This society is geared towards individualism and youth. Every day industries promote the fountain of youth and how people are living longer, but also how obsessed people are with staying young. The 40s are the new 30s and so on. Many people are scared of getting older in all societies, but getting older in the U.S. can be right down terrifying.

My paternal grandfather passed away in 2006 and my maternal grandfather is getting older each day. My Mom and I have talked about how my grandfather’s light is not shinning as bright as it used to. This is the man that taught me how to play chess and was always very assertive and successful business man. Now his days are full of anxiety about his illness and all he seems to look forward to now are his yearly trips to Colombia to escape the winter. The cold that to him is killing him might be related more to the coldness of this society has towards the elder rather than the temperature on the thermometer. He would gladly spend the rest of his life back in Colombia, but my grandma who is over a decade younger than him wants to be here where all of our family is.

Many of the elderly people that I have spoken to here in the U.S. fear not being mobile. First is the loss of their driving privileges and then not being able to get around their own house. I constantly hear on the TV about reverse mortgages and think of how different a house is looked at in the two cultures. One side of me does not see the advertised promise of financial fredom or security promised by the announcers but rather a way for someone else to profit from someone’s life’s work. Both families back in Colombia have several properties that have either been adquired by one generation and are now being passed to the next.

My Mom in the other hand has it set on her head that she will be glad to not be a burden and be put in a nursing home if the need ever arrives. She has embraced the pace of this country of constantly moving and cannot imagine neither my sister or I having to take care of her in any way. Maybe some of the innate independent nature in me comes directly from her genes, but both Bea and I are very family driven and would not hesitate to live with our parents and take care of them. Even today, if I had the chance to go back to Colombia and live with Bea’s Mom in the same household it would be wonderful. I have enjoyed every second I have spent in conversation with her and love her wise words of advice.

We are getting older and more of our friends are having to deal with the decision of putting a parent or a grandparent in assisted living. We know it is not an easy decision and in many cases not even their decision, but something that the last generation had already planned on doing. I am sure something similar is happening in Colombia now and more and more families are joining the society of disconnect from the last generation. Gaps seem to be getting bigger all over and talking to your elders about your problems and going for advice is being replaced by paying a “professional” for advice.

I am not sure what my future will bring when it comes to my old age. I am lucky that I have Bea to grow old with, and if we are blessed with kids hopefully also see them grow up. I am not sure if I will be alive in 30 years and ready to retire to a community with other people my age or not. I am not sure if the attitudes will change and by then 60s will be the new 40s. I do hope that the next generation does not look to us as a burden but rather a source for wisdom from experience. I know I wish that I had spent more time with my grandparents and now being close to family again I see the importance and benefits of having that connection.

*Correction – Thanks to Mafe.

As proud as I am of becoming an American by obtaining citizenship, I am of having been born in such a beautiful land as Colombia. I am proud of where I came from and try to show that Colombians are more than violent drug lords, which are a minority that has left a mark in our country’s image.

Today I want to share some facts with you about the land that I grew up on.

Colombia is FIRST on the world
Emeralds
Flowers
And Coffee Quality

Varieties if Palm trees
Anfibians (583 species)
Bamboo production
Orquids (3500 species)
and Tropical Birds (1815 species)

Colombia is SECOND:
In Coffee production (Brazil is actually first)
In Exporting agricultural products to the USA
Butierflies (300 families y 14000 species)

And that is not all:
It has the closest snow covered mountain to the sea (Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta).
As well as one of the biggest bio diversities in the world.

But its most important resource is its people, hard working, craving peace and wants to make not just a better country but a better world.

Happy Independence Day Colombia!

I love maraschino cherries. They are preserved and sweetened, but this is how I first tasted them. I love cherry artificial flavor, but real cherries from the grocery store or even cherry pie not so much.

Most people here think that there is only one type of mango, or one type of banana. In the tropics there are several variation of the fruit. For example mangoes vary in consistency from peach meaty to very stringy, and in flavor from very sour to super sweet. Bananas here are about medium size and actually not that sweet. The normal banana consumed in Colombia is about double the sweetness, but there are even some sweeter varieties.

Moving to another country brings a lot of issues when it comes to food. The freshness and availability of certain things just goes completely out the window. You adapt and adopt other likes. Now this brings me to chocolate.

