brought home.

i guess i was too busy with the business of filling out forms and hurdling the language barrier to really notice them. a family of small, dark people - mom, dad, two babies with enormous eyes. i had to show them how to use a car seat, a seatbelt. they huddled together in the backseat of the car, leaving me nervous and alone in the front. driving is one of the most frightening parts of this job. i have one car seat, but they have two babies. what if i get pulled over? who's going to recognize that getting this finished is more important than obeying child safety laws to the very letter?

they were going to leave without shoes. i pantomimed it being cold outside and they laughed at me before finding socks and tying laces.

the drive took 30 minutes. they didn't know where we were going. they had never met me before. all i had for credibility was my smile and the blue case folder that marked me as a member of a specific organization.

but they came anyway. in country for less than 24 hours, they followed me outside and climbed into the backseat without hesitation.

i guess at some point you hedge your bets, you assume that you've got to trust someone, even if it's the slightly timid white girl with the nose piercing and the scarf that sheds green hair all over everything.

like i said, i wasn't paying much attention to anything other than filling out forms and my hands at ten and two. the speed limit 55 on 465 east is so difficult to obey.

but sitting in the hot, crowded, airless office with all the screaming children it got to me. i saw their faces stoic and unbothered in the commotion. she breast fed the baby calmly and they listened intently when i asked them questions, but were not too concerned when i was unable to convey anything i meant.

we dialed the 800 number and i put them on the phone in turn; the translator told me their answers as best she could. neither of them could spell for her in english the names i needed, so we guessed phonetically - myself and a burmese woman located anywhere conspiring.

it was the birthdate that stopped me. the forms almost finished, just waiting for shaky (but legal) signatures. 12/2/82 - i wrote it down and then stopped. 12/2/82 - one day before my own date of origin. i looked at the man sitting next to me with the sleeping child.

they were so young. so incredibly young. and for once, impending 24 didn't seem like a crisis. how could it?

in 24 years, i've done a lot of whining, lost my father to heart disease, written about a zillion blog entries, and remained in school to put off the real world as long as possible.

in 24 years, he had married, fathered two children, fled his home to live in a refugee camp on the thai border, and then given up everything to come to the united states and find something better with his family.

his wife had sky-blue polish on her toenails.

i stopped with the business of being brisk and smiled at them with as much meaning as i could muster, since i wouldn't have the words. when we parted, he shook my hand and thanked me. i said, "i know you have no idea what i'm saying, but you two are my favorites so far."

and puppet show time again - they understood tomorrow and 8 (after i held up fingers), but i left having no idea whether they knew what the two had to do with each other.

and a feeling of calm assurance. everything is relative certainly, but it just means you do what you have to do.