I was talking to my friend Dave this morning, and something about that series of messages sent my mind off to a little idea I had a while back.  When I shared that idea with my good wife, she seemed enthused with it.

Dave happened to spend some time in India, with our son Bryce.  And we happened to go visit Bryce in India, and we happened to have Indian food last night for supper . . .

So, bear with us as we have a little India reunion here on paper. 

I’ll do it in segments, with the title of India on each one.  That way, if you would rather not read about it, you can toss it off when you see the title.

*****

I was on my way to an Oklahoma cattle sale, going through the ups and downs where service for my cell was sketchy at best when I saw I had a call from Bryce.

I lost his call almost immediately, but he called back and told me the reason for his call.

Austin had been to L.A. for six months to give some volunteer time there and had just recently returned.  Bryce had talked off and on about giving some time; he usually said he was leaning a bit more to foreign, and I usually told him I was good with that. 

It seemed he had become aware of a need for help in Northern India and wondered if he should give his name to the person in charge of that area.

We talked it over; he told me he really had had Africa in mind.  I reminded him of how he got such bad headaches from the heat in summer and wondered how Africa would work in that respect. 

He said, yeah, but he didn’t really know anything about India.

And neither did I. 

We were nearing the end of our conversation, and I was nearing the dry Cimmaron Riverbed that was just on this side of the Oklahoma line. I knew dipping down into it would cut my connection again, so we signed off.

I don’t know for sure what happened next, except when I left the sale I got another call from Bryce, and it seemed that somehow, in that short amount of time, he had decided to go to India instead of Africa and the powers that be were working on getting a time frame for him to go.

I felt rather depleted and elated all at once.

And then, three quick months later, I was standing together with my family at the ticket counter in Garden City, as Bryce got his bags checked through the little one-gate airport we call home. 

I was planning on it taking a lot longer to get checked through than it did.  I figured a flight to the other side of the world would have some complications.  But it didn’t, and he had his bags checked through in less than 5 minutes. 

I was an emotional garbage basket.

Not so with Bryce.  I had helped him pack and weigh everything at home and he had been whistling and singing the whole time through. 

Me, crying. 

On the inside because I didn’t want to spoil his special day. 

Two years seemed like a long time, especially to a country that was known to be against any religion except Hindu and had a history of snatching and holding those they thought had crossed the line.

Almost from the day Bryce left, we started talking and making plans to go visit him. 

We settled on the halfway mark of his time there, and purchased tickets for the 11^th of November, flying from Garden City to Atlanta.  Overnighting at Atlanta and then Atlanta, Detroit, Amsterdam, New Delhi, overnighting there, and then New Delhi, Bagdogra, and then a 45 minute drive from there to where Bryce lived.

Total time to get there, minus the overnights, was in the 40-hour range.  Coming home was 52 hours.

I remember that vividly.