Welcome to america. part one: the initial.

It’s been a fair while since I last posted on the blog. However, this time I have a legitimate excuse. A lot has happened. In between my parents and my little bro dotting down in LAX airport fourteen days ago and their departure last night, the days have truly been packed in with stuff. Lots of stuff. And, with little downtime to catch a breath to recollect it all, I have been unable to post for a bit. So, over the next week or so I will be posting regularly in an attempt to best depict exactly what has gone down over these past couple of weeks. Here goes nothing.

*Fourteen Days Earlier*

It’s weird. From the moment I knew that my parents were set to come and visit me over in the States, I was for the most part unphased. I mean, you would typically think otherwise, considering that apart from the odd ‘skype’ call, I have been out of contact with them for over a year. That may not sound like much, but for me, that’s sort of a big deal. Me and my family are, for the most part, a pretty tight bunch. I began wondering when – if at all – was I going to start eagerly anticipating their arrival, and maybe feel something similar to what every ten-year-old kid feels on the night before Christmas. That moment came on the day of their arrival, when the proverbial bells finally started to ring, singing:

‘My parents are coming today. This is a big deal. Hooray!’

After finishing work and going to the gym that day, I was at home, phone in hand - and hoping that it would not ring with my parents on the other line, panicking because they can’t find their bags at the airport, were detained, lost in the middle of downtown L.A or a number of other situations that I had hypothesized could potentially happen to naïve smalltown-New Zealanders as I waited nervously on the couch. I threw aside these seemingly ridiculous scenarios and became calmer as their ETA drew closer. That is, until the phone rang. I immediately answered. “Hello?” “Dad?” No answer. I was about to repeat myself, when a squeaky voice murmured “Hoe doo we gut to Huuu-nting-ton Beeech?” His accent was foreign, and so thick that I could barely distinguish it. Initially, I thought that it may in fact be my dad putting a voice on, as he is occasionally known to do – even though it would have been distasteful, even for him. But as the broken English continued through the other line, it became clear that this was no joke. “Who is this?” I commanded. “It ees a Taaxie drieveer!” the man proclaimed. “Now, hoe doo we gut to Huuu-nting-ton Beeech?” Oh no. Whats going on? Does he not have GPS in his taxi? Come on. My stomach churned as I realized the situation: I would have to direct them here, with my little knowledge of the freeway system, and a huge language barrier to contend with. Wahoo!

I immediately ran upstairs and booted the computer up. Thank God for google maps. I typed in the directions, and had the whole thing planned out, right in front of me. Luckily, they were already driving southbound on the 405, so were heading in the right direction. Still, my efforts to communicate were useless. “Take the Seal Beach exit, then head down Pacific Coast Highway” I said as clearly as possible. “yus, ummm, Oekay”, the man replied. “Noe, where du we go?” Are you kidding? I just told you! This wasn’t working. I asked if I could talk to David Thomson (my dad), and give him the directions instead. The man happily agreed. Being fresh into the country and having endured the best part of thirty or so hours without sleep, Dave wasn’t exactly in his top frame of mind for directions in LA, which in itself has the same population as the whole of New Zealand. So, I got him to grab a pen and some paper, and jot down the directions as I gave them. He seemed to get it all. I wished them the best of luck, hung up the phone, and hoped that it would all work out. Oh.

The taxi arrived about thirty minutes later. I peeped over from my balcony, to see a yellow taxi double-parked a few feet from my house. I couldn’t see anybody in the car. But as I panned to the right, the once-familiar face of the old man shot into view. “Dave!” I yelled (I often call him by his first name). Dave peers up at me from the balcony, his mouth morphing into a huge smile. They made it. Immediately, I ran down the stairs and out the door to greet them. Now Mum and my little bro josh are there too – apparently, they had been running about the apartment complex, trying to find where I lived. Buzzing with excitement, I charge up to them all and give them all huge hugs. “This is weird…my parents are in America!” I thought to myself. Mum looks great. Dave does too, apart from being a little more silver than when I saw him last. Josh is tall. Real tall. He’s only fifteen, and he is as tall as me – and I’m 6’1”. It feels a little weird as I wrap my arms him for a bro-hug. But good. We all jump in the taxi, and head for the final destination: the Newport Hyatt hotel.

The Newport Hyatt, really, is just down the road from where Paul and I live, so it doesn’t take long to get there. The taxi man turns out to be a little we man originally from Korea, and he is stoked to have finally made it. “Sank yuu soo much!” He said repeatedly. We thanked him for the wild ride, and prepared for check-in at the front desk. A nice guy name Chip greeted us, and I flipped out the Hyatt Huntington Beach employee-card to ensure my family was hooked-up for a cheap stay. All went well. We took the little elevator up to the third floor of the hotel, and swiped the key for ‘room 311’. The light went green, and the door swung open. “Yeah!” We yelled in unison. The room was pretty sweet. Smallish, but equipped with two double-beds, a nice TV and a balcony looking out onto the hotel courtyard. It’s nice hanging out in a hotel room – ironically, something that we are not able to do at work at the Huntington Beach Hyatt. Mum cranks out my favourite drink – a Bundaberg Ginger Beer – fresh from New Zealand, and something I haven’t tasted for about six months when Paul’s brother Jared brought us one over back in Canada. Delicious. We chill out on the beds, and recollect the past years’ happenings, stories and gossipings. Stoked.

In my previous post, I mentioned how unsure I was with how I would react when my parents arrived over here. And, upon seeing them or the first time in over a year, I can tell you that it felt good. Really good. It’s uncanny how you can have such a connection with a group of people – of whom can be taken for granted when you see them all the time, but missed dearly when you are over the other side of the world fending for yourself. Family bonding in Sourhern California. It’s great to have them here.

Next post… Part two: day one. Stay tuned.