Chocolate in Colombia tastes a lot different than here. Even more so sugar. Sugar that comes from sugar cane is a lot different than sugar that comes from corn. I am sure the molecular structure ends up being the same, but when things are actually made from high fructose corn syrup, they end up tasting was too sweet, almost sticky.

It is hard to taste the difference going from the overpowering corn to the sugar cane. What most people call chocolate here tastes nothing like the chocolate I ate in Colombia. Specially hot cocoa. Chocolate here to me tastes like pure sugar with a hint of the flavor I used to taste, so that is why I don’t like chocolate.

You guys have no idea the incredulous diatribes I hear every time I tell someone that I don’t like chocolate. I specially dislike things that are chocolate flavored because they taste nothing like real chocolate. I sometimes wonder if people would think that real chocolate is actually too bitter for them to like.

I don’t get it. Plenty of people hate liver and green beans, both foods I love, but I have never heard anyone freak out about people that say they don’t like them. I guess because chocolate is marketed here like the answer to everyone’s bad day. I don’t like the fake flavor of chocolate even though I can enjoy the cherry one… its not that weird people, its just a preference.

Zapiro, a very famous political cartoonist in South Africa, has been drawing Nelson Mandela for years. He was recently interviewed by the BBC, and one of the things that surprised him is that Mandela actually followed him even when he was very critical of him. Mandela was even upset when he changed newspapers because he could not follow him every day now and called Zapiro. Mandela told Zapiro that he would never be offended because being a counter voice was his job.

Peters used a joke that I have heard before. That was my first thought when I saw the cartoon, that it was a little unoriginal. I am not saying I have heard every Colombian joke, but I have heard plenty. As an Immigrant I have always wanted to hear those kinds of jokes because I think they make me informed and give me an opportunity to tell the truth about a stereotype of a misconception.

Peters also is not a political cartoonist, and in that context bringing up violence in Colombia would probably have worked as satire. For a country that is working very hard to change its image, has the fastest growing economy of Latin America and its doing everything it can to stabilize itself a cartoon like this can be damaging. Unless it opens up the doors to conversation.

I think the coffee growers of Colombia are taking this opportunity to create a little publicity. I don’t think Peters meant any harm, and I hope that at the end of the day everyone that comes across the story can at least say they know a little more about this beautiful country where I was born.

I learned how to parallel park in Chicago, and even though I am out of practice I can get my car into some pretty tight spots. Parking last night at 75th Street Brewery was a pain because the lot was full, so I got lucky and found a street parking spot where I would not be towed. Wait… no… just ticketed. That is when I realized something, I am super paranoid about getting towed.

I probably have seemed rude in the past here in Kansas City when in a suburb I park on their driveway when visiting them. In the Chicago area parking is a big ordeal. You have to have a city sticker allowing you to park there over night. However, just visiting friends can result on being towed or getting a ticket. After seeing my Dad get towed and having to pay a hefty fine to get the car back I became paranoid. These is one of those ordeals you do not forget and neither does your wallet because it can be more than $200 bucks down the drain.

I have to get out of the mode of parking on people’s driveways and just park on the street since there is no danger of being towed on the suburbs over here. You rarely have to even parallel park.

In many parts of the world, audible burping is not much appreciated and is therefore considered to be somewhat impolite (although generally not as much as flatulence). However, in other areas it can be considered a sign of completion of a meal or a form of applause for the cook. Sometimes, children and teenagers engage in burping contests to determine who can produce the loudest burp, the longest burp, the most guttural burp, the burping of words, songs, or even the alphabet.

After a couple of loud belches on the drive back, and walking into work, I said something. I am personally not offended by it, but one of the worse smells other than a fart is smelling someone else’s burp. That is just something I don’t enjoy. Corey then mentioned how he has noticed that most foreigners are uncomfortable with public belching and I agreed. I added that I find it somewhat rude, but I think it is mostly because of the embarrassment I felt when my friend in college will do it next to a family having dinner. However, it is no worse than when an f-bomb falls out while in a restaurant without realizing there are kinds in the table next to you. (which I have done in the past)

Personal space is one of the most complicated things I have to deal with. Even though I grew up overseas, I have also adopted some of the personal space rules from here in the US. I have a weird mixture of rules about it that can make things fun sometimes.

Last night we went out to watch Monday Night Football, and also got to catch some of the KU basketball game. The manager came over to check on our table and motion to put his hand on the back of one of my friends, but then hesitated. I could not let the opportunity pass to give him a hard time so I said, don’t touch him. We had fun harassing the manager the rest of the night and it was all fun, but it got me thinking about personal space.

