Provincial

Growing up, the states of Maine to the North and Pennsylvania to the South defined the known world as far. We regularly journeyed up and down 95 to visit my parents' New York-based friends and family, and we have always been the sort of family who will drive upwards of two hours to go to the best beaches around. But we were far from wordly. I didn't take my first plane ride until I was 14 (we went to Florida and the palm trees blew me away.)

Nowadays, Shakira is an ex-pat living in Madrid and my brother lives in Nevada. I've lived in Arizona, England, Germany. I've gone to Europe just for a holiday weekend. I've become accustomed to calculating varying time zones when I want to speak to my nearest and dearest.

A few years ago, Shakira and I were reminiscing about how provincial our upbringing seems compared with our far our family is scattered these days. We laughed so hard that we almost drove off the road when I told her about the time I went to sleepover camp at Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire and could hardly believe my eyes when I spotted a school bus that, unlike the kind that shuttled us back and forth to school, had a front where the engine area was flush with the windshield. How strange and exotic to ride in a school bus where the engine area did not protrude past the windshield! References to this wondrous bus have become part of our lexicon when we wish to describe something as provincial.

(Background:I have some Mother's Helpers who have begun watching Petal while I get my work done on the computer. They are in fifth grade, so they can't be left alone with her or transport themselves to my house independently. We meet at the library and they read to Petal in the children's section while I work on my laptop.)

On Thursday, Petal's Mother's Helpers were trying to come up with enough change to make photocopies for her on the library's photocopier. I opened my wallet, but the only change I found was 10 cent Euro pieces from our trip to Spain in August. My mind registered only that the coins were useless because they wouldn't work in the photocopier, but when I offhandedly mentioned this to the girls, I realized that they had never seen this foreign money before. I let each girl keep a 10 cent piece - they initially tried to refuse, saying that it was far too generous a gift.

Though I no longer blink an eye at the sight of a Euro coin, I was these girls for the majority of my childhood. The 1 hour 15 minute journey from my house to TechnoBunny's brought me into an entirely other world. Foreign currency seemed quite exotic indeed.

Petal will never be these girls. With an aunt living abroad and her grandparents' homes mostly easily reached by plane, her life may seem exotic to many of her classmates who have roots closer to the Chesapeake. Petal will never be the girl staring in awe at the flat faced bus. I wonder which corners of the world  my passport possessing toddler will get herself off to in the years to come.