New Teen Novel Featuring Third Culture Kids!

The BuddhaPest has been released! This third culture adventure can be found on Amazon.com in print or kindle form and on smashwords.

A Chun-garian Thanksgiving?

In a multicultural household, traditional holidays have their own unique traditions. When an ethnically Chinese-Philippino man from Hawaii marries a girl from Texas and settles in Hungary, Thanksgiving is bound to take on new flavors.

At our house, the tradition is: teriyaki turkey legs and wings on a mound of white rice with a side of somen salad and pumpkin something for desert. We've had pumpkin pie and pumpkin cookies in the past, but this year, the desert was pumpkin custard.

While the food was great, best moment was when each of the kids shared what they were thankful for. Levi stole center stage with his expression of thanks for being adopted and having a family.

So whether you ate teriyaki turkey or something a little more traditional, we can all be thankful we have folks to enjoy this special meal with -- friends and family. Such things are priceless.

A Chungarian Classic

TKCs and Telemarketers

The phone rang at an inopportune time. I was trying to make dinner before the famished family crowd descended upon me. The only thing more annoying than the timing of the call was the fact the insistent party at the other end of the line was a telemarketer with T-mobile.

Yeah, yeah I thought to myself as the woman babbled on in Hungarian. Finally she stopped for breath and I was able to edge in a quick "Sorry, I don't speak Hungarian."

I was poised to hang up as my lack of linguistic skills did not seem to defer her pitch in the least when Levi, my eleven year old came scampering down the stairs.

"Hey Levi," I said. "Can you find out what this lady wants?"

It was a clever ploy: the proverbial "killing two birds with one stone."  Not only would this occupy Levi so that I could get dinner completed, I also considered it a service to society at large to keep the telemarketer occupied so she could not interrupt any other unsuspecting family's peaceful evening.

I began listening to the conversation and was able to make out most of the Hungarian.  It was like a delightful demonstration in how to torment a telemarketer.  It went something like this:

Levi: Hello, I am Levi. I can translate.

Telemarketer: (begins schpeel).

Levi: One moment, I will translate for my mom. (Levi explains to me with great excitement the amazing deal.)

Telemarketer: So your mom's not Hungarian.

Levi: No, she's American.

Telemarketer: Well, you speak very good Hungarian.

Levi: I am Hungarian.

Telemarketer: (clearly confused)  Maybe I should wait and talk to your dad.

Levi: My dad does not speak Hungarian. 

Telemarketer: You mean, he is not Hungarian?

Levi: No, of course not. He's Chinese and American.

Telemarketer: But you are Hungarian?

Levi: (very matter-of-factly) Yes, of course.

I happily completed preparation of the evening meal, smugly satisfied that my son had left the T-mobile  telemarketer confounded and speechless.

Easter Monday

Easter in a Hungarian village has little to do with bunnies.

It started with the blood-curdling squeal of the pig being slaughtered next door on Good Friday, followed by the obligatory burning of hair and gushing of guts. Then a similar sound echoed through the village on Saturday.

On the big day, Easter Sunday, we celebrated the resurrection of Christ with church and a tasty ham. Friends and family surrounded the table and it was the kind of Easter I grew up with complete with colored eggs, an egg hunt, and chocolate bunnies.

But on Monday, the cross cultural Easter hit the Chun home in full swing, because in Hungary, Monday is the big EASTER day.

My husband was resistant.  "I'll turn off the doorbell," he said. "I don't want all that perfume spraying going on. I'm allergic to that stuff." Russ said.  It's tradition for boys to spray girls with cologne on Easter Monday.  The boys also recite poetry and in return get candy and even money.

Our 11-year-old son, familiar with the custom, did not want to miss out  "Daddy, can we go visit the neighbors," he begged, "I have perfume!"  My husband rolled his eyes and tried to put it off.  But our son kept nagging.

Finally, Russ relented and off they went to the neighbors. Fully two hours later they returned. Our son was glowing with a fist full of Hungarian forint and a bag full of candy and even a plate full of cake!  Russ had been so well fed during the visits that he waddled in happily and collapsed on the couch for a nice afternoon nap.  When he awoke, he raved about what a great holiday a Hungarian Easter Monday is!

Food, drink and happiness all wrapped up in cabbage rolls stuffed with those slaughtered pigs. It was a grand, delightful Easter Monday and in the future there will be no resistance from the Chun household.  With a full stomach followed by a nice nap, Russ declared Hungarian Easter a Chun-garian Tradition!

You Know You're the Parent of Third Culture Kids When ...

I've seen a lot of lists of "you know you're a third culture kid when..."  Some apply to my kids and some do not -- at least not yet.  But I've come up with my own little list of how you know that you're the parent of a third culture kid in Hungary, based on my own experiences.  Here's what I came up with:

You know you are a parent of third culture kids (in Hungary) when:

1. You see a sign on the autobahn that reads "Ausfahrt" and nobody laughs.

2. If you do manage to get a giggle from the "Ausfahrt" sign, it's only after a discussion that includes three different languages.

3. Your toddler plays "border crossing" more frequently than playing "house"

4. Your kids use construction paper and old pictures to make play passports.

5. Your five year old thinks it would be really cool if the American Santa Claus and Hungarian Mikulas someday met each other at OUR HOUSE!

6. Your six year old only speaks to children in any country in Hungarian because in her experience that's the language of children. Only adults speak English.

7. Your child sees an American ad selling 100 ft boat and says, "Wow, in America you can buy a boat for only 100 forint!" (about 50 cents)

8. You use your children as translators from about age 5.

9. You need your kids to check your grammar/spelling when you post on facebook.

What Time is It?

You'd think time would be a simple thing. All kids learn how to tell time either at home or at school at some point in their elementary years. But in a house full of third culture kids, time is not such a simple thing.

If the clock reads 3:30. Niki, our daughter who is homeschooled according to the American system, would tell you, "It's three-thirty."  However, Andi whose first language is American English would not give you the same answer. Andi has gone to Hungarian school since kindergarten. When they studied telling time in school, she never quite got it (which is understandable, considering how Hungarians tell time, I must admit). Recently she learned how to tell time in her English class at school, but that's British English. As a result, she would tell you the time is: "half past three."

Levi, our son, would give you yet a different answer to the simple question of time.  He has only been speaking English for a little over a year. As a result, even when he speaks English now he often falls back to mirror translations. Therefore, his answer to "What time is it?" would be something like: "It's half of four."

Things grow increasingly complicated when we are dealing with a time of day like 3:40.  Here, Niki would tell you, "It's three-forty."  Andi would say, "It's twenty minutes to four."  And Levi, giving the mirror translation of the Hungarian would say something like, "In five minutes it will be three-quarters of the fourth hour." (Now you see why Andi never quite got telling time in Hungarian. One needs a higher degree in mathematics to be able to do it properly.)

Three kids.Third Culture. Three times the complications. Three times the confusion. It all makes life three times more interesting and worth chronicling our third culture kid's lives.