Squeaky Feet and Bubbling Frogs: Inside the Mission Home

Once tired of the landscape outside the Mission Home in Bangkok, we could open the front door to a wheezing accompaniment of an air-filled anti-door slammer. Shoes off, as was the policy everywhere in Thailand, we'd step into a new setting while the door hissed slowly shut behind us. For starters, we were in the dining room, an area with two long tables flanked by cushioned, high-backed red chairs. To our left, a set of stairs went to the host family's rooms. I had never been up there, but I was always drawn to a series of ornamental pastel spheres hugging a floor-to-ceiling metal banister at staggered intervals. To me, they suggested playthings, yet were serious indoor features.

The polished wood floor in the living area squeaked with every step as our bare feet rubbed against the dry surface. And there were such attractions worth squeaking over for. At the far end of the dining room, set barely in reach on the half wall delineating a linoleum-covered strip of kitchen, was a dispenser that smartly served cold water. Grab a cup--probably one of those hard, nearly opaque red plastic ones--and hold it high to push against the vertical lever. There would be a slight click, and without fail, a neat stream of refreshing drink would jet into the vessel.

The living room offered the richest features of the house. The couches arranged around a central rug and coffee table, the big window looking out on the rectangle of side lawn, the latest missionary Brown Gold publication with perhaps a funny article written by someone I knew--all those were decent. The kids, however, could be found on the other side of the living room, faces close to a large aquarium with a small sunken pirate ship and a somber ceramic frog emitting bubbles. Like the balls on the banister, these illuminated miniatures resting on their bed of watery gravel connoted toys, but were not to be taken out and played with. I hardly remember the fish for whom the tank was surely intended.

If too many children were pressed around the aquarium, one could simply take a couple of steps and stand in front of a large blue metal fan. And when tired of the powerful breeze, we could try experimenting with vocalizations in front of it--"ahhh . . . . ewww . . . . eeeee"-- and hear the voice distorted and bumpy, possibly until an adult voice commanded us to cease and desist.

The book cupboard, however, was a favorite stop in this room. Two wooden doors, flush with the wall, opened to reveal about three shelves of kids' books, covers facing out. The volumes jostled for space, some falling to the floor of the cupboard and milling around down there. Every time we visited, I re-read familiar stories: A Fly Went By; a British book about a white bear with yellow plaid pants named Rupert whose illustrations I found slightly dark; a story using the words "fortunately" and "unfortunately" as a frame for the narrative. Unfortunately, though, I also found a slim volume of "true" ghost stories which were truly terrifying for a seven-year-old and haunted me in other settings after we'd left that place. Fortunately, the creepy supernatural effect faded over time, and didn't come to mind so much when I had to walk places in the dark.

I remember dinners with other missionary families on those soft red chairs. The host had a devotional after some meals--I know because I wanted him to finish so I could get down and go play. I also remember watching one young woman with long blond hair chewing her food. She was an adult daughter of the host family, and I was curious. Why was her munching so measured and slow? Was this careful chewing a grown-up habit? To this day, if young children are turned around in church watching as I sing, I become aware of their gaze and know how the little wheels in their heads must be turning.

Another time, the hostess walked around the table serving each guest a small, neat slice of cake. When she bent down and held the platter out to me, I rotated my hand over the dessert, trying to strategize a way to get a larger portion of the confection. Unfortunately, the slices appeared to be uniform. Finally, the hostess laughed and said that I was trying to find the biggest piece. "Now, how did she know that's what I was doing?" I thought, mildly flustered and called out.

There was more to the place--you would never suspect, for one thing, the existence of such interesting bathrooms --but fortunately, I have a slot in my schedule to complete the tour soon.