The Joy of Opening Packages

There is a song I know that begins, “As little children we dreamed of Christmas morn, and all the gifts and toys we knew we’d find.” Well, for the last 9 days, I have felt, again, like a child anticipating that exciting morning. My wonderful sister Elizabeth announced to me last week that she had put together a care package, and sent it off with the U.S. Mail. She had asked what I might want, and I rattled off some things, but some things were meant to be a surprise. She also hinted how much the shipping for this precious package set her back (when I inquired, “was it $35?” she retorted, “I wish!” Double or nothin’ baby!). She had also said our father had gotten the chance to throw in some things goodies.

It took 9 days for the package to make its way to KA. I had proudly told the receptionist a few days ago that a package would be arriving soon for me. She smiled and said, “no one else gets as excited as you about mail!” The funny thing is I had received only one postcard so far (a shout-out to my friend Noah who sent me a Velazquez art postcard). That last line was not meant to be a guilty dig at anyone—it just really was fun to get a postcard. See Meg Calacci—you are right again; there is such a child-like joy in getting mail and packages here!

I was at the Mecca Mall yesterday picking up my new dark suit from the tailor when Russa, the receptionist at KA, called me on my mobile—that is what cell phones are called outside of the United States (he says in a fairly pretentious voice!)—and she practically squealed, “John, it’s here! Your package arrived!” What excitement (in my head at least) as we made it back from Amman—I have never been so excited for toothpaste, sunscreen, and razors!!

I proudly carried this 12 pound package with the $70 postage sticker on it back to my apartment, and it felt so much like that rush of getting the Christmas stocking and discovering what goodies made their way into it. Oh wow. The toothpaste, sunscreen, and razors I asked for!! And the Immodium, Pepto Bismal, and oatmeal!! But as I unpacked the box, it really was a delight to get this package, all wrapped and secretive at first, and unveiling its contents. Elizabeth had put in several entertainment magazines, and drawings from Jack and Emma, and pictures of our family, and it couldn’t have been more fun. I could tell my father’s touches. I nag him about the number of containers this man has accumulated (it is not an overstatement to say that containers have taken over that wonderful man’s kitchen like the monster in “Little Shop of Horrors.”) He had put several of the gifts in those old styrofoam and plastic containers, knowing the laughter at my pulling them out. They put in a fan, a couple cans of Cincinnati chili, and the last season DVD of “The Golden Girls.” I mean, you could hardly have imagined a more motley bunch of presents.

It was serendipitous laughter as I looked through the “treasures” in this package, loving the drawings, prayers, and notes of good will. The only thing not like Christmas morn is that you can’t immediately turn to them and issue the heartfelt thanks in person.

Today there were a couple other package-like experiences.

There is an electrician on campus named Fadi, and he and I have talked a bit in the last week, and he lives in nearby Madaba. Fadi said we should get together sometime. As I hope I have made clear, Jordanians are immeasurably friendly. I asked him he if he could take me to a barber, so I could have a good cut before the students arrive.

Going to a new barber is fraught with tension in the best of circumstances, like when you speak the language. So today when Fadi met me to take me to Madaba, he first wanted to go on a field trip to Mount Nebo and enjoy the view. I reminded him that I had a meeting at 6, and a fancy dinner at 7 to celebrate the beginning of student orientation tomorrow.

Fadi drives like a madman—heck, driving in Jordanian seems to be utterly rule-less. There are no lanes, as I can tell, and people just try to get where they are going expeditiously. As we enter Madaba I tell him about the grid system of the streets in New York City above 14th street, and he thinks that is ridiculous. The roads in Madaba just go everywhere and anywhere and in my mind nowhere.

We end up at Fadi’s friend, the barber, and away we go. Every five minutes Fadi asks me if I like how the haircut is going. The guy does a great job, and washes the hair at the end. Now that does make more sense, doesn’t it? You don’t leave with all those hairs in your inner ear.

Before heading back to campus Fadi takes me to his house for tea. Fadi comes from a family of 12 children, and I meet a couple of them (or they are nephews or, I don’t know Bedouin cousins or something). One guy raises sheep and has between 300-600 sheep he tends. Just not at teatime I guess.

Anyway, my real point in telling the haircut story is that it was another “package” of sorts—spending time with generous Fadi, not quite knowing what this package would entail, and utterly reveling in a kind man’s friendship.

When I got back on campus, I got another package—the names of the five young men who will be my advisees this year. As most of you would guess, teachers often have advisees, namely students they watch out for, and shepherd (pun intended) through the year. All day long I was waiting to get this list—just to see who they would be. When I got back, the Dean of Student Life gave me the names—wow. They are Abdulkareem, Ismail, Hashim, Mohammed, and Hamdi. Two of these guys are from Saudi Arabia, two from Jordan, and one is Canadian-Egyptian. What a great package!

But of course I don’t know what to make of this package yet—it isn’t as easy and heartwarming yet as the comfort foods and wishes from Cincinnati, but, wow, this is the package I have been waiting for!

Tomorrow the students arrive. My dear friend Debbie wrote me an email the other day saying, “Our greatest adventure in our careers is when the students show up for class.”

Let’s see how this package unwraps tomorrow!