American in a Foreign Land called the U.S.A.

I am an American. I was born in the U.S., but I grew up in foreign countries, starting with Venezuela. I spent my first ten years or so growing up in an oil field camp in the middle of what the locals called El Monte; sort of a cross between the jungles of Brazil and the savannas of Africa. It was the 60's, and it was a different world. Back then I could wander around on my own without worrying my parents. No one was going to kidnap me and our camp was never under a terrorist threat. I spent a lot of time in El Monte with my buddies. We had a treehouse in a huge tree in El Monte, on the other side of the barbed wire fence that lined the perimeter of Campo Mata, which was the name of the place.

We were not exactly integrated with the locals. Just about everything in the camp had been shipped over from the States. I'm not sure, but I think that even the cinder blocks and concrete used to build our houses and office buildings were from the States. We had a golf and tennis club, and I know for sure that the bowling alley was from the States - I remember the Brunswick logo everywhere. The club had a pool and tennis courts and a big area with Texas-sized bar-b-que pits. The coolest thing about the club was the outdoor movie screen; a big concrete slab that towered up from a grass lawn. The kids used to play around in front of the screen before the movie started while the adults sat at tables underneath an open patio covered by a corrugated roof. They drank beers and smoked a lot - and laughed a lot.

It was a great upbringing and I will spend much more time getting into the details: the adventures, the dangers, the tragedies and, of course, all the fun. And I should probably let you know that we also lived for five wonderful years in Ecuador and another in Iran. I have also spent the majority of my career living and working in South America, mostly in Argentina and Bolivia. But before I tell all those stories, I want to state my reason for starting this, my first blog.

You see, I have never felt at home in the States. I mean, I'm an American and I am proud to be one, but I just don't feel like one, not in the traditional sense. I get why people in other countries don't seem to like us and, since I was raised in some of those same countries, I share some of those views. I'm just not comfortable in my American skin. It's like a African American guy who has worked with an Asian American guy for years at the same office and is invited over to the house for dinner for the first time. They are both American, maybe both of them are Baptists, and they know each other's likes and dislikes from chats around the water cooler and the office parties. They get along great. They pretty much know what there is to know about each other from working together for so long. But when he shows up at his friend's house for the first time it gets all weird. He can't really put his finger on it, but he knows pretty quickly that he isn't in his element. It doesn't matter that they have the same T.V.'s or drive the same kind of car, that their kids go to the same school and that they are both rabid fans of the same football team. There is something there that doesn't quite click.

You might argue that with some time and a few more dinner parties, the awkwardness - the foreignness - will dissapate and it'll be all peachy going forward. Maybe, and the anecdote I chose may not be the best, but after decades of trying, I still feel weird here in the States.

That's one of the reasons I started writing fiction and it has been a cathartic experience I guess, but I am still no closer to answering why I feel foreign here. I have written several books. I have a very respected literary agent in New York, and I just signed my first book deal with a well known publisher in London. I am especially happy about the book deal because, and this is no coincidence, the book is about the adventures of a young American growing up in Venezuela.

So, I will leave it here for a bit. The plan is to tell some stories of real-life experiences growing up as a 3rd Culture Kid. My hope is that somewhere along the way I will finally be able to figure out why I feel like a foreigner in America. If I find out why, I just might be able to do something about it...if I want to.