They go, oh, you hate children (159Cong.Rec.H4476)

A little while ago, I shared happy-hour drinks and snacks with a soon-to-be-on-orders EFM (eligible family member) of a recently inducted Foreign Service specialist. She was hoping I could shed some light on how her life was about to change. I spewed out a lot of advice before I finally had the wherewithal to ask: "Well, what are you most worried about?" Her response: "I'm afraid it'll be difficult to make friends."

I'm afraid that, on the fly, I didn't give her very good feedback. To be fair, making friends in the Foreign Service can be hard, for a variety of reasons -- short timeframes, difficult logistics, workplace pressures. But for me, in particular, one challenge certainly has been lifestyle choices. 

By my age, most people -- State and non-State -- are entrenched in family life. I'm too old -- and if I'm honest, too uncool -- to hang with the young single kids going clubbin' every night. (Is this a stereotype? Yes, one which I am allowed to espouse because I am old.) But the other segment of people at post usually is made up of parents. And unfortunately, because I don't have kids myself, this group stereotypes me, too, assuming that I don't want to hang with them either. 

In many places, I have found myself in this middle-age limbo. And almost every time, it has taken much effort on my part to dispel this misconception. So, let me put this out there to preempt any misunderstandings: I do not hate children. I do not hate being around children. I do not hate being around you because it will mean I have to be around children. Look, as proof, here I am with a child, and I am smiling. (It is duly noted that the child is not smiling.)

No, I don't adore children. I worked too long as a teacher, dealing with high-schoolers who acted like pre-schoolers, to adore them. But I get along with children. I can make faces at them and play games with them -- and I will even let them win. I was a devoted fan of The Babysitter's Club book series when I was younger, and I babysat a lot. So I can take care of children, too. I will wipe their snot and change their diapers.

But I will likely not do any of those things upon my own initiative. Because I've watched many outstanding parents, and I'm afraid I just can't obtain their level of skill and standards. Oh, trust me, I'm not judging you. If I had kids, I would be a pathological mess of insecurity, worrying about how I was ruining them. So I tend to stand back and let you take the lead.

These actions do not mean that I dislike being around you or your children. And it doesn't mean that I don't understand you as a parent. If I come to hang out with you, I know exactly what I am in for. I expect that only a portion of your attention will be focused on me. I expect that perhaps the majority of our interaction will be based on actions involving your children. I expect that we will be interrupted many times. I expect that I will be expected to help in these situations.

So, please, don't exclude me from invitations because you are afraid of my expectations. I think you are an extraordinary person for deciding to raise children, all while you have to manage shipments, obtain visas, get vaccinations, translate the FAM (Foreign Affairs Manual), learn the local language, and -- oh, yeah -- do your everyday job.

In return, I promise to extend invitations to you, even when I know it's highly likely you will have to refuse or bail due to parental reasons. I won't even hold it against you. I will be waiting for that night when the stars align, and you can feel like a young single again. I will even be willing if you need me to babysit, so you can go out clubbin' -- since that's what you kids are into these days. 

Lighted to not less than the minimum illumination (29CFR1926.56)

TJ mostly went to Williamsburg for the swine, but I wanted to go for the fire. For the holiday season, the colonial village rejoices with open flames. I didn't want to fight the crowds at the official Grand Illumination the weekend before. But I did drag TJ to the nightly Illumination of Market Square -- if I had to put up with slaughtering, he had participate in some singing (top). Before the carolers took their porch stage, period re-enactors -- festively dressed in redcoats -- fired off some celebratory musket shots (bottom left). Afterward, I managed to get TJ to hum a few bars as we basked in the glow of the cressets reflecting on the Governor's Palace (bottom right). 

I rewarded TJ's capitulation to caroling by taking him back to Chowning's Tavern for a night of Gambols (left). We shared a table with a pair of particularly boisterous patrons, but we managed to enjoy the wandering entertainment and some hearty ale all the same (right). We even learned how to play the dice game "Ship, Captain, and Crew," which surely and easily could be converted to a drinking game. 

 

TJ and I didn't get sloppy, so we were able to get a reasonably early jump on the next morning. We started with a stroll around the College of William & Mary. A statue of Baron Botetourt, former governor of Virginia, showed the college's Christmas spirit in front of Wren Hall (top). An anonymous well-wisher rigged up some festive lights at the entrance to the Sunken Garden; in the small note attached the post, he or she expressed hope that the decorations would light a path to students' success on final exams (bottom left). Sage became quite studious when we stumbled upon a statue of Thomas Jefferson, an alumnus of the school (bottom right). 

Before heading home, we advanced to the Yorktown Battlefield, site of the last major conflict of the Revolutionary War (left). The grounds, part of the Colonial National Historical Park, are so widespread that you are encouraged to take a driving tour of the major sites. Not far from the visitor's center are Redoubts 9 and 10, where French and American infantries, respectively, conquered Lord Cornwallis' English army (right). With this victory, George Washington's troops were able to set up a second parallel line, which strangled the British soldiers and forced Cornwallis to seek refuge in some caves facing the Yorktown waterfront. 

When reinforcements by land and by sea were thwarted on several fronts, Cornwallis declared his desire to surrender. During a two-hour ceasefire, the official Articles of Capitulation were negotiated and signed at the Moore House, another stop on the driving tour (left). In an embarrassment, Cornwallis' troops were denied full military honors when they laid down their arms at Surrender Field (right).

 

A final stop on the driving tour is the Yorktown Victory Monument, located at one end of the village's Main Street (top left). Many preserved yet converted buildings stand along the street in Yorktown, including a historic house that is now used as an office for Virginia's 1st Representative District (top right). From downtown, it is a steep stumble down to the York River, but once you get there, you find a Waterfront Trail lined with markers outlining the history, economics, and ecology of the region (bottom). Along the path lies the Watermen's Museum, where TJ learned from a worker that we were a week late for the annual oyster roast. 

 

But we were determined to eat some shellfish, so we sauntered over to the Yorktown Pub, where we ordered a half-dozen on the half-shell (top left). Then TJ double-downed on a fried-oyster po' boy while I ordered an immense platter of fried clams (top right). The only things better than the local seafood were the local characters packing the place; they fit in perfectly with the laid-back Mason-jar ambiance of "The Ancient Mariner's Inn" (bottom).