When it comes to my friends, my personal space goes back the level it is acceptable in Colombia. I am actually ok with my friends hugging me and sitting next to me at a movie theater. However, the same does not apply for strangers. It irritates when someone that I does not know me comes and pats me on the back. But I do know it is a mixture of what its ok in Colombia, where we are a lot more “touchy feely” and the more conservative US way.

In conclusion, it is totally ok to hug me if you are a friend, just don’t burp or fart while doing it.

Action IS necessary, and the current government and party have failed me. I had to act by voting for someone that had a better agenda, at least in the open political arena than then status quo. Bush let the government get bigger, not the social justice way, but the earmarks kind of way. The republican party failed to distance themselves from that, and did not provide the best candidate for me, and in turn failed me as a republican that had began to lean independent.

I am an idealist and I do believe that life can be “perfect,” but just like happiness, it is a very hard thing not just to achieve, but maintain.

I never pretend in my head that nothing is wrong, but I strongly believe that everything is going to be alright. Even though a huge portion of my way of thinking for me comes from faith, a lot of it also comes from logic. Mixing feelings and logic is a very hard task; I believe that it is one of those opposites like Mars and Venus in some ways. However difficult it is, enough force can hold two magnets together. The physics of it is kind of cool and measurable, but in life, how do we measure the force that makes us interact with other humans that might be rejecting us with their magnetic field?

I call that love… family… friendship… bonds.

In my life I have tried to befriend almost everyone that has crossed my path. Some people from the get go did not want to have me be a friend, some others I have lost along the way for many reasons… it always goes sour when I realize that the other side is not as willing to compromise as I am, or just simply do not understand what the word compromise really means.

I was taken by surprise when some of the people that I still call friends took very harsh stances against me as soon as our new president was elected; even though I had humored their constant ridicule of a candidate I thought will not just change America, but could change the world. Not in one or two terms in office, but planting the seeds of unity and hard work that will be required to make America the BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD.

One of the most hurtful comments to me after the election is why didn’t I move back to Colombia and tried to fix my own (insert your word here) country. That hurt… I thought that someone that had seen me go to college, learn things there not just about computers, but life, the way the system works, the way relationships shape our live. It thought the way that I had affected their lives and they had mine, had given them an understanding of who I am and made me a part of their lives… not just a removable piece. Just like the remote that serves such a purpose when changing the channel but you want to chuck out the door the moment you sit on it and feels uncomfortable. I can only hope that they realize that I did serve a purpose in their lives and I am not something that should be discarded… in that case I honestly believe it would be their loss.

So let’s talk about it… is Colombia a worse country than this one is? The answer is so relative it will take not just a PhD in political science and Latin American Issues to truly understand everything about it. To me personally it is a little easier to answer. In many respects YES, Colombia TO ME, is a better country than the US. I lived a middle upper class life over there, have family and friends that even though I been here for half of my life still receive me with open arms… and now there is the new addition of my wife’s family that are nothing but some of the best people I have ever met. Is my country or origin riddled with problems? Absolutely, but I have NEVER voted for a presidential election there even though I can… why? BECAUSE I LIVE HERE! and THIS IS ALSO MY COUNTRY.

Listening to the radio yesterday people were asked if Obama being elected had already changed American society. To answer the radio show question, I believe that yes, America has shown that even by a small margin the majority of this country elected who they thought was better for the job and not the race, that is a big step in the right direction. In my little microcosms it also has changed my life, I have felt how harsh some people can be with their words… I can only wonder how harsh they are with their thoughts.

At the end of the day I still believe that my parents came to the best country in the world, and I live in a country that is now in many fronts falling behind as a super power. If someone has not checked the numbers in China’s military in recent years they are foolish. If someone has not checked the earning power of the Indian middle class they are just plain blind. To believe that we are the only ones in the world is just moronic, and to rest on our laurels still thinking that America is going the right direction and there is no other point of view than the republican point of view will get all of us nowhere. That is not why this REPUBLIC was formed, quit trying to turn this in to the REPUBLICAN DICTATORSHIP and don’t be such sore losers. Work together to make this country better and instead of trying to predict doom and how Obama will ruin everything, see what YOU can do at the local level to make sure that our country DOES become the best country in the world once again.

While visiting Colombia I did drink a lot of coffee. Bea’s family enjoys drinking coffee throughout the day and I was very glad. I drink a big cup of coffee or two in the morning here in the US, but over there I was content with smaller doses during the day.

