For the short walk to school, the balmy weather, open windows of wild painted buses, for old friends, new friends, red pens, blue pens, for Nikons, clean water, and mandatory barefootedness, for e-mail, snail mail, and the palms pierced by nails, for new levels of patience, and no level of urgency, for the angel in the front row who whispers the pronunciation of her classmates’ names during attendance, for joints that move and eyes that see, for silky webs that entangle my blood-sucking foes, for Mom, Dad, Ian, and Molly, for the blonde locks that are as good as a tattoo on my forehead reading, “I’m not from around here. HELP!”, for fresh perspectives and fresh coffee, for the Land of Smiles, and the residents who live up to the name, I am thankful.
For the meaty chunks of fresh papaya that I’m downing as I write this, for the mouthwatering perfection of the fruit’s ripeness, for the Thai teacher at school, the embodiment of Mother Willow, who gave it to me so unexpectedly, for the way she always uses my name when she greets me, for her shy and brilliant students, for all purposeful, personal, passionate teachers, for lifelong learning, for a new definition of generosity, I am thankful.
For my proficiency in English, I am newly and deeply thankful. I’m ashamed to admit that the immensity of this blessing has been almost completely lost on me until now. Learning English as a second language must be absolutely maddening. It’s absurdly inconsistent. I’ve been practicing it all day every day for almost 23 years now, and I still get things wrong. Maybe the response, “I am Balloon old” to the quiz question, “What is your name?” isn’t that distressing after all. He was on the right track. The image below further validates his confusion. This poster hung in Sister Kathleen Dunn’s English classroom at Villa. Read it aloud without messing up. I dare you. And despite the momentary hostility, for you I am truly thankful. Whoever you are, wherever you are, and however intently you perused this post, Khop khun kha.
