Phuket and Penang

My report from these two ports maybe a little rushed and short. It’s the last day of the cruise and I just finished packing. In a few hours my Mom, Dad, Carol, Sukey and I will celebrate Casey’s 13^th birthday in the Grand Dining Room. His actual birthday is next Wednesday, but we wanted to let him enjoy a birthday cake on Nautica.

A few minutes ago, while I was frantically packing in the cabin, trying to remember what was where and what still needed to be done, Casey gently interrupted me, “Dad, could I have eye contact. Just for a moment?” Whenever I really want his attention I ask for eye contact. He rarely asks that of me.

“Sure Casey. Sorry I’m so stressed. I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something. What’s up buddy?”

He moved about six inches away from me, placed both his arms around my neck, stared directly into my eyes and said, “Dad, before we leave I want to thank you for bringing me on this trip. I really had a good time and I love you.” Before I could answer he quickly kissed me and said, “Now I’m going to go finish my math homework!”

Casey has been a delight. Last night Nautica’s cooking demonstrator and two other passengers took me aside to compliment me on Casey’s behavior throughout the past 35-days. “My wife and I travel a lot, we go on Holland America, Princess and sometimes here. Most of the time kids are a pain in the ass. I gotta tell you—your son is an absolute delight. He is well behaved, he holds elevators—that is one good kid!” Hearing other people describe Casey in those terms sends chills down my spine. At home I have three notebooks with hundreds of pages from state psychiatrists, psychologists and adolescent specialists, all of whom describe Casey as having severe behavioral disorders, being in desperate need of psychiatric medication and likely growing suffering from alcoholism, addiction or prison. My experience proves this isn’t destined for Casey. He has the freedom to make his own choices and pick his own path. Hundreds of passengers aboard Nautica consider him well-behaved, polite, honest and a pleasure to cruise with.

Last night, Donald Cant, who has played the phantom in Phantom of the Opera hundreds of times, asked if he could keep in touch with Casey via email. They’ve played some games, talked and Casey has asked him quite a bit about theatre. My son loves to work backstage, running lights, controlling microphones and making sure the show goes off without a hitch. Donald wants to encourage Casey’s love of theatre and he loves that I’ve adopted him from foster care and that he is doing so well. Watching the two of them in Horizons last night, laughing, drinking Shirley Temples, both full of life and enjoying each other almost burst my heart with gratitude and pride. The next few years may be hard—Casey will be a teenagers, my Dad has a progressive, fatal disease, but I know there will be many moments of happiness, meaning and depth. I’m starting to believe that life isn’t about always being happy. Joy is great when it happens, but to experience a full life requires feeling everything—pleasures, disappointments, euphoria and grief. And I want a full life. I hope to end up an octogenarian knowing I lived as diversely, deeply and compassionately as I could.

Two days ago Sukey arranged an elephant safari in Phuket. The safari company she engaged offered an hour through the jungle, on clean, well-cared for elephants for about $30 each. My parents had never ridden elephants, and the only other time I

did it was a hot, short, dusty ride. The experience was amazing. We climbed a small platform, maneuvered to our metal seat attached by ropes around the elephants, and off we went. Each elephant has a mahout who is typically bonded with the elephant for life. I rode the youngest elephant—she was 27—the other three were around 50.

Sukey wanted Casey to have his own elephant, so that meant I got my own too. Sukey insisted on paying for Casey, and it was so much fun to watch him. His guide let him sit right behind the elephant’s head. As we slowly made our way through the jungle, feeling the muscles of my elephant vibrate through my bare heels and toes, I tried to let my elephant know how much I appreciated her letting me

experience this ride and and the sublime feeling of her powerful, rhythmic gait. Riding her I was fearless. We were truly the lords of the jungles. There are few

things as powerful, stimulating and awe-inspiring as riding an elephant.

Elephants seem so calm. They are funny, smart, constantly eating and look out for each other—particularly their young. The hour passed quickly and when the ride ended we drove to a seashell museum, a Buddhist temple and a shopping mall. By

then it was hot, we’d been off the ship almost five hours, and even though we could have used our driver for a few more hours we returned to Nautica.

The next day we docked in Penang, Malaysia. I’d never been to Malaysia before and I was curious to go ashore. The ship berthed right in Georgetown, which is the main city on the island of Penang. Since Casey enjoys excitement, I booked an excursion from Oceania, which offered a tour of Georgetown by trishaw. I’d been on a trishaw before in Vietnam, and they can be very small. I checked with the excursion staff and was told that these trishaws were much larger than those and that they can easily accommodate two or three people. Based on that, I bought two tickets, $69 per person, as I thought going with the ship might be a little safer than traveling alone.

