Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The windchill is negative four and I can no longer feel my unmentionables. I’m about to play my fiddle and tell funny stories to a room of people at the community center.
I am nervous because these are Pennsylvanians. Pennsylvanians, I’ve heard, only laugh on the inside.
As it happens, my intel is inaccurate. The crowd laughs well. Thank God.
The biggest laughter of the night, however, comes from a woman named Kris, who is from Thailand. Kris is here with her friend tonight, named Oat.
“It is pronounced like ‘OAT-meal,’” says the young woman with an air of grace and properness.
Oat is maybe four-foot-eleven. She stands next to Kris, who is perhaps a quarter inch taller.
“We drive long way to see you,” says Kris, the older of the two.
“We in car for very long time,” says Oat.
I am touched. Here I am in Pennsylvania, far from home. And these women are from the Eastern Hemisphere.
“How do you even KNOW WHO I AM?” I ask.
“Because I love you,” is all Kris says.
Kris has something for me. A gift. She hands me a small, ornate coin purse containing two pennies.
“This is just my two cents,” Kris says. Then she bursts out laughing.
Kris does not merely laugh on the inside.
And I am moved. I don’t know why I can’t speak, but I am mute for a few moments. Maybe it’s the cold weather allergies.
I respond by speaking only a few words. I am surprised I still remember them.
“Khap kum krup,” I say.
The two women are sort of impressed to hear an awkward bearded dude who looks like the fat guy from “The Hangover” speak Thai.
“YOU SPEAK THAI?” they ask, using the same tone you would use to ask someone if they owned a Stealth bomber.
“Layk tee,” I reply, which is “no” in Thai.
They laugh. Which makes me laugh, too.
For many years of my life, an older Thai woman named Molly cut my hair. I was a poor kid from the wrong side of town. Molly had one cross eye, and the personality of your favorite grandmother. She worked in a strip-mall, offering haircuts for less than 10 bucks.
Molly took a shine to me. But more than that, she took interest in me. She used to ask me motherly questions like, “Why you no in school?” Or, “Why you look so skinny?” Or, “Why you no eat more food?”
I’d just shrug. And inevitably, the next time I’d get my haircut, Molly wouldn’t charge me. And many times she brought me food. A little container of beef-basil salad, or pad won sen.
“You have to eat to be strong,” Molly would say, tucking the Tupperware container into my hands.
“I can’t take your food,” I’d say.
“Shut up,” she’d answer back. “I am boss of you.”
And then we’d hug long and hard.
All this comes back to me as I look at these lovely Thai women, who came so far to see me. And when we hug, and I listen to their magnificent bubbling laughter in my ear. Kris and Oat.
Then, I press my palms together at chest level.
I say, “ขอบคุณครับ,” giving a slight head bow.
“You’re welcome,” they reply.
Thank you, Molly. Wherever you are.