“Tinto” is what Colombians call coffee, as in a “cup of joe.” It might mean little different ways of making it depending on the geographical region, but it almost always refers to coffee.

Bea’s Mom and I would sit every morning to have a cup of coffee first thing. We would sit there and talk about so many different things, from the meaning of life to the mundane. She had a very calming effect on me, her inner peace is easy to get drunk on. For someone that survived losing her husband and two of her kids, she is full of hope and will to live, but most of all inner peace.

One of the hardest things for me now is not to be able to sit down and drink a cup of coffee with her in the morning. I seldom find people that are morning people anymore. Not many people can stand the thought of having a talk about philosophy or religion first thing in the morning, but we would sit there and try to fix the world. I cannot wait to go back to Colombia and enjoy many cups of coffee with Bea and her family again.

During high school back in Colombia even though I was chubby I was still one of the smallest kids in our class and certainly the youngest. While I don’t consider every one of my classmates a bully I was a very easy target. There were a couple of people that really made my life miserable and sometimes I have wondered if I ever saw them face to face now as an adult if I would confront them, if it would be worth it.

I had the chance to see a couple of my classmates during my trip back to Colombia, and while we were exchanging e-mails some of them brought back the old names we used to call each other. Some of them were very offended by them and I certainly understood were they were coming from. Those days bring back some dark memories for me along with the good ones.

While someone could argue that everyone got picked on at one point or another, I was mercilessly picked on during 6 years with that group of people. It went from simply having my book bag hidden to the desk that my Dad had to buy for me (each person brought their own to the school) completely torn apart and even attempted to be set on fire. The physical abuse was not as often, but it did happen and it was probably the most frustrating because I just could not defend myself against some kids that were 4 years my seniors.

In Colombia you are with your classmates all the time, the teachers come to your classroom rather than you going to theirs with different groups of people. Most of my classmates were with me for the whole 6 years and we were all in the same classroom year after year.

Maybe it was the whole all boys school, or just that we were a bad group from the beginning, I remember we got in trouble more than any other group in our school. One of the meanest things that they ever did was our yearbook. While I was used to the stupid comments, to have something very vile written about you for your family to read was truly embarrassing. Even though I was not the only victim and many of my classmates had some incriminating and personal attacks written about them, it was still something that at the time hurt.

I healed from all of that. Moving here to the U.S. gave me the opportunity to start at a new school where the bullies I encountered were gang members that wanted to physically hurt me but were more at part with my size, that and my best friend in high school was pretty big and always had my back. I developed a sense of being very protective to those around me and I despise others taken advantage of someone weaker either physically or mentally. That is one of the main reasons for picking up a dragon as the tattoo I now have in my arm, because to me it represents many things and one of them is protecting others. Some of my college friends can tell you how far I will go when protecting a friend.

One of my classmates from back in high school was a very quiet boy. Extremely intelligent and someone that I learned a lot about chess from. We were never extremely close during those times, but I knew who he was and liked him a lot. I did not know that he was picked on, and did not know how much the words in that year book had hurt him. It has been over 15 years since those days and he is still very angry at the people that wrote it. I have written it off as it was immature boys doing immature things; he in the other hand still holds a grudge.

We had an awesome time when we got together and talked about a lot of things, but it was not until later when I posted some of the pictures I took that the comments back and forth between old classmates turned ugly. It was sad in many ways, but I think the pain is real, I think the need to feel respected back then and now are probably the same, I think some of the wounds never healed.

I am glad some of those wounds for me as simple scars now, but again I am not perfect and if I encountered one of the bullies that physically abused me back then I am not sure if I would be the better man or not… I hope so. So when Nuke talked about being a bully to another bully I was torn… between cheering him on for taking on a bully to others and understanding that he does not want to become what he is trying to fight against.

That holds true in almost every single situation in life, not controlling the outside world which is impossible, but how we see and respond to it. If you constantly think that the worse is going to happen it will, if you believe in the power of positive thinking it will also have an effect in your life.

I have been scared this week with the impending prognosis of my ear condition, but I have stayed positive. With the help of my wife, family and friends I have been casting doubt out and in the end what is the worse that can happen? Being deaf? I already started to learn sign language in the past and I am sure I can learn to read lips. While I don’t believe that will be the outcome, I know that there are plenty of people leaving in this world that are deaf and are completely happy.

