lightin' up

Out came the golden (literally) pack of cigarettes. Tap tap tap on his palm. He pulled one out, stuck it between his lips like a pro, lit it and took a nice, long drag. Then turned around and went back up to the slide for one more trip down. The pack of 5 or 6 boys sharing two cigarettes between them, taking turns swinging, sliding and smoking.



I'm not sure how to explain the Western, maternal horror that struck me at seeing kids of no more than 12 years old smoking cigarettes. (Yes, I'm sure it happens in the States, too, but I've yet to see it.) It didn't seem to be too off the cultural norm, either. No one else flinched to see it. Every man here smokes, it seems. Not the most attractive habit, but I suppose it kills the time between xe om riders. But the kids... really. Their lungs should be virginal.

Walking through the Children's Park we had the requisite "practice English with the Westerners" kids. No biggie. They shout out the only English they know "Hello!" and I shout back. "How are you?" "I'm fine, how are you?" He has no idea what that means, so shouts out "What is your name?" instead. I smiled, told him my name and walked on. Always good for a smile.

But then came the kids who only seemed to know "F*ck you!" and kept screaming at each other and everyone that passed, including my children. It was the first time I wish I knew some swears in Vietnamese. I really don't know if he had any clue what he was saying beyond the shock value of it. He just kept pointing his finger into our faces and screaming at us, while his friends screamed from the parallel walk... well, it was about more than I could take kindly. But I managed to get out of the park without me pummeling the kid.