A Question at 38,000

[Mike P]

I always like flying SAS (Scandinavian Airlines) but I long to hear English spoken and wish I had booked a domestic airline. We are at 38,000 feet en route to Chicago O'Hare and the lyrical rise and fall of Swedish syllables is what I hear all around me. I am tempted to make my way back to coach and see where the teenage girl from Wisconsin is sitting. I spoke to her while we were boarding. I learned she was visiting her grandmother in Sweden. It was the first time I made use of the English language in over a week. And I must admit, it was a pure joy to do so.

The Swede is sitting next to me in the aisle seat happily chatting with the young woman sitting across from her. She is in her glory. She is using her native tongue and the words flow from her like a children's lullaby. I can barely make out the gist of the conversation as the pace and the cadence overwhelms my limited knowledge of the language. I catch meaning here and there, but all in all, they could be discussing recipes for meatballs for all I know. The Swede knows her immersion back in her culture is coming to an end. And she is making use of every precious minute left.

So here I sit pounding away on the keys to my laptop looking forward to the return to my culture, all the time aware of the loss my wife will feel when we leave hers behind. For a slight moment I feel guilty at taking her from her world. And then I come to my senses and say "screw Sweden, I can't wait to get home!"

Nothing changes. After forty years you would think things were bound to change. But they don't. It's like the movie Groundhog Day and I am Bill Murray. Every time I go to Omea it is like reliving a script that is etched in stone. The local girl who married the American Cowboy has come home for a visit. Come and renew your friendship with the local sports heroine. Come and gawk at the Cowboy. Ask him why he is so in love with guns.

I have experienced many cultures in my life. In my early years I adapted to the Yankees up north in my own country. I was exposed to eastern philosophies and cultures during my stint in the Army. In my business life I traveled the world. I have seen the good, the bad and the ugly in mankind. But never, and I repeat, never have I experienced the smugness and better then thou attitude exhibited by the residents of Sweden.

Don't get me wrong. I love these people. They are quick with a smile and as laid back as any group of people you will ever find. Hell, they all even look pretty, even the guys! They will invite you into their homes and share their food with you. You have but to ask and you shall receive. But they just cannot grasp the concept of life in America. They will never understand who we are or how we live. To them, you are all like me. You are Cowboys.

I find it so ironic that the very same people who condemn my love for firearms and "eye for an eye" mentality are only a few centuries removed from pillaging and raping towns and townsfolk up and down the coasts of Europe. These same descendents of sword wielding warriors fighting with hopes of entering Valhalla now question the ownership of weapons, much less their use. What happened to them? Like Jackson Browne asks, "when did the road turn into the one that they're on?"

It makes me wonder what the Swede must feel like when I drag her back to the ranch and hook up with my brothers and their families. Is her view of us one that portrays us as barbarians in our own rite? Does she perceive each of us as gun toting lunatics willing to shoot first and ask questions later?

I take my hands away from the keyboard and turn to face my wife. She senses the lack of movement on the laptop and turns her head away from the young lady across the isle and gives me a look asking "What's wrong?"

"Annika, do you think I am a lunatic gun carrying cowboy?" I ask her. "No dear, you are certainly not a lunatic and you are no longer a cowboy." she replies. "You are an ill mannered redneck." She turns and continues her conversation with the young lady.

I close the lid to the laptop. I push the tray table up and lock it, recline the seat, put my head back and close my eyes. I smile.

I have just returned to my culture.

[Pydpiper]

You will always be my favorite ill manered redneck too Mike, if that make's you feel any better.
A cowboy wouldn't have opened the laptop in the first place, they would be doing the dirty at 38000.
Travel safe.

[bkisel]

Wow, how well written.

I can't help thinking, maybe just a little, that those who could have understood (and not just those from Sweden) removed themselves from the gene pool by coming to the US generations ago. What do you think?


Take care...

[raydaughety]

Welcome home Mike .

[bill morrison]

well said my friend and from one redneck to another.....welcome home.

[lscha]

Welcome almost back!! We missed you. All the threads you missed, I kept thinking: WWMW??

[vixenmaster]

welcome home

[one shot scott]

enjoy the rest of your flight MikeP.

[B-Logger]

Mike, you'd like Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Lots of Swedes up there.

I hope the trip was really great for you and welcome back.

[VixChix]

So good to have one of our favorite ill mannered rednecks back!

[groundpounder]

All the threads you missed, I kept thinking: WWMW??

Always enjoy your writes Mike. Maybe its good to step out of your comfort zone every now and then. Makes you appreciate things a little more.

[awshucks]

Ok, I'll say it. I'm laughing too hard to even attempt to be clever. Welcome home!!

You have a great talent. Just when I think I've seen a great shot, you outdo it one. Have you no limits?

I admit it I'm a Mike P addict.

Thanks, once again!!!

[wabi]

Welcome back!
Never too late to work on your manners.

[maple]

Welcome back Mike. You fit right in.

Maple

[sumner4991]

Welcome back Mike P. You have a lot of catching up to do. Heck, there have already been four or five deer killed. Updated rankings are in order.

Relax, no bucks yet . . .all does.