The Curiousness of Coincidence

1st Febraury, 2016

The Curiousness of Coincidence

Have you ever wondered about the coincidences in your life and think that, because they’re so alike, they might not be coincidences at all?

Before I go on, I should warn you that this post is about something extremely trivial – or is it? –  that for some of you it might not that interesting. But, sometimes the most trivial of things can spark the most curious reflection.

Anyway.

I have on occasion wondered about the coincidences in my life, although not to the point of looking over my shoulder or fearing that there’s a conspiracy working against me.  I’ve wondered how and why these things have happened but I can’t come up with a sensible reason or than they’re simply coincidences. For me, one of the more curious ones has to do with the sports colour scheme of the schools I have been involved with, either as a student or teacher or coach.  I did my secondary education at Island School in Hong Kong. Most of the uniforms of the sports teams there were red, white and blue – the colours of The Union Jack – but there was a year or two in which our basketball kit was red with blue trim and blue numbers. One year our football uniform was blue with red trim. My favourite professional sports team – Arsenal Football Club – has for the most part always had a red home jersey since I became a fan in 1980. So, in some way, red has been following me since my youth.

Here’s where it gets really curious. I wouldn’t say there’s a conspiracy against me. I mean, come on, what kind of conspiracy is it to have someone exposed to the same colour scheme at different stages of his life at the different institutions that were/are important to him. But, it’s worth a mention.

I did my undergraduate university studies at Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey. Its school colours are red, black and white. The University’s teams’ nickname is The Scarlet Knights. After graduating and a couple of job changes, I found myself coaching at Passaic County Community College. I was the Head Men’s Soccer Coach. We had a great run; getting nationally ranked and reaching the national Division III semi-final. The team’s colours were red and black and white. I did that for a season and a couple of years later I was teaching and coaching at Hunterdon Central Regional High School. (All the schools mentioned in this post are in New Jersey.) I was the Assistant Varsity and Junior Varsity Boys Volleyball Coach. Our school and team colours? Red, Black and White. The school’s teams’ nickname? The Red Devils. During that time, I was working on my M.A. in Coaching and Sports Administration at Montclair State University. I’d gotten into MSU, then Montclair State College, as an undergrad as well but I elected not to go there because there was a foreign (non-English) language requirement. Hindsight being 20/20, I regret not going there for that reason and I regret not pursuing a different language at Rutgers. I could’ve continued my four years of high school French or I could’ve pursued Cantonese (the language of my hometown which I wish I could speak fluently) or Korean (the language of my chosen martial art, Taekwondo). Anyway, MSC’s/MSU’s colours are red, black and white and the nickname is The Red Hawks. My Graduate School graduation cap and gown were red too. Finally, taking our story to present day, I’ve ended up teaching and coaching in the South Orange-Maplewood School District and, again, the school colours are red, black and white.  I am the Head Girls Volleyball Coach for our high school, Columbia, and the Assistant Throws Coach (shot put, discus, javelin) for our Outdoor Track and Field Team.

There have been a couple of hiccoughs. I did coach at then Solomon Schechter Day School, now Golda Och Academy, and the school colours there are blue and white but, as you can see, my life – at least in terms of teaching and coaching – has been coated in red, black and white. Coated or clouded? Hmm. You decide.

Is this purely coincidence? Has someone or some larger organisation set me up so I get hired by schools whose colours are red, black and white? Or, is there something in my psyche or subconscious that makes me apply for and interview better at schools whose colours are red, black and white? Of the three, only black is a favourite colour of mine. To be completely honest, my favourite colours are orange and blue; royal blue to be specific.

So, while I do contend that all of this is likely coincidence, it might be plausible to suggest that there’s something more to it. Maybe one of you reading – someone much more intelligent than myself and who has the proper training in sociology, psychology, neuroscience and other disciplines – can look into this and see if there are others who’ve gone through something like this as well. Perhaps you can explain if I create this coincidence subconsciously and, if so, why red, black and white are so important.

Because of my age (I turned 47 yesterday), my place on my school district’s salary guide and being a tenured teacher, I am not likely going to change teaching and coaching jobs before I retire. If I ever leave my current position, it’ll be for something other than teaching so my red, black and white adventure has more than likely come to its end with Columbia. Or has it?

Thanks for stopping by.

A Rutgers Tradition

A Rutgers Tradition

There are four entries (five, if you count that number one has two definitions) for ‘tradition’ in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary and I would say that all of them are pertinent when referring to the famous – perhaps, infamous – ‘grease trucks’ at Rutgers University.

There’s been a fair amount of press surrounding these once transient lunch mobiles. I recently saw an article (in The Star-Ledger, I think) that mentioned the trucks and how they are going to be affected by the new redevelopment projects that are about to happen at my alma mater. There was also a recent article in the New York Times that addressed the grease trucks’ cultural relevance to New Jersey’s state university and how they face possible extinction in light of the aforementioned proposed changes. Those changes will take place in and around the university’s main campus, particularly at the intersection of College Avenue and Hamilton Street, across from Scott Hall, where the trucks are now permanently located; but for how long?

