Third Culture Kids

The past two days have been a wonderful mix of excitement and tears. This past term in school we have been studying the US Civil War (I have to clarify since both Joe and Louisa thought we would, of course, be studying the one in South Sudan). We've been reading Fields and Fury, Huckleberry Finn, and the Gettysburg Address. They've read about slavery and war, but it hasn't hit home yet. It is, as if, they are reading about another country. A country they aren't really tied to. Somewhat like Narnia. Interesting, yes but not personal.
In preparation for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, both kids read a book from the library about his life and times. Joe had been exposed before to the Civil Rights Movement in America, Louisa had not. Somehow the book clicked for her. I don't know if she has just now lived long enough in the US to connect with its history or whether the pictures in the book looked more like normal life than the Civil War photos, but she connected. She was horrified about separate water fountains and bathrooms. She kept putting the book down to stare out the window and to run into the other room to find me. "Mom! Did you know that... WHY would people, HOW could people treat other people like that? Is this REALLY true?" Then we all sat together and watched as CNN played the "I Have a Dream" speech. No typed notes, no teleprompter just amazing eloquence and at the end Dr. King turns over the speech and just preaches (the famous I have a dream segment). We watched the thousands upon thousands of people cheer. Then Joe says, "Next they're going to kill him."
Meanwhile, I am fighting my own emotions as I watch my children learn about this country of their birth. They don't yet identify themselves at the heart level as Americans and they definitely struggle with being white Americans. Joe points out how ironic it is that white people see themselves as so different from black people when looking back at the old non-color black and white footage of the speech everyone just seems varying shades of gray. At any rate, to him it is hard to tell the difference.
In the morning, we woke up to nearly 4 inches of SNOW! Throughout the morning it continued to snow, swirling and adding to the surreal feeling of being in a southern winter wonderland. The kids made snow cones with fresh snow and chocolate syrup, snowmen and snow angels. Jazz ran around barking (which is unusual) and scooping up snow with her nose. They all had a marvelous, cold, wet, snowy time. And at last we huddled in front of CNN to watch Obama take office. As Aretha Franklin sang Louisa perked up, "Hey! I think I know this song!" I just roll my eyes and sigh. We watched Obama's graceful handling of Robert's transposition of the oath. I just roll my eyes and sigh. And then my children are jumping up and down, "Obama is president! Obama is president!" "FINALLY, an African is president!" As we all calm down (no small thing with four children) and listen to his speech, I am most touched by his reference to America as a patchwork quilt. The point that unified and reconciled our very real differences make something both useful and beautiful. I look at my children, still in the midst of figuring out who they are and where they belong. My hat goes off to President Obama, a third culture kid himself, for what he has endured, for what he has become and for who he inspires my children to be.