Lots of news today. First, my daily weather report: it’s an absolutely gorgeous day, a perfect 74°. My morning on the deck was idyllic with the birds flying in and out, the fountain burbling, and the tenants from hell gone somewhere else. They were shouting to each other early this morning, their usual conversational voice level, but I suspect they went to the beach because, with high hopes and my fingers crossed, I’m thinking today is their last day and tomorrow they depart. Second news: the paint eating spawn of Satan is back. I haven’t been spending as much time on the deck as usual because of the noise and Wednesday I was busy all day so it was yesterday when I noticed the new gnaw marks. A couple of marks are over the old ones and a couple are new marks on the arm of a chair. It’s back to turning the chairs against the table every night. I had hoped that the spawn’s peculiar diet had done him him. This is, after all, the third summer, of gnawing, but I think he has developed an immunity or turned into a B-scifi monster like The Incredible Shrinking Woman or The Colossus. I best be armed if we meet. Third news: I have begun the countdown. Two weeks from tomorrow I leave. When I booked my flight in April, I was counting in months. Hard to believe my trip is so close.

I know that I often subject you to my memories of Ghana, but it plays a huge role in my life and talking about it keeps the experience vivid. Today is something new: the story of how I got there. I never told my parents when I applied in October of my senior year. My dad had made comments when he saw Peace Corps commercials on TV. He couldn’t understand paying all that money for college then getting no money to work somewhere foreign, alien, for two years. In January I received my acceptance, and I called my mother and asked her to tell my father. I knew he’d be angry, and I didn’t want to hear it. She hedged but finally agreed. I called a couple of days later, and my father said I couldn’t go. I just laughed. I was 21 in my last semester of college and I couldn’t imagine he believed that would work. Next he said no more money; the well is dry. I said fine as he’d already paid my tuition, and I could get a part time job for the rest. Then he yelled and yelled and yelled. I hung up on him. The worst thing was I had agreed to go home for the next weekend to mind my sisters while my parents stayed overnight for a family function off cape. I asked my friend Lenny to go with me. He asked if I was using him. I most certainly was. We went down on the bus, my dad picked us up and didn’t speak to me. He talked to Lenny the whole time then they left the next morning, and we still hadn’t spoken.

It took a few months before my dad accepted my decision. He didn’t wholeheartedly support me until much later, but he started talking to me and hoped I knew what I was getting into. I had no idea.

My parents drove me to Logan on the Sunday in June I was to report to staging. Peace Corps had sent a bus ticket to Philadelphia, but my dad bought me a plane ticket instead. The ride to the airport was difficult because we were all so caught up in our feelings. They were afraid for me and hated having me go so far away. I was nervous and scared both of leaving and arriving. They parked the car and we walked to the gate together, my dad carrying my 80 pounds of luggage. Before I finally boarded, we hugged so long my back hurt.

They told me later neither one of them spoke as they watched my plane disappear from sight.