choose your favorite team. place them in the most important match they could be in. tonight vietnam played against thailand in the 22nd seagames. events do not get any bigger.

we sat down in the restaurant to watch the game. we were the only foreigners there. i was wearing my vietnamese jersey. people stared. one hour and a half of pure energy.

the game was being played in ha noi and everyone was ecstatic. there was a large sign that was held up by the crowd. it said ‘vietnam is invincible’. there were huge flags being carried through the stadium. every other person had their face painted. tonight was important. tonight was special.

in every middle school across the world there is that one kid who beats up on everyone else. in the south east asian games, that one kid is thailand. they are always sucker-punching everyone else. they are the strongest country and they come into the seagames with a bit of an advantage. the first football match for vietnam was against their long-term rivals.

we wanted the bully to loose and the underdog to win. we sat in a restaurant with families and groups of friends and watched the television in anticipation.

the game started slowly. people watched but no one really cared. then, out of the blue, everything changed.

a vietnamese player drove up the left side of the field in the second half. the score was tied at zero. he juked out one player and faked out another. he was to the left of the goal when he changed direction and shot a beautifully arching ball over the outstretched hand of the goalie. everyone rose. they all jumped in their seats and we were in a different world for a moment. the entire restaurant was electric. we walked around and people hugged us and started to cheer 'goal! goal! goal!'

a few minutes later a thai player scored. we spent the rest of the game watching the screen and hoping for a win. we hoped for a win and pushed the thought of losing out of our minds.

after the game we talked to a couple of people. they told us how important this game was. here we were, sitting in a small restaurant in long xuyen, a tiny town in the mekong delta. the people we talked to said that this game was being watched by everyone in vietnam. everyone was in a coffee shop or a restaurant. everyone roared when vietnam scored and everyone sighed when the final whistle blew. this was football. this was a real game with real passion.

i never wanted to really talk about this but i can’t quite get it out of my head. every time i drive down the road i see it again. every time i see motorcycles driving six abreast and people crossing in front of them, the memory comes rushing back. at dusk, i always drive slowly.

one day i was driving with jack. he was riding on the back and we were talking about traffic. we were commenting about how drivers simply give and take without caring. no one holds a grudge if someone cuts them off or makes them drive more slowly. traffic flows like water taking the path of least resistance. if someone is driving slowly, just pass them on the other side of the road as long as you don’t see anyone else. on major roads (roads we would call two lane roads), normally motorcycles drive in both directions riding six or seven abreast. the slower drivers are always on the right.

if you want to cross the road, simply walk slowly and watch. the drivers will see you as long as you don’t make any sudden movements. you can cross the busiest road as long as you simply keep a slow, consistent pace.

in this culture as in any culture, the youth always drive recklosly. they feel power for the first time and they take advantage of it. they leave the constant care of their parents and they are free. when i was 16, i too took advantage of my freedom. i drove, at times, wildly. i pushed the limits only because i could. there was no one there to tell me to stop. i drove down back pennsylvania roads and kicked up a cloud of dust. i was in my own world. here, young people also drive wildly. they zip through traffic. they weave and slide. one moment they look graceful, like birds. the next moment they look suicidal.

we were driving and chatting when we saw two motorbikes driving towards us. they were flying. their lights were on and they were weaving through traffic, following each other closely.

there was someone crossing the street. i didn’t really notice him until he was too late. he was a man in his mid thirties normally dressed. he was walking slowly and following all of the unwritten rules.

the first motorcycle saw him at the last moment. he jerked out of the way smoothly and gracefully. it was a skillful move and i, for a moment was stunned.

then time slowed down.

the other bicycle was following him. he didn’t see the man walking because his friend was in the lead. he was driving a white motorbike and the light was on. the man walking across the street was looking at the bike that narrowly missed him. slowly the white motorbike impacted the man. the light seemed to hit him first. the man slowly crumbled under the speed and weight of the bike. he fell like someone took an axe and chopped off both of his legs. he fell quickly and was engulfed in the motorbike. the light went out and there was a sound. it sounded like a baseball bat hitting a plastic wall. it run through the air and was, for a moment, louder than the honking and the whirring of engines. one of the man’s shoes flew into the air. it flew high and spun. it flew forever. it tried to get away. the shoe spun and spun and was orange. the man was crushed by the motorcycle and time resumed its normal pace.

