason, shared with me urges people to view "roots" as more than just a house in the suburbs. That has been excellent advise and I believe I have followed that fairly well thus far. Roots for my little family are not a lifetime family home. They are not walks in the Rockies on a beautiful Fall day. They are not football games with Grandpa on a Sunday afternoons. Although those are wonderful roots, that is just not our family. And even though such experiences make up John's and my roots, I have to create something new, unique, and just as strong (I hope even stronger) for my special little TCKs.
Roots for us are very different. Roots are having family together. John travels a lot; it means a lot to have us all home at once. Zack wrote in his school assignment this week that his favorite activity is taking a walk with his family.
Roots are the boys' bunk bed hung with their special, super cool tent fort.
Roots are Skype calls with Grandma and Grandpa.
Roots are sending Valentines to the cousins.
Roots are Grandma's paintings on the wall; Jesus' birthday cake for breakfast on Christmas; riding bikes around the compound in the afternoons; reading the bed time Bible story; having pillow fights on Saturday mornings; playing tee ball with Mommy and Daddy.
Yes, we have roots. They are simple. They are a little different. They are strong. My boys' perspective on home, culture, and "normal" life will be very different than your average American kid. That's ok with me. I hope and pray it's ok with them, too. What a life, right?
The first culture is your own. Technically my boys are American. They were born in America, they lived in America for 2 years, they speak English without any accent (well, almost no accent; they slip in a few Indian-isms here and there), and a large portion of their day-to-day life is influenced by American culture since their parents are American.
The second culture is their host country. As expat kids they will rarely live in their country of origin. We left America when Zack was two and Gabriel one. They are now four and five and living in their third country. In 20-44 months they will be packing up to head for their fourth. These are boys who greet their compound guards with a cheerful "Selamat Pagi!" every morning. They are boys who say they miss their Indian ayah but love their new Indonesian pembantu. They have trekked the Himalayas, jumped off ferries onto pier-less Thai islands, played in the North Sea, tasted various street foods, ridden elephants, have their own frequent flier accounts, and can explain to you the difference between healthy stool, loose stool, and diarrhea. Their vocabulary includes embassy, time zone, commissary, Dengue, and a variety of words in French, Hindi, Thai, and Indonesian.
The third culture is much more abstract. Third Culture Kids live in a culture all their own. The only ones who really understand them and their experience are other TCKs. The third culture is the balance of all cultures to which the TCKs have been exposed. The TCK struggles to find an answer to the question "where are you from." In truth, the TCK would probably tell you he feels most at home in an airport. My children have trouble answering the question, "which is your country's flag?" They have three to remember and choose from. The TCKs are the proverbial "man without a country." They are forced to create their own idea of home.
This week in school Zack's whole campus (K-5) is preparing for UN Week. The week involves a parade of country flags, performances for the parents, a day of touring country tables which have been set up by the parents of various countries, and Zack's class has been making culture baskets. Each child is supposed to put together a basket of items from their country. Suggestions included toys, book, money, flags, sports, clothes, etc. Imagine the difficulty for the TCK! Many of Zack's toys come from Khan Market in New Delhi. A lot of his clothes come from the export reject market, Sarojini, in Delhi. He doesn't know what a dollar bill is. He isn't sure which country is "his" country. It was actually an eye-opening exercise for me. Am I failing to keep Zack and Gabriel rooted?
As a mother of two TCKs I've been struggling to figure out how to give my kids roots while still allowing them to reap the full benefit of a life overseas. We try to take the good and fun with us from every country and use the bad to learn how to live better. It's not easy. An article my friend, Jason, shared with me urges people to view "roots" as more than just a house in the suburbs. That has been excellent advise and I believe I have followed that fairly well thus far. Roots for my little family are not a lifetime family home. They are not walks in the Rockies on a beautiful Fall day. They are not football games with Grandpa on a Sunday afternoons. Although those are wonderful roots, that is just not our family. And even though such experiences make up John's and my roots, I have to create something new, unique, and just as strong (I hope even stronger) for my special little TCKs.
Roots for us are very different. Roots are having family together. John travels a lot; it means a lot to have us all home at once. Zack wrote in his school assignment this week that his favorite activity is taking a walk with his family.
Roots are the boys' bunk bed hung with their special, super cool tent fort.
Roots are Skype calls with Grandma and Grandpa.
Roots are sending Valentines to the cousins.
Roots are Grandma's paintings on the wall; Jesus' birthday cake for breakfast on Christmas; riding bikes around the compound in the afternoons; reading the bed time Bible story; having pillow fights on Saturday mornings; playing tee ball with Mommy and Daddy.
Yes, we have roots. They are simple. They are a little different. They are strong. My boys' perspective on home, culture, and "normal" life will be very different than your average American kid. That's ok with me. I hope and pray it's ok with them, too. What a life, right?
2 comments:
Similar to Christianity being American is not a place but a state of mind. Both reject tyranny, both encourage personal responsibility and healthy relationships, both are about attempting to leave something better behind, both build strength in order to care for the weak and both can thrive, enhance and adapt to ethnic cultures, yeast, salt, light. This was a wonderful blog Ari and reveals your beautiful heart. Thanks.
I struggled mightily with this very question when my son (now 15) was small. He was born in Washington DC, but we soon left for Zimbabwe and now we live in Rome. He has never lived in the US.
For us it things like throwing elaborate Halloween parties for the entire pre-school - trick or treating in stations in the back yard, hosting Thanksgiving on a Saturday (because it was a school/work day for everyone on the thursday) A tradition that followed us here to Italy. watching presidential addresses and debates (often taped and played back later)...
Home leave visits were not to trips to exotic locales, but were spent always returning to to the same favorite spots, doing the same activities (an annual mini golf tournament at the delaware shore is one) For us it created a sense of place and routine and shared history.
Now I have this amazing American/Zimbabwean/Roman hybrid looking to his next step for university.
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