My trip to Colombia was once again life changing. I saw how people with a lot less than I have seem to be much more content and that gave me hope. I know with a great attitude I can make people smile, now I just have to be positive a let that be the driver of my life. I believe there is a God and that to him nothing is impossible.

When Bea and I had the shock of being greeted by “Banda” when we entered the Colombian restaurant in our last visit there, I was devastated. I have nothing against Mexican brass music, I even like some of it and will dance to it… but it is like walking into your favorite piano bar and being faced with a dude playing the banjo.

A lot of the traditional Colombian plates require either a deep fryer or long preparation. While I have made some of those dishes from scratch before, it becomes a game of picking which ones you have time to do.

Back in Chicago my Mom gets together with my sister and they make awesome Empanadas, but they take them hours of preparations to do. The only thing Bea and I get to do at home in a regular basis is Arepas, which we got Mike addicted to during his visit here.

Having a place where I can go and satisfy a craving for comfort food from my country is important. One of the many reasons why living in Michigan sucked so much was the lack of good restaurants, specially not a Colombian one unless you drove all the way to Chicago.

Think about living in a country, I know Melinda can probably relate, and craving good old KC BBQ and baked beans, or even just a plain old thick cheeseburger with fries. Just the cornbread made here in the US is completely different than anywhere in the world. Think of not being able to be reduced to craving Dominos pizza because it is the only thing available overseas that is even close to what you are used to savoring when you think pizza.

I am happy to inform you all the the owner is back from being out of town. It is a new owner, but he is Colombian and was out of the country getting married. He apologized for my experience when I went to visit my favorites spot on the west side, and assured me that he will take care of us if we go back as a blogger group again. Wookie does not know it, but he will be dragged out there soon, and I know Average Jane is ready for a trip back, we need to set that up… but just let me know when you are ready to get your Colombia fix.

Then imagine that a presidential hopeful, and even though I want to use Hilary but I do not find her as eloquent or as loved as maybe Obama is, is kidnapped for 7 years. Then imagine the U.S. military rescuing the presidential candidate along with 14 other people that had been kidnapped without firing a single shot. That is what happened yesterday in Colombia. No big Hollywood production with a Rambo mowing over rebels left and right, just a well planned operation were everyone left alive.

Que Viva Colombia, Que viva la Libertad!

While that makes me very American in some of my thinking and the way I approach things, I never forget my heritage or where I come from. When I came home every night from school, I remember that Colombian food was always on the table. The weekend barbecues always had Colombian music playing in the background, and it was even here in the U.S. that my Mom taught me how to really dance Salsa and Merengue.

I am Colombian, that is where my roots are and it has been five years since I have been back to my country.

The first time I took a trip back I had to go visit the grave of my best friend who died in a tragic car accident. The last time I took a trip down, my Grandpa was sick… this time he is no longer with us and I will most likely go visit his grave. That was one of my biggest fears about going back, that people would have changed so much or just not be with us anymore.

Life is about that, it is about that change. Two of my closest friends are pregnant right now and the cycle of life begins once again. Our families seem to shrink and grow with every passing year, and life continues its course.

I am not nostalgic, I am very excited about the trip I am about to take to Colombia in the coming months. I am visiting my country of origin with my wife, someone that happens to be from the same city I am from, someone that I met here in North America but with the same South American roots I have. I get to meet her family for the first time and make my family instantly double.

I admire the people that move away and come back to the place they were born, I even admire those that stay right where they started. I feel a kinship with those that have moved away and had to adopt other ways of living, because it is not an easy thing to do. The world alien bothered me at first when I moved to the U.S. but slowly but surely it felt very fitting to what I experienced when I got here. I am not an American and not an alien anymore, but I still hold my days as a non English speaker close to my heart.

Even though Kansas City is slowly becoming our new home faster than any other place I have been, I still say I am from Chicago or Colombia. Having great friends come into my life make that transition to calling this place home a lot easier… at the same time harder to leave if we ever chose to do that in our (my – my wife thinks she is a penguin) quest to live with no snow.

I am missing home, I am missing Colombia, partly because my little escape place has been taken way… but mostly because I cannot way to be back there to see so many people that I have not seen in a long time… it has been more than 15 years since I saw some of my classmates… even 20 when you count the grade school ones.

