My first weeks in Denmark

 On my departure to Denmark, I remember sitting with my parents in the airport lounge. My mom and dad and the last photo I have of the three of us together. I didn't know at the time, that it would be one of the last times I would see my dad. I left in the middle of the night, still in the wake of what happened in New York and security was strict. Shoes were removed to be swabbed. Soldiers in uniformed armed with rifles. Baggage checked and my carry on searched. The telling features of our time was the frantic check for anything that could cause somebody harm while in the air. Everyone was suspect and little could, we though at the time, escape the barriers between those who would harm innocent people and the plane headed to Denmark. My thoughts at the time lead me to believe I would see my parents again just after a year. I would return and apply for a job with Jade Dragon Tattoo in Chicago, earn a GED and live a some what normal life. Oh how naive I was.

 The trip across the Atlantic was not exceptional. I was afraid of flying however so I was constantly nervous. However, I had some nice wine and a good meal on board. I kept myself entertained with a pack of tarot cards and a couple conversations. On the flight, I had a discussion with a deeply religious man who saw my tarot cards and spoke with me about the sins of such items and my sins for not being as faithful as he. I doubt I would have remembered the conversation as well as I have if it were not for the cramped leg room, made worse by my carry on not fitting under my seat. Of popular conversation was the magician, a major card of the tarot deck. It is all entertainment, to weave a story from what cards you deal out to the person you are reading a future for. How convincing can you be when you tell this person they will meet the love of their life in a French cafe? It is a sign one is too convincing if they take a vacation just to visit French cafes, but it is still a way to prop up your own ego. The conversation on the plane revolved around what the bible says about the magician; one should be wary of him. The conversation was stuck for an hour or so and he had not convinced me to become more religious than I already am. I was more attentive to my sore and cramped legs.

 Flying over Denmark, it was dreary weather. Such arrivals in movies set the mood for the rest of the story. Most movies where an American travels to Europe is up beat, sun shining and nothing but smile. The weather that day set the stage for the next ten years adequately. On my arrival, I was met by my uncle Preben, who is my mother's cousin. He drove me back to Nestvæd to meet my extended family. That night, I met his wife and my cousin Miaken, Preben's daughter. I am sure I was a sight for them. Six foot three, 260 pounds and shocking blue hair. My appearance demanded attention, which reflected my insecurities at the time. Pictures and conversation followed. Questions about family I had recently met from Canada were for the most part unanswered. Miaken had hoped to meet them and I shared this same desire, but my own mother was steadfastly against this. I regret not being able to share information or be able to contact them myself or the family they told us about in Denmark. We shared dinner that night. If I hadn’t felt like an outside before, I did then. Conversation was ample, but I was left out as I did not understand more than a few words of Danish. I sat there and ate my dinner, quietly with little to say.

 That night, I slept in the guest room, again cramped by a bed too short. When morning broke, it was time to travel to the school in Helsingør. Preben had secured a box truck and helped me load my suitcases. The trip lasted a few hours, north on the highway. The weather had become even more dreary, foggy, cold and wet. We arrived in Helsingør none the less though and I set my eyes for the first time on my first school since I was removed by my parents in the fifth grade. It is an imposing jump, from grade school to a college with nothing to prepare you, especially after leaving the United States with no degree in your pocket or knowledge of the language. To say everything was foreign will likely leave you with an impression of new foods, a new language and a social system unlike what you will experience in America. Allow me to expand that impression for you. The very social norms I grew up with in America, regarding how one treats women, one’s relationship to alcohol and how we interact with each other were all challenged from the first day.

 Arriving at the school, I was greeted by a teacher from Cambodia. He was friendly and polite, what one would expect from any professional in the US. This was nothing new to me coming from the Chicago area. People from all around the world live there. It is however a false sense of what one can expect from around the world. An episode of remarkable note was in the common room. I had sat down with Stela from the eastern bloc. Speaking with her, we also were greeted by a south African man. Both had come a few days ahead of me and knew each other. What transpired before me I was unprepared for, because it was a solid break from the norms I grew up with in America, be it out of morals, respect for women or fear of police arresting me for such an assault. This man from south Africa placed his had on Stela’s breast and fondled her in front of me. I sat there in shock of what was happening before me, for his boldness but equally for the lack of hostility from Stella. This could not be normal I had thought and expected her to slap this man and expect me to stand up for her. I restrained myself though, keeping enough presence of mind to see she was not objecting to his attention, so I sat there dumb struck.


 Over the next week, I was introduced to people from around the world. Fellow students who were there for goal or another. Some wished to start careers in NGOs or the UN. Others were there for a vacation. Some later became corporate employees. Everyone has a rhyme and a reason for attending IPC. Even teachers were there for more than the simple joy of teaching. I was there because my parents had made that choice for me. I was there because my parents wanted me to keep my Danish citizenship. IPC was just a convenient place to plant me down for twenty weeks until something else could be found upon. This was my life growing up, but absent of my parent's influence and control, I started to come out of this shell I had hid in all my life.

 It is only expected, when young men are placed in new situations that represent a major change to their lives, they will go through some changes. They will change their expectations, adapt with new behaviours and perhaps aim for a new goal in life, or they will cling onto what is familiar and adapt in what ever way lets them cling onto what they have left. What was standing before me was a change in norms among my peers, a change in my peers and a change in what was to be expected of me. This period was the start of how I would adapt and start growing from a sheltered young boy into a man wise about his own world and curious about the world around him. The lessons I learned in that period put into perspective for me the spectrum of what can be considered normal behaviour, including rude or inconsiderate behaviour.

 Over the first weeks, we chose our classes and schedules. I had little regard for my development of professional skills and went with what was fun. While I did take NGO I, I only did so to keep the number of hours that was required of me up. When NGO II came around, it conflicted with classes I truly wanted to attend, such as globalization, drama and yoga. The changes in me were mostly personal and I still had my sights on returning to the United States after that year and starting a career as a body artist. I remember one conversation, when I chose out of respect to the teacher of my Globalization class, not to come to class since I had woken up late. The teacher had come out to me while I sat in the common room, enjoying the sunlight falling on my face through the winter air and commented, I had started to come out of my shell. It was the first sign that I recognized my own development. While it may seem trivial, every journey starts with a small step and every change begins with the smallest of adjustments. One such adjustment, noticed by everyone, was my rapid weight loss. I still have the jeans from the time and now they are the perfect over sized fit to hang half way down my boxers.

Not all the adjustments were comfortable for me. I saw my time, at the start, as a chance to fall in love and do everything one sees in the movies. Like almost all young men my age at the time, I was thinking about sex and the shortest way to find my first lay. Around valentines day, I can say today I was hopeless, but not romantic. I had little understanding of how one flirts and my inexperience in conversation meant I was a sore thumb at the parties. After, perhaps ten weeks, I gave up on the idea and tried to adjust to a sexless youth. However, just as I gave up on finding love, love found me.