we drove and slowed. the man was on the ground and wasn’t moving. the bicycle was on its side and the two people riding on it were also on the ground. their legs and arms were slowly moving. traffic slowed and stopped. no one said a word.

the sound will stay with me the longest. the sound of a human body being brutalized. the sound of technology meeting flesh. the sound of a person’s life being changed in an instant.

i don’t know what happened to him. i don’t know if he lived. i know nothing except the sound and the light.

the barber shop.

it's always full of a strange mixture of men. the are the least homogenous group you can find in long xuyen. today i had my hair cut in the 'style of the vietnamese teacher' as i requested. it is floppy and short on the sides and i feel like i am once again in fourth grade. oh, yes, and i do part it over to the right. if only my brother could see me now.

the barber shop is hot and poorly lit. there are eight chairs crammed together facing grey mirrors. one of the barbers is a very fat, middle aged man with short hair. another is a very young man with red hair who is pushing every social norm he can find. another is very old and thin and doesn't seem to have time to tend to his own hair. another is middle aged, in good shape with a blazing head of blonde hair. another looks like a mechanic.

they stand behind you silently cutting with some sort of perforated scissors. they look and cut and walk around and put white powder on your hair. they don't say much except when it comes to yelling at one another.

my barber is the red headed one. i didn't choose him, he was chosen for me. he did a good job of making me look like a 12 year old. he ambled around my head six or ten times admiring his work. he sprayed hairspray on my head that was called 'darling hair spray'. he parted my hair in the 'style of the vietnamese teacher' and i was on my way. 10,000 dong (70 cents) for a haircut and thirty minutes of interesting people to watch. not a bad deal if you ask me.

thanksgiving in vietnam. agh, what to eat...

for breakfast, instead of a nice, raisin bagel with cream-cheese and a strong cup of black coffee or maybe two eggs over-easy with rye toast and butter or instead of chipped beef on toast with a side of hash browns, i ate a bowl of noodles. there were small strips of pork on top which had cooled in the morning sun. they were tough but eatable. the whole thing was covered with fish sauce, which smells of old socks, and spicy, ground up chili. i did have a cup of coffee, but it wasn't hot.

for lunch, instead of a slice of turkey with moist stuffing covered with rich, brown gravy, instead of mashed potatoes a little chunky with a slab of butter, instead of creamed corn or beans, instead of cranberry sauce or pickles, i had rice. i had three bowls of rice with small pieces of pork. the pork was also cool after sitting out for a few hours. we also had soup. it's not really soup, rather pieces of vegetables boiled in water. you can dip them in fish sauce and they're not that bad.

for supper, instead of a slice of pizza with mushrooms and peppers where the cheese slides off onto your plate, instead of a cold turkey sandwich with bbq chips and a side of applesauce, we had what we could to replicate thanksgiving. we ate fish and onion rings. we ate couple different fish dishes. some of them were covered in a sauce, some of them were just fried and some of them were boiled. the onion rings are a complete anomaly and they remind me of home. we ate a couple of plates of onion rings.

i wasn't able to watch the detroit lions get pummeled or pass out on a sofa after eating, instead, i've returned home and continued working. i miss home. i miss the tradition that thanksgiving is. i miss my family and friends. missing them doesn't feel like a sharp, burning pain in the side, no, missing them feels like a dull ach in the back of your soul that doesn't ever quite go away. it's always there. you can ignore it if you choose, which i do most of the time, but a day like thanksgiving brings it all to the forefront.

well, know that i love you all. i wish you all the happiest thanksgiving you've ever had. eat until you are stuffed. pass out on the sofa in front of the tv. watch the lions get trounced and eat a cold turkey sandwich with bbq chips and applesauce for me.

happy thanksgiving.

this may be familiar to some of you. i was asked to write something for a special thanksgiving service at church to be read aloud. this is what i’m thankful for:

I have wonderful memories of Thanksgiving from when I was younger. I remember sitting in the living room in my grandparent’s home across from the Franconia Elementary School. All of us cousins would play games, watch football on T.V. and laugh. Thanksgiving was always a time for family. It was a time to eat too much, watch TV and fall asleep on the sofa.

