Harlow, England
20 March, 2028
Sharon Wallace smiled in spite of herself. The trays on the counter contained a cornucopia of food that harkened to a better time. The smells emanating from them stirred even deeper memories. The steaks were cooked just right. Rare but not exceptionally so. Pressing a fork into the meat brought back just a hint of blood. The baked potatoes were steaming in tinfoil. The corn was fresh and sweet, like the late summer Jersey corn of her childhood. How many weekends had been spent with corn, steaks and potatoes on the grill? Tonight’s dinner was a slice of the past. A little piece of home.
“Mom?” The inquiry came from the family room. Sharon stopped but did not look up. She recognized the voice—getting deeper. Her son Scott, or as she still called him, Scotty. He was hungry, she already knew.
“A few more minutes,” she called back.
“K. Smells good.”
That it did. Her son, like his father, knew good food and enjoyed a good piece of meat. Meat was good, but here in England not as easy to find. The Brits overcooked their beef, to the point where it was almost leathery. Their daughter Amanda, on the other hand, had taken to British fare. In fact, she was adopting to British life entirely. Right down to the slight accent that was forming. Well, having spent the last five years in England was going to do that. The kids were young when the Wallace family came over. Their memories of home were limited and fading more with each passing day. Well, Amanda’s were. Scott was another story entirely. He remembered the land of his birth intimately.
The sound of the garage door opening jogged her thoughts back to the present. Brad was home and his timing was perfect. She was glad. It was Wednesday and sometimes this was Brad’s late day at the office. Having him here early was a pleasant surprise.
“Kids, your father is home. Amanda, set the table.”
Dutifully, Amanda sauntered down the steps and into the kitchen. She pulled the dishes from the cabinets and began setting the table in the dining room. Scott came in behind her, caught a glance from his mother and reluctantly pitched in.
Their father walked in a minute later. “Hello!” He crowed, receiving positive responses from the kids.
“In here,” Sharon called to him and carried the trays over to the table. Her husband walked into the dining room smiling broadly. He hugged Amanda first, receiving a squeal in return. Scott was next, a playful tap on the shoulder. Finally, he approached Sharon, kissed her on the lips and then hugged her tight. “Hiya, dear!”
“Hiya yourself. Dinner is ready.”
Brad inhaled deeply. “Smells fantastic. You know how to cook beef. The Brits try, but they can’t cook beef worth a damn-darn!” He winced. Keeping the language clean around the kids was something they both took seriously.
Dinner at the Wallace house was always an informal affair except for holidays. Tonight was no exception. The table was set and everybody dug in.
“So how was work today?” Sharon asked her husband as he lugged the biggest steak onto his plate.
“Not bad. In processing day for a group of guests. Families mostly. Helping to acclimate them.”
“Anybody we know?”
“No, but Jeff Carroll’s brother is supposed to be coming across next month. I saw his name on the list. He and his family have been accepted. Job waiting for him with Lloyds.”
“That’s good to hear. Jeff will be thrilled. Have you told him?”
Brad shook his head. “It’s not official yet. When it is, I’ll let him know.” He bit into his steak and savored it. “Wow. This really is good.”
“Prime grade, USDA choice,” Sharon chuckled, earning a grin in return.
“Mad cow free too, I hope,” her husband commented under his breath.
Amanda caught it though and her head shot up. “What’s mad cow?”
“Long time ago, honey,” Brad assured her. “This meat is fine.”
“So cows went crazy?” Scott asked eagerly.
“Right. They’d start eating each other at night in the field. Farmer would come out in the morning and find nothing but bones.”
“Gross.” Amanda made a face.
“Cool!” Scott grinned. Brad hid a smile and continued eating.
Sharon gave her husband a disapproving look and changed the subject. “How was school?”
“Great.” Scott fielded it first. “Looks like we’re going to have a baseball team for the spring.”
“Good.” Brad smiled. Baseball was another thing the Brits were new to. As with beef, they were trying and in about eighty years might get the hang of it. A number of other schools in the area were picking the sport up and forming teams. The influx of American students over the years was responsible for this. Cricket wasn’t an appropriate substitute for red-blooded American boys. “What about you, Amanda?”
“ School is okay. I’m starting to like my English teacher better than my math teacher though. Mrs.Laird is British and knows a lot about classical literature. She said if my grades stay high I’m smart enough to get into Oxford one day.” Her brother snorted at that. “Shut up!” she snapped and gave him a look which made him wither.
“How come you don’t like your math teacher now?” Sharon asked.
“Ms. Norman is one of us. An American,” Amanda said sourly. “She always tells us that even though we’re living in England we’re still Americans. And one day we are going to go home to help our country get strong again.”
Sharon and Brad exchanged a brief glance. “And what do you think about that?”
Their daughter shrugged her shoulders indifferently. “I like England. This is my home. I don’t even remember anything about the other place.”
“But you’re not British,” Scott pointed out and made a twisted face. “America is our home. We’re just like guests here.”
“He’s right, honey.” Her father said gently. “England is a wonderful place and the people are very kind to us. But this isn’t our home.”
It was becoming evident that the deep divide Brad and Sharon had been anticipating with Amanda would arrive sooner than expected. She would be eleven in three months. Puberty and that time in a kid’s life when everything became convoluted was probably going to motivate her to demand some uncomfortable answers. Right now, all she knew, understood really, was that something terrible had happened in the place where she used to live with her family. As time went on, the memories of that past became more distant.
“Spend more time hanging around with American kids,” Scott spat. “You don’t even have one. All of your friends are tea drinkers.”
Brad quickly held back a snort. He was about to admonish his fourteen year old son, but it was too late to make a difference. Amanda had already dissolved into a mass of tears and sobs. Before either of her parents could react, she rose from the table and scampered away to her room.