When we disembarked I saw the trishaws were small. Most couples had a difficult time fitting in them. The local guide apologized but said that this tour we arranged so we unfortunately had to share. When I asked her privately she indicated that sometimes tour operators or ships arrange for one trishaw per person, but this tour was setup to save costs by sharing. I was annoyed. Trishaws can be rented on the street for $5 an hour. In my opinion, there wasn’t any excuse for Oceania to charge me $140 for a three-hour trishaw tour for two, and then expect me to fit into a trishaw designed for two very small people, or one husky American. I voiced my complaint to the destination staff and since they had a few extra prepaid trishaws they gav

e me my own and Casey rode with one of the staff he really likes. The tour

was fine. We went to a remarkable Chinese Clan House called Pinang Peranakan Mansion. I enjoyed it very much. I’d never seen a wealthy Chinese home from the early 1900’s. The furnishing, design, relief carvings and colors were breathtaking. Next we went to the Baba Nyonya museum. It was interesting, the displays were in English as well as Chinese, but Casey quickly got bored. He wanted to ride around in a trishaw and see more of Georgetown. Our last stop, the Eastern and Oriental Hotel, was a replica of a turn of the century elaborate British meets Asia Hotel. It reminded me of Raffles in

Singapore without as much character or ambience. The refreshments they served us on a patio overlooking the ocean were excellent. They gave us a curry treat, chicken satay, tea and desserts. Still, the whole excursion annoyed me. The cost of admission for the museum and clan house was less than $8 per person, the refreshments couldn’t have cost more than $15 and our total time on the trishaw was only about 45 minutes of the three hour tour. We hardly toured Georgetown by Trishaw at all!

Needless to say I don’t recommend this tour. Casey and I would have been much better off to rent individual Trishaws and visit the Clan House on our own. After lunch I wandered the streets of Georgetown and really enjoyed it. The island is an easy destination for English speaking passengers as many residents speak some English, and like Hong Kong, the signs are usually bilingual. I bought a few batik shirts, got a foot massage and rode around for about an hour in a trishaw for $4. I would have explored more but it was getting hot by early afternoon—around 85 degrees—so I returned to Nautica.

Last night was the final show, Salute. It is sort of a greatest hits from different performers and ended with the crew of Nautica taking the stage to a standing ovation. Leaving a cruise is usually sad. A 7-day Alaska cruise

isn’t too difficult—it’s hard to meet many people in a week—but after 35-days with only 600 guests, new friendships form, old friendships grow, and all of us know that though we may cruise again, it will never be with this group of passengers or this crew. Each cruise is unique, and I’ll always remember this as the cruise where Casey enjoyed the last month of his childhood and my Dad, Mom and I really felt the reality of what my Dad’s disease means to our family.

Tomorrow morning we disembark in Singapore. Casey and I fly to Hong Kong and then direct to Vancouver. Though I wish I could show him Hong Kong, it’s one of my favorite cities in the world and I am very comfortable there, I am ready to come home. I’m worried about my dog (he was fitted with a wheel chair a few weeks before I left), I miss my friends and I have a lot to do at work. My parents take the same flights the next day. I used award miles and couldn’t get four award seats the same day.

A few nights ago a couple on their honeymoon approached me. They are in their mid-30’s and were some of the youngest passengers aboard.

“I just want to thank you for your lecture,” she said. “We don’t go to those—though I wish we had seen yours—but I was flipping through the channels in our cabin and I heard you talking and it sounded so honest. I stopped to listen and then made my husband listen too.”

“I’m so glad we did,” he interjected, “I believe things happen for a reason and we needed to hear what you had to say about family. Especially about adopting your son. We’ve been trying to have kids and it looks like we can’t have our own. We’ve talked about adoption and weren’t so sure, but after hearing about you and your son we both think we can do it—you really encouraged us.”

She nodded in agreement. “We’ve been scared that it might not feel the same, that raising someone else’s child might not feel like raising your own, but I’ve watched you for a month with your son and thought you looked so happy… then when I heard your story, about him being in foster care, how you adopted him, about how you’ve grown to love him… well, we think that maybe the reason we were led to his cruise was to hear you speak.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was simultaneously grateful and embarrassed. “You heard my reading so you know it wasn’t always easy. Still isn’t. But you’re right. I couldn’t love Casey any more if he’d been my child from birth. It was a risk to be so personal about Casey in public… but I felt I needed to tell the truth… and I don’t think I could be a good dad to Casey if I didn’t recognize that it isn’t always easy—that sometimes my first reaction to him isn’t love or compassion, it’s anger or frustration. Having you tell me that hearing some of our story is encouraging you to pursue adoption makes it all worthwhile. Thank you so much for telling me—I think we are both encouraging each other.” We talked a few more minutes than went our separate ways.

I do want to tell Casey and my story. Not because we’re special or there is anything extraordinary about us, but because it’s a story that is worth telling because it has the possibility of changing lives. When I get home I’m going to finish writing our story. I don’t care how many copies it sells, or whether it’s a literary masterpiece—I care that it makes the world a better place. Good stories are like rocks tossed in a pond. They ripple out, sometimes a little way, sometimes further than we can see, but their energy travels far past their point of creation. I know that telling our story to the best of my ability will change some lives for the better, and from my perspective, that’s the best anyone who creates art can ever hope to achieve.

Thanks for reading.

Jack