The World Outside My Front Door

The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land. ~G.K. Chesterton

Our neighbors in our new town have been very welcoming, or at least the ones we have met. On one side of us lives a character straight out of King of the Hill. He stands outside with a few of our other neighbors, beer in hand, and shoots the breeze-swearing loudly across the street. The neighbors on our other side we rarely see, we were informed that they were Hmong. I had never heard of Hmongs before, but I found out from my history teaching and loving father that Hmongs were originally from around Laos and Vietnam. They helped the US with the war in Vietnam and were persecuted after the communists took over and many fled from their homelands.

Yesterday cars were lined up all the way down our street. My husband was doing some yard work in the front lawn and our neighbor invited him to come over to help celebrate the birth of their daughter. We knew that we had to go over since we were invited, but we were both very nervous to barge in, seeing as we honestly didn’t think we could spot them in the crowd if our lives depended on it.

We walked the long 20 feet across the yard to their garage. A group of Hmong men were outside the garage in a circle chatting. They graciously welcomed us and introduced themselves, shaking hands with each of them. We learned that during the party the baby and parents are given strings wrapped around their wrists by the elders of their family. Each elder wishes them wellness and happiness for their family. In the garage little Hmong women were cooking in massive pots, dicing and washing pots and pans in the front lawn. We found out later that they had a pig and a cow slaughtered for the party and they had been cooking since the early hours of the morning. To my uneducated nose the food smelled of Mongolian beef.

Our neighbor “Chow” came graciously thanked us for coming over. Inside the house all the furniture was put away and the carpets were covered with vinyl. Big banquet tables sprawled across the living room and there were at least 35 people inside and another 20 outside. The gal that brought us inside made a joke that she thought we’d probably never think so many people could fit in one house-she was right. We met our neighbor “Wing” and the young child. She introduced us to her mother who with waves and gestures asked us if we lived next door, pointing at our house through the kitchen window. The conversation then turned to my very pregnant belly and the old woman had the biggest grin on her faced and gave my belly an excited rub.

It must have been obvious that we were outsiders, being that we were the only white people in the group, but everyone was very friendly and seemingly excited to have us in their presence. Upon our departure “Chow” returned and promised to bring some food over later once it was done. After dinner most of the cars were gone from down the street and I assumed that the offer was just a kind gesture and we weren’t so special after all. Then the doorbell rang with a short, curly haired Hmong woman standing outside my door with tupperwares. Little did I know of the world that lived just outside my door.

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