Sheltered lives

Yesterday at work, I had to do a presentation for a group of tribal kids who might be interested in going to college. They all grew up on the reservation, and to say they have been sheltered is putting it mildly. And I know sheltered, having grown up on an Indian reservation myself. I remember only having six Swatches when they were popular in the 80's, I was 17 the first time I had escargot, and I was 19 before I went to Europe to live for a couple of years. Needless to say, I know a thing or two about being sheltered. Well, my experiences PALED in comparison to these high school juniors and seniors. The group stopped at a mall here in Portland, and it turned out one of the kids had never been to a MALL before! (As it was, that kid was so overwhelmed that he just went to good ol' reliable JC Penney and then sat on the bench outside of the store to wait for the other kids in the group. I imagine him a huddled up in a corner, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, but he probably just sat there texting friends back on the reservation.) And when we took them out to eat after the presentation, we went to a hotel restaurant and while waiting for our food, they all had to ride the elevator to the top floor! I tried to act casual for the program leaders, but inside, I was thinking, "I can't wait to call my brother. He's NEVER going to believe this!" Thinking back on our presentations about prepping to go to college and getting an education, I can't help but think that these kids are going to have a BIG eye-opener when they step onto campus that first time.

Speaking of Indians, I remember one time in Norway, right as I got moved to a new area, being amazed at having three dinners with members a week. Now, that's nothing for missionaries here in the States... in fact they get that may a DAY, but given the average for Norway was around 1 member dinner every other month, I knew something was up. And when the members were kind of disappointed at the dinners, I grew suspicious. Well, it turns out that my companion, in an effort to score more meals from members, had told the ward that his new companion was an Indian and that he only spoke Norwegian and his tribal language. Of course this had people lining up to have us over for dinner. If only I'd have brought a feather headdress and loincloth, I could have fulfilled their expectations. As it was, they just got another immature American boy that they'd never invite back for another dinner.