There is no denying that I am my father’s daughter. In many ways I take after my mom, but tonight it really hit home (no pun intended, well maybe a little bit), how very much I am like my dad. Last night we started by exchanging emails about basketball. Spoiled and basketball obsessed dad took off to Arkansas to watch Texas play its first two NCAA tournament games. After my inner-jealous, green monster was done rearing it’s ugly head we moved on to exchanging emails about politics. Many links and personal analysis were shared.Tonight after watching the second part of a BBC News program on Community Led Total Sanitation (teaching third world countries how to properly defecate), I sent my dad an email about what I learned tonight; sent one last week too. The episode tonight was primarily about efforts in Ethiopia and a really cool thing called arborloos - shallow latrines that convert the poop to a compost that is then used for planting trees. He thanked me and then shared more about his basketball experience, taunting me with his decision to go to Houston to see the next round of the NCAA tournament. I withheld pointing out the fact that I am winning the family basketball bracket. Mom and I talk basketball and politics too, we just don’t talk poop. We’re classier than that.
This is the time of year that I actually start to miss living in the States. Not because March is when the weather in Austin becomes mind-numbingly phenomenal, but because of March Madness, BAAAAA-BEEEE!
Since I was potty trained, I have made it to at least one basketball game a year. This is a streak that I am proud of. Basketball is family time, we are all fans. My dad and I being the far most obsessed. And this is the time of year that we fully succumb to that obsession. Rejoice in that obsession. Don’t even think of apologising for the obsession, but rather gloat over that obsession. We love our college basketball and tournament time.
When I was at SMU, I was the first in the family to start attending the conference tournaments. Then I got my parents involved. When the Big-12 formed, my Dad was hooked and going to the tournaments with some of his friends. Once I switched jobs and my schedule opened up, I was allowed to attend the Big-12 tournaments with my Dad and his friends. Father-daughter bonding in its craziest, most funnest form. And man do I miss it. My Dad and his friend Dick, a former basketball player, had worked out the 4 days of the conference tournament in to well-oiled, smooth moving, schedule of perfection.
Thursday - Either arrive in town in time for the first game, or meet at hotel restaurant for breakfast. Then attend first two games of the day. Depending on site of the tourney, length of time between day and night session, rush out to get food away from the basketball arena. Go back to arena after dinner and watch two more games. Finish about 10 pm. Head back to hotel’s sports bar, or other location showing west coast basketball games. Watch games on ESPN or ESPN2 while consuming 1 or 2 adult, fermented beverages. Adult beverages are needed to wash down the ever so delicious junk food. (Especially if the tourney is in Kansas City and you can get that massive plate of nachos.) Cheer for some team that you’ve never paid attention to before like, Boise St, Idaho St, or some other small school with state at the end of the name. Eventually head back to rooms and finish watching whatever games are being broadcast before passing out into a basketball-overdose induced coma.
Friday - repeat Thursday, except with better games.
Saturday - sleep in. Only two games today. Unless the women’s tournament is being held nearby and there is a good final game, then attend three games. Games usually end early enough to go out to an Italian restaurant for a very good dinner. Then back to hotel to see if there are any other games still on ESPN or ESPN2.
Sunday - Again sleep in a bit. If the tourney is in Dallas, take in a museum. You know, just to try to see if the other areas of your brain are still alive. Then attend the final game. If the tournament is in Dallas, go to restaurant where we can get dinner while watching the CBS selection show and fill out our brackets before heading home. If tourney is in Kansas City, hope that a sports broadcaster is on the same flight home and will call out the brackets during the flight. If neither option works, call Mom to get the brackets.
Sunday night, arrive home thinking “basketball rules.”
And to take March Madness to the next level, there are tickets to the NCAA tournament involved. If very lucky, Thursday or Friday attend the first round somewhere in Texas and spend another day watching 4 games. Take one day off and then watch two more. If only lucky, wait one week and go to the sweet 16 located somewhere in Texas. Watch 2 games Thursday or Friday, take one day off and then watch the elite 8 game. If extremely lucky, wait two weeks (unless you are my Dad and go off to see Texas play some of it’s early games) and go to the FINAL FOUR somewhere in Texas. Wallow in fact that most other college basketball fans have to watch these games at home.
Oh how I miss March Madness and my family’s ability to ensure that the madness part is appropriately named.