“Dammit, Scotty!” Brad growled. His son looked at him innocently.
“What? What did I do now?”
Sharon stood up. “I’ll handle this. You two stay down here and keep eating.” And just like that, it was decided. Motherly prerogative.
She waited for ten minutes before knocking on her daughter’s door. Amanda was sprawled out on her bed when Sharon walked in. That told her more than she needed to know. The girl was upset, and when she was really upset like now, Amanda laid out across her bed and ignored every possible distraction, electronic and otherwise. Mom considered her next move carefully. She took her daughters desk chair, rolled it up beside the bed and sat down. Next she placed her hand on Amanda’s back and rubbed softly.
“How are you holding up, honey?”
Amanda sniffed away a couple of tears. “Scott is a jerk!” she declared.
“He can be at times,” her mother agreed. “That’s what boys are like at his age. Better get used to it,” she smiled.
“Scott is just mean. He doesn’t like me because he thinks I hate America. I don’t even remember it. He does. And this is where we live now. England. Not America.”
“We do live here now, honey,” Sharon admitted. “But we are not British. We’re Americans and we always will be.”
“Not me. When I turn eighteen I am going to apply for citizenship here.”
Sharon ignored that comment. “You think Scott believes that you hate America. Do you?”
“I can’t believe you’d ask me that,” Amanda turned to her mother with a mixture of hurt and outrage spreading across her face. “You’re siding with Scott.”
“Honey, I’m only trying to find out how you feel.”
“I don’t hate America. I just don’t know anything about it except for what people say. How great it was. If it’s such a great place then why don’t we live there anymore?”
“Because your father’s job is here now and he works for the government. The US government, not England’s.”
Amanda saw through that reply at once. “That’s not an answer.”
“Something bad happened back home and your father and I decided it would be better for us to raise you two here. So we did.”
“I’m glad. I like it here. My friends and everything. I don’t like baseball and Scott is a jerk.”
Sharon smiled at that. “He is sometimes. Are you ok up here? Shall I bring you your dinner?”
“No. I didn’t like it very much. Beef isn’t very good. I’m sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay.” Sharon rose from the chair. “I’ll look in on you later. I love you, honey.”
“I love you too.”
Sharon left, mulling the conversation over in her head again over and over. She readjusted her earlier thought. The time was not coming. The time was now.
The night settled down after that. Sharon went back downstairs to finish eating and clean up. Brad and Scott went into their normal post-dinner routines, kidding each other and joking around a bit before both retired to their respective areas. Scott to his room to finish homework and Brad to the home office. She assumed that Brad had a little talk with his son when she was upstairs with Amanda. A little while later, Amanda came down and joined Sharon in the living room. Together they watched television. Scott came in a little while later. To their mother’s satisfaction, the siblings interacted the way they normally did, the earlier dinner encounter seemingly forgotten. Brad joined them shortly afterward and for an hour they enjoyed some quality family time until 9:45 when everyone went upstairs to get ready for bed.
“I think it’s time,” Sharon announced to Brad when they were in bed and perusing on their respective tablets. Now was the perfect time to discuss this, she’d decided. The kids’ rooms were on the other side of the house. Far enough away that they couldn’t possibly hear their parent’s conversation.
“Time for what?” Brad asked. He turned his head to look at his wife. When he saw her expression, he understood what she was talking about. “Oh, that.”
“After tonight, I don’t think we can’t wait any longer. Amanda is growing up too fast.”
“Just like her mother did,” Brad smiled. Sharon ignored it and continued.
“She’s at that age now. Everything is confusing and I don’t want her to forget where she comes from or who she is.”
“Sharon, she doesn’t remember her life on the other side of the pond. Amanda was too young. Scotty too, for that matter. But he’s coping at least.”
“Scotty doesn’t really get what happened either. Don’t you think it would be fair for him to hear it?”
Brad was silent for a short time. “You could be right. But dammit, I do not want our kids to feel like they’re refugees or something.”
“Neither do I. And if we don’t do something now, sooner or later some British kid is going to start calling them that. You know how teens are. That’s why I want to do it now.”
“What Amanda was saying tonight hurt. She’s just a child, I know. But she is becoming more British by the day. It’s only natural, I guess.”
“And Scott?”
“Scotty is like I was at his age. An all-American kid. His friends are all the same.”
“Because they’re American. They play baseball and football. They roughhouse. British boys do the similar things but it’s different. Amanda, on the other hand is two steps away from singing “God Save The King” every morning.”
Brad was quiet for a long minute, staring at the ceiling. “Last week she asked me why her friends live across town and Scotty’s friends live so close,” Brad admitted.
“That is what I’m talking about, Brad. Differences, even little ones, are going to begin counting for a lot now,” Sharon warned. “You know that better than I do.”
“It’s just a matter of time,” Brad started and then stopped. He looked at his wife and nodded his head. “Okay, I’m sold. When and where?”
“Let’s do it Saturday night. Scotty has baseball during the day and Amanda is spending Sunday with her friends in Brexton.”
Brad agreed. “Three days from now. That will work.” Then he wrapped his arms around his wife and held her tight. “It is time to have the talk.”
Author’s Note: This entry will be a bit different. It’s in short story form and takes a brief look at an American family now living in England 5+ years after the September 2022 attack. The children are growing older and the parents are wondering if it’s time to explain to them just what happened to the nation of their birth. I’ll post Part II next weekend because I am juggling a lot of writing projects at the moment. As for this blog, tomorrow we’ll take a look at the international scene in July, 2023 and then begin working back towards a continuation of journal entries. Hope everyone is well. — Mike