A Dutchman in America
It was many years ago, that I was born in the fair city of Amsterdam, in the Netherlands also known as Holland. My parents soon moved us to bigger house in a small town called Aalsmeer, about 15 miles south of Amsterdam. And that’s where I grew up, went go to school, and found my first job.
I started as an intern in a small software company. And contrary to popular belief I must have done something right, because even before my internship was over, I was offered a job. Starting at the bottom as a junior developer I learned a lot. In the next few years I would be a software engineer, consultant, analyst, designer and trainer. Life was good. And life got even better when I had the great fortune to fall in love with a wonderful lady.
But the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. The little snag was that the lady in question was a citizen of the United States of America. And so, sometime later I found myself living in America.
America is nothing like Holland. But then again, America was nothing like what I had seen on TV either. There were no pitched battles between the cops and drug lords. Well, not as many as TV would make me believe anyway. And most people didn’t act much like seen on soap opera’s. People actually seemed sort of…normal. But only sort of.
Some things I had never seen before seemed almost ordinary. Other more ordinary things seemed somehow stranger. The banking system in America seems overly complex and expensive. You can turn right on a red light (don’t try that in Holland!). Social security is virtually non existent. Supermarkets stay open 24 hours a day. And I can't help but notice a distinct lack of windmills. Except for on mini golf courses.
It has been a few years now, and I am getting used to living in America. But I can’t escape my roots. I am still a Dutchman. In America.
Ps. Does anybody know where you can get drop around Atlanta, GA?
Pps. Drop is dutch licorice. Which can not be compared to American licorice.