My last two nights in Sydney, I stayed with some American friends of mine. Turns out that David and I were in the same new hire class, but we never knew each other until we were in Sydney. By Tuesday their 3 1/2 year old daughter was happy to have me in their house. I was almost like a new toy.
Mid-morning I was sitting in the guest room, trying to figure out how I was going to get all my stuff back in my suitcase. Alana stood in the doorway and started to talking to me. While standing in the doorway, she started to tell me all about the baby in her mommy’s tummy. After a little while she asked me if she could come and sit on the bed so we could talk. Of course she could. And talk we did. Alana pointed out the picture of her parents wedding.
A: That’s my parents wedding picture.
Me: Yes, that is very nice.
A: I was in mommy’s tummy (Voice yelling from far down the hallway)
Denise: No you weren’t. You weren’t in my tummy until 4 months later. FOUR MONTHS LATER.
Me (laughing hysterically): Don’t ever say that to your grandparents.
A: I wasn’t there?
D: No. You weren’t in my tummy until 4 months after daddy and I got married.Alana thinks for a bit, then asks: Where was I?
Denise and I giggle, look at each other and giggle some more.
D: You were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.
Alana looks at the picture again: So I wasn’t at the wedding?
D: You weren’t around yet. You were still just a twinkle in your dad’s eye. If you were around you would have been at the wedding.
A: I was a twinkle in daddy’s eye?
Me: Yes, see that sparkle there?
A: I was a twinkle. Then I got in mommy’s tummy.
— A little later…while discussing that I used to work with her dad
A: I go to preschool while my dad works
A: What is my teachers name?
Me: I don’t know your teacher.
A: Oh
Me: Do you like preschool?
A: Yes it’s fun. We get to play and sing silly songs.
Me: Ah yes. I liked preschool too.
A: You went to preschool?
Me: Yes. When I was little like you.
A: You were little?
Me: Yes. I was little too, but then I got older.
A: What is getting older?
Me (only being able to think, “you know, get older”): Uhhh, before I had birthdays and grew up.
A: You liked preschool?
Me: We had a giant sandbox. It wasn’t on the ground, just on a table. So we could only put our hands in it to play.
A: Mmmm
Me: Do you have a lot of friends?
A: Yes. Did you?
Me: Yes. And I had a boyfriend. He followed me around everywhere. He only did what I told him to do. Do you have a boyfriend?
A: Yes.
Me: What is his name?
A: I don’t know. But he is the one with the sisters.
Me: What makes him your boyfriend?
A (matter of factly): He is my boyfriend.
— Later in the day Alana asks me if we can go back into my room, sit on the bed and talk some more.
Me: Only if I can pack while we talk.
A: Oh yes.
A: How are you going to get all of that back in?
Me: I think it might take magic. It should fit, it was all in the case when I got here.
A: Yeah. That’s going to take magic. It won’t fit.
Me: What did you learn in ballet today?
A: We did this (pointing feet) and this (lifting leg) and I got a star.
Me: You got a star?
A: Yes. I was good so I got a star. But I took it off because it was looking worn. I don’t want a worn star.
Me: No worn stars aren’t good.
A: I like bats.
Me (trying to keep up): You like bats?
A: Yes. The things that fly around. I like them.
Me: Have you seen the bats they have here in Sydney? They are big. Much bigger than Austin bats. A: No, I don’t like the big bats. I like little bats.
And then we played barbie.
Last week a top terrorist escaped from a local prison. It has had a weird impact. This is a country that is well known for it’s safety. Something I think the locals take advantage of. Hell, it’s something I am starting to take advantage of. I still tend to look over my shoulder or listen for someone behind me when I am walking alone at night. I just do it while walking through dark, empty fields around midnight. I heard from one of my co-workers that at his child’s school the kids now have to go to the toilet together, and parents were allowed to come pick up the kids early. There are posters of the escaped terrorist placed up all over the place. There are police and soldiers scouring lots of areas, I haven’t seen this personally but others I know have. Over the weekend the three main mobile phone companies sent the following mms to all of their subscribers: 
Please call 999 immediately if you see Mas Selamat bin Kastari. He is short (1.58m) & limps on left leg. Thank you. Our little piece of paradise is getting to experience a little bit of what the rest of the world experiences all the time. We just get to experience it with greater efficiency.