Skid Marks

31 December, 13

When I was a little kid, I would walk up to total strangers and say, “My name is Dan Askins the TURD!” That always elicited a smile from the stranger, which, of course, encouraged me to do it more. The fact that I had a lisp and struggled to say, “third”, never even occurred to me.

My name has always been a source of great pride to me, even before I realized why. Being the first-born son conveyed the title upon me. I have found that living up to the office is a completely different undertaking. That would mean a perpetual cycle of endless struggle, magnificent failure and moments of success.

Granddaddy, Dan Askins, Sr., was on my mind over Christmas. He was always painfully ticklish. If you touched his side, he would automatically strike out with his arm, regardless of who was around. The trick was to stand on his left side and tickle him on his right, preferably when your brother or sister was available to be the recipient of the ensuing reflex punch from Granddaddy.

As I was unwrapping a Christmas present, I started to wad up the wrapping paper, in anticipation of throwing it at Granddaddy, while feigning innocence. He would always look around and try to figure out who did it, muttering his own special Popeye glossolalia under his breath.

I realized all over again, as I put the paper down, that I really missed my Granddaddy. His was a life well-lived, yet full of pain and tribulation at the same time. We shared many hours over breakfast at Shoney’s or driving to and from Valdosta, Georgia, where we rebuilt a hotel roof. My favorite thing to do with him was to drive down any street in Hartsville, SC and let him tell me which buildings he built over his career. He could name the original owner and the year it was completed, just like it was yesterday. Granddaddy left a mark. And that is the burden of my name.

I have felt the weight all my life. I want to leave a mark. I want to scratch a Grand Canyon across the landscape of history. I want to matter.

There will be two kinds of responses to the above statements:

1. Awwww, Dan. You already have made a difference! (Thanks Mama.)
2. I am choking back the vomit in my mouth right now, because you are so full of yourself, that it makes me sick, you miserable little Narcissus. (Thanks Becky and Susan.)

I suffer from Restless Life Syndrome. I can’t sit still, and the episodes seem to be occurring more frequently. I love the feeling of some new adventure. Peter Pan is in my blood, except for the green tights part. Susan has always been the one to sew my shadow back on, but in the process, I think she has been infected a little bit as well.  She is wandering about Spain, wondering what she is supposed to do when she grows up. I am wandering about Spain, wondering why you have to grow up.

While I do believe Spain is the right place for my family, I do not believe it is the place for me to make a mark. We are there for some kind of training, some kind of preparation. Spain is a paella-filled crucible. I guess there are worse ways to learn.

Holiday Traditions

23 November, 13

Living in a foreign country can be pretty liberating sometimes. It is an opportunity to be "other than". You can try different foods, act a different way, explore different hobbies. It's kind of like building a real world avatar of yourself. The trouble is the avatar IS you, so old original self bumps into new different self at weird intersections. Holidays are one of those crossroads.

My first experience here with American holidays was Columbus Day. Now we all know how important that holiday is for us, right? I don't know of any particular tradition around it, other than everybody saying, "In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue." We all congratulate ourselves on knowing an incredibly important date in American history, and making it rhyme, then we go back to work, because it's usually not even a day off. Unless you work for the government.

In Spain, this is a huge holiday, but not for Columbus. He, and America, is an afterthought. "Oh yeah, we discovered the Americas and totally dominated there for a couple hundred years. (yawn)" They celebrate the unification of Spain under Ferdinand and Isabella, the same set of royals that commissioned Columbus and that also drove out the Moors from Spain.

Halloween was an interesting experience as well. We decided to have a big party at our house and told everybody they had to have a costume to get in. Surprisingly most of the people complied, youth and adults. One parent told me that his child didn't have a Halloween costume, but he did have a Spiderman outfit, and he hoped that would be alright. They think you have to be scary to count as a Halloween costume. We gave candy to all the kids. At the end of the night, they were in a sugar-induced coma. Candy is not a part of their normal diet, not even for birthdays and holidays.

At school, they have a "Week of Terror" and decorate the hallways with spiderwebs, coffins, etc. Then they would have random people go screaming through the hallways and busting in classrooms, wearing scary masks. If that happened in the USA, somebody would be shot, and the whole school would be on lockdown for the rest of the day. News helicopters would circle overhead and the S.W.A.T. team would hustle into position. The funny thing is that, to the Spaniards, Halloween is an American holiday. They are getting their ideas from us. This is what they think we do for Halloween.

Susan and I decided to host some Thanksgiving meals, as a way of demonstrating our thanks to a few families that have helped us out in Spain so much. I have sampled every ort of food my friends have put in front of me. You know it's gonna be good, when they tell you to try something, but won't tell you what it is. Then they snicker conspiratorially, like a bunch of middle schoolers trying to get the new kid to run through Old Man Wilson's backyard, knowing he has a huge angry pit bull just waiting for a kid-sized snack.

Thanksgiving is our opportunity to introduce our friends to some American cuisine. Susan busted her tail cooking up a "for real, no holds barred" Thanksgiving feast. I ordered the turkey from Pepi.

Now keep in mind that our stove is just slightly bigger than an EZ Bake oven. Susan did a fantastic job on the whole meal. We had:

1. Turkey
2. Mashed potatoes
3. Gravy
4. Green Beans
5. Stuffing
6. Sweet potato casserole
7. Homemade apple sauce
8. Cranberry/pomegranate compote
9. Apple pie
10. Ice cream

The only thing that was store-bought was the ice cream on top of the apple pie. Everything else was from scratch. Susan rocked it. While she was cooking, I thought it best to get out of her way, so I played an intense game of padel. My only big job for the day was to get up close and intimate with the turkey, rubbing it down with olive oil and spices. We smoked a cigarette and watched Johnny Carson afterwards.

If you take a hard look at the menu, you will notice about 10 pounds of sugar. Items 1-5 are savory. The rest of the meal is sweet. And this is normal for us. "Us" being Americans. 

Our first family was Soledad and her three kids. We had an impressive display of food on the table, and Soledad wanted us to describe each dish. She had that look on her face that said, "I don't know what the hell I am about to eat, but I will keep this grin on my face the whole time, if it hairlips the President." It was funny to watch her reaction, as we described each item and 50% was sweet. She had a confused look, questioning in her mind why we had so many desserts and so little food. I think Soledad genuinely liked the meal. Her kids didn't go for much of the food, but they do love gravy. 

We have introduced Spain to a new way of life. Carbo loading a dessert for the main course. I guess our work here is done.