7:30 am-Three men and two teenagers step foot into a 2001 Kia mini-van. The mood surrounding the van is quiet, yet in anticipation for what is to come. Before continuing on I must provided some brief character development.
Vandy-Manager of the orphanage. Speaks English well. Laughs often. Drinks 10 cups of tea a day. Thirty-five years old. Married with two children. Passionate about truly loving kids. A likeable man both to foreigners and Cambodians alike. Laid back.
Tuk Tuk Driver-Great thick flowing hair. Prefers wearing long skirts to shorts or pants. Speaks no English. Has ventured outside 50 kilometers of where he was born and raised two times. Cracks jokes often, sometimes inappropriate ones.
Damrong-Respectful to adults, attempts to honor them with everything he does. Fourteen years old. Loves soccer. Quick learner. Wants to be a doctor when he gets older. Has lived at the orphanage for five years come January. Looks up to others. Works out with me most mornings.
Soktahn-Animated in the way he talks. Top six tree climber I have ever seen. Fifteen years old. Catches chickens well, and is an above average farm worker. Wants to be a police officer when he gets older. Has lived at the orphanage four years as of September. Good looking chap, and knows it.
So we be rocking and rolling in the car (Grease quote, you’re welcome my dear sister Kaitlin Donohue) listening to WOW Hits 2005. Conversation flows in and out smoothly yet somewhat cautiously. Do you like pancakes was asked. All men and boys shake their head and smile in utter agreement. The season and time was ripe for the taking.
My intrapersonal being starts communicating in my head. Flashbacks of breakfast experiences I have had in the past bring subtle and charming joy into my mind. Flipping an omelet, stirring pancake batter, going out to those breakfast places. The people and memories. A balance between healthily appreciating them and missing them while enjoying what was to come.
Before doing what we came there to do, we made an obvious stop at a random place on the side of the road and around 400 paces deeper into the tropical distance to an abundance of monkeys. We fed them and played with them for a second. One got aggressive, I was not scared. The boys were scared. I was not scared. I wear Levi 550s.
Pancakes were on on the agenda and pancakes we conquered. We all ordered with manners, yet five year old excitement was definitely a key ingredient in this process. Say similar to balsamic vinegar dressing on a tossed salad.
Then the restaurant waiting game starts, one that I have yet to master. One question is asked among the group during this time. Are you hungry? A smile and nodding of the head is everyone’s response. Then silent anticipation begins. I use walking around the place to pass time. Vandy uses Facebook. The teens choice percussion. Tuk Tuk driver has a half smirk and nods his head. Every time someone walks out of the kitchen are heads turn, some more casual than others. I use the facilities and hope that timing will be perfect and the food will be out when I exit. This fails.
The food comes in waves. The children and tuk tuk driver wait. Vandy explains to me how none of them have ever been to a restaurant like this. He went on saying they waited, yes to be polite but more so because they did not know how to use a fork and knife. The teens ate their food slowly, enjoying every last bite. Vandy photographed the entire event. Tuk tuk driver ate his first two quickly and last one slowly. I ate quite fast and then watched with a suppressed smile as they ate the rest of theirs. Vandy and I talked about troubles he was having at the orphanage, trauma, and instilling trust in children whose minds tell them not to trust. We talked about faith, he shared his life with me. Soktahn and Damrong were fixated on their coca-colas and joking with one another. Tuk tuk driver was holding conversation in a suave way with our waitress. Acts 2:42-47.
When I walk up to pay. She asks if I am from Saudi Arabia. I say no. I am from Michigan. Thank you, though. She smiled politely right on cue.
Breakfast is over. Pancakes are gone. Sodas are being slurped. Cookie is merely crumbles. Memories were and are still coming.
All this being said God is good in the extravagant, the confusion, the pain and in the simple. Breakfast is important. Community is good.
In honor and remembrance of Ms. Daily, my essay and analysis teacher in 11th grade, I shall end leaving the reader to ponder or want more. Spend breakfast with someone this week. Have them over and cook for them. Go out to a diner. Walk out of the typical and into the uncomfortable with conversation. Listen and share burdens. It is cool and good.