For me, being away from home on Thanksgiving is bitter-sweet. I loath the fact that I am so far away from my family and friends but I know it will all be worth it in the end.

I miss the food. Who wouldn’t miss their grandmother’s home cooked Thanksgiving meal topped off with my great-aunt Eva’s oyster stuffing. In Long Xuyen, the small Vietnamese town where I teach, I’m lucky enough to have two other foreigners. We have spent the past week and a half trying to replicate a traditional Thanksgiving meal. We found a turkey on a local farm. We decided it wouldn’t be too hard to make stuffing. We gave up on cranberry sauce and are going to mash our potatoes with a fork. Our largest hurdle is finding an oven. This culture doesn’t use oven’s to cook and we have gone to a metal shop to see if someone could make one for us. We don’t know if it’ll work, but we have our finger’s crossed.

While we are not guaranteed a traditional meal, there are still a number of things I am thankful for, things I took for granted when I was soundly napping on my grandparent’s carpet.

I am thankful that I have been able to explore the world. I have been blessed with the resources and opportunities that only a handful of people in the world have access to. Many of my conversations in Vietnam have been with students, or young people who want to go and see another part of the world. They want to learn a new language and a new culture. However, there is always a problem. Normally, there is no money or no scholarship support. I sit and talk with them and watch their eyes. Their eyes tell the whole story. Their eyes are deep and sad. They long to have the same opportunity that I had by right of birth.

I feel guilt and frustration. I’m not making the best of my time here. I should be working harder and making something spectacular all of that I have been given.

The world’s an incredible place if you let it be.

I am thankful for all the opportunities and resources that I have been given. Those that have given me those things deserve the thanks. In Vietnamese culture, people pray to their ancestors. Every house has a small alter with a grainy, black and white picture of the family’s grandparents. Every day the family lights incense sticks and places them in front of the alter after saying a short prayer. The idea of praying to ones ancestors doesn’t really resonate well with me. I was raised in the Mennonite church and still believe in Jesus’ teachings of love, peace and justice.

However, while the idea is a bit strange, ancestral veneration has taught me an important lesson that I have overlooked most of my life. Everything I am rests on those that came before me. I am my family’s history pushed on into the next generation. For me to be thankful for what I am and what I have, I must also be thankful for my relatives who allowed this all to happen. It’s a simple lesson, but one that I gleefully ignored thanks to the flash and pomp of our info-tainment culture.

I thank Raymond and Anna Moyer for putting so much energy and love into raising my father, David. I thank Kenneth and Violet Aeschliman out in Archebold Ohio for teaching my mother patience and love.

I am also grateful for all of the hundreds of people who have shaped me along the way. I am thankful for the Salford community and all of their support. I am thankful for every Sunday school teacher, song leader, pastor, janitor and member of the church who has given me a bit of advice, some direction or even a friendly smile.

I am grateful for all the teachers who have helped me to see the world from a different perspective. Without their guidance I would surely not be where I am today. I am grateful for their help, their guidance, their patience.

The list of gratitude would go on indefinitely. I would thank all of you and all of those who supported you and all of your ancestors throughout history. I would eventually end up in one place, I would say thank you to God, the creator of all of us.

Thank you God for blessing me in so many ways. Thank you for the opportunity to travel and the joy of seeing the world from a different perspective. Thank you for allowing me to be raised in such a wonderful community and with such a loving family. And most importantly, I would like to thank you for giving us all the ability to love and to do so unconditionally. May we all be grateful for that gift.