To most people in the US, Mexico is just a dirt down south of the border where you can go see a donkey show. It is also the place everyone runs to when the law is on your tail. Some more sophisticated individuals have actually travelled to our friend to the south and been to Cancun or Puerto Vallarta and think it is an awesome vacation destination and they could totally see themselves living there. What people don’t realize is that the country is huge and it has many different groups of people. Just like the people on the coasts look at midwesterners, people from the capital aka Chilangos look at the rest of Mexico.

One little known fact about hispanics is that overall people from different countries have stereotypes about each other. It goes from the joke that Colombians are just drug dealers to the point of not associating with each other because of their country of origin. When living in Chicago I was told a reason Puerto Ricans do not like Mexicans is because they come to work for lower wages, Puerto Ricans being American citizens take that very personally because someone in their family might have lost a job in the past. Mexican people are not the bad guys of this post, but they do seem to be center stage. I think it is mostly because it is the predominant country of origin that people think of when you say hispanic.

We buy calling cards to make calls to Colombia. It is cheaper than have a plan through a phone carrier still. It is almost a fun trading card game to see which one will give you more actual time when you are making a phone call. I ask the attendant at the store which one is working better recently and most of the time he will have a suggestion.

While waiting in line to buy my card a group of Chilangos was in front of me. They kept on looking back and later I found out that I looked a lot like one of their brothers… not sure if that was true or not. I am not sure why but they thought I was from Guadalajara. I took it as a compliment because the people from Guadalajara I have met have been pretty nice, but I am not sure it could have been an insult. They were young and were just being very open about what they said. I corrected them and told them I was from Colombia and this is when the difference between white people and hispanics begin.

Even the most ignorant person in the US has seen a couple of movies that tells them that Colombians are the drug dealers of the movie world. Just like the Russians are the nuclear arms dealers and the British are the cunning villains. Colombians worst representation comes from Scarface where they are portrayed as savages that want to use a chainsaw on Al Pacino.

The hispanic world has a “better” source for information, Telemundo. There Colombians are painted as violent kidnappers that will kill you if you look at them wrong. While it is true that Colombia has its issues and it is dealing with the FARC, most of its people is very removed from kidnappers, murderers and drug dealers.

The Chilangos took a couple of steps back almost looking scared and started joking about how they should be careful or they would get kidnapped. It was half joking, half kind of ignorant behaviour but I did not do much more than just smile. They confirmed they were Chilangos and told me I look a lot like one of their brothers.

Its funny when people put all of hispanics or even every Mexican into one stereotype box. Even within Colombian there are many cities and we are not all alike. If you like, or dislike me it means nothing when you talk to another Colombian. Even though we might have a lot of values in common, we could also have nothing in common. I just would love for people to drop the labels and start looking at people in an individual basis, but I guess that is still kind of a crazy dream at this point.

I have been curious about role playing for a while. Even though I had a previous experience, this past weekend was the first time that I actually played the Serenity game.

I ended up finding a local gamer, who is also a blogger, also a food lover and cook, also into martial arts, also into plenty of other things that I like. We met a couple of months ago during lunch and had a great conversation but busy schedules had prevented us from getting together more than during just social calls. We had met each other’s wifes and this weekend we both blocked out Saturday night to do dinner and hopefully start a game.

After a wonderful dinner at a local Indian restaurant we had not visited, review of that to come in yelp, we were invaded by puppies. Btw, if you are in the KC area and want a puppy come we can direct you the right way. In any case, after we had settled for the night Bea and I embarked on our first role playing experience. I have to admit that I was surprised that Bea wanted to do it, but super excited she got into it. I might go into details on another post, but I want to concentrate and maybe make sense of the title of the post.

Growing up in Colombia I was familiar with “Cuenteros” known here as storytellers. I have actually been told by many of my friends that when I tell an anecdote I go into too much detail, some like it, some don’t. The first storyteller in my life was my Grandfather who would sit and tell me about growing up, or the army or his job. He would always tell me little details that later became part of the story and I loved every single moment.

The closest thing that I have found to storytellers in the US have been comedians. They are the only people that I have seen that transport an audience with words, sometimes simply to their own lives but just from a different point of view.

Role playing games reminded me of storytelling. As the story developed and the people playing started to build a story I felt very excited. I had missed oral story telling a lot, and now I had found a place where I could not just hear it but be a part of building a fantasy world. The more I thought about it, there more I wanted other people to be there so the story could take other turns and other characters could come into play. While storytelling and role playing are a lot different, I find the similarities enticing and cannot wait to get another night of gaming going.