Last month I heard a British comedian complaining about the manipulative emotional aspect of the Olympics. He felt the same way about all the commotion surrounding the most recent royal wedding and actually expressed relief at being away from it all in America. (If I were a British comedian, I’d move to America, too. Jokes only have to be half as funny when you have that accent.) When questioned about his lack of patriotism, he said he felt that pride in where you’re born is inherently foolish since it’s completely out of your control. The same in essence as declaring that you are proud to be “Caesarean”. And it was funny. And I think it was also true.

Since Jaron and I learned we have a baby girl joining our household this fall, I’ve had surges of homesickness that are different and more intense than ever before. The idea of raising a daughter in a land I didn’t experience as a child is a bit intimidating. What will be special to her about this place? How can we pass on some of what it meant to be children to us when we grew up in California? Is it possible to be as fond of rolling hills and lakes as we were of mountains and waves? And how in the world can we ask our child to grow up without regular access to Peterson’s Donut Corner??

I’ve lived in several states, traveled a bit, and I like to think I’ve been somewhat enlightened by the experiences. But when I think of where I come from and of the roots my child will establish, I get extremely specific and foolish ideas of what they should be. As if life in the Shadowlands is the number one priority and that it must involve swimming pools and beaches and breakfast burritos or I will have failed my child. As if roots in those things would help her be who she is made to be, when ultimately she is not made for this world at all.