I don’t know if other colleges and universities have grease trucks. I suspect they do - since they’re simply lunch mobiles - but their trucks may not be as ingrained into the identity and cultural experience of the school’s students as the ones in New Brunswick are to the Rutgers student body, past and present. And, to faculty too! There really is something ‘Rutgers’ about them. If you’ve attended university in New Jersey, whether you went to Rutgers or not, if the topic of food trucks comes up, for certain, you’ll mention or think about the ones on College Ave. I don’t know what will become of them but, like most RU students who’ve walked down College Avenue and spent any time on campus, I’ve had my share of being a grease trucks devotee.

My first experience with the trucks came around November or December of my freshman year. My first two years of college, I was a commuter taking an early bus from South Orange to Newark, where I’d catch the New Jersey Transit Northeast Corridor train to New Brunswick. If I were lucky, meaning my sister didn’t need the car and/or my parents were on one of their long stints in Manila or Hong Kong, I could drive and leave as late as 7:15am to catch my 8:10am class. When taking public transport, my bus was at 6:50am.

Anyway, during that time I joined the RU squash club and made friends with other Asian expat students. They were from Singapore and India and I’m still in touch with some of them. Coming from then British-ruled or formerly British-ruled cities, we played soft ball (yellow and white dot) squash as opposed to the hard ball version many of our American club-mates were playing. So, in addition to our background, we had the sport to speed along our friendships. It was one of these friends from Singapore who took me to my first grease truck. It was a Wednesday, I believe, and we’d arranged to meet after my classes on the Livingston College Campus (now the Kilmer Campus) for lunch before going to my much later classes on Douglass, the Women’s College, where my department (Exercise and Leisure Studies) was located. I don’t remember what I ate but I do remember my friend being very specific as to which truck we were going to queue up. We hadn’t just arranged to meet for lunch. We’d arranged to meet for grease truck food.

From then on, especially with the cold weather upon me, the grease trucks became a regular stop on my way to writing classes and economics labs. They were located in Murray Hall and Scott Hall, respectively, in the Voorhees Mall. I’d pick up a cup of coffee – light and sweet, of course – which would be served in one of those blue and white, Greek motif cups and a bagel with butter or a coffee roll. From these regular stops, I started to discern which trucks made the coffee exactly the way I like it, which trucks had the best French Fries, which ones had the best Taylor Ham, egg and cheese on a roll and so on. At first, you just go to whichever truck has the shortest line. But, when things don’t taste the same, you go back to the truck that gave you exactly what you wanted, how you wanted it and you keep going to that truck.

The College Avenue grease trucks, you see, aren’t just a convenience for Rutgers students and faculty. They’re personal. Each semester, because you’re on a schedule, you pass them on the same days, at the same time. They’re familiar, reassuring. Regrettably, I forget his name (Abad comes to mind), but there was one truck whose proprietor and I started to get to know each other. We’d talk about football (soccer) and Taekwondo. He’d ask about Hong Kong, which is where I grew up and still call home.  And, he’d even give me free coffee on occasion. One time, as I crossed the street to get to class and the line in front of his window was life zapping long, he saw me as I passed through the truck’s back door, next to where the generator was set up. He called me over and gave me a coffee. When I reached for my wallet, he waved me off. The times I visited his truck after that, he never made mention of it and I still got free coffee now and again. A couple of times, he’d even throw in a bagel. 

The trucks become extremely personal, in fact, that a student will risk being late for class – and not just a large lecture where one can get lost in but a small lab or seminar in a much smaller classroom – by getting off at the stop closer to his chosen truck and away from the building his class is being held just to get a particularly made drink or sandwich. Even though you’re not likely to see the owner of the truck in any other setting, he and his truck become ‘yours.’ They’re part of your college experience – your Rutgers experience – and they’ll stick with you for years after you’ve stored your cap and gown. The trucks become so personal and specific that, whether you are going to be late or not,  you’ll find yourself running from one end of College Avenue to another and back to get fried mushrooms from one truck, coffee from another and a hotdog with the works from a third. This might sound impractical – ridiculous and crazy even - but it’s all part of the unique experience the grease trucks and Rutgers are. Perhaps this is one of those things you’d have to be there to really understand and appreciate. One time, when I was studying in the Rutgers College student centre, I overheard other students negotiate a food run. One said he was going to get a burger from one of the trucks, which he named. The next person asked the first if he could get the same thing for him but at a different truck. It’s crazy, but like I said, one’s relationship with a grease truck is that personal and that specific. (I didn’t but I was tempted to jump in and ask the first guy to make a stop for me.) The food from a grease truck, back then anyway, wasn’t exactly the healthiest - burgers, dogs, fries, bagels, doughnuts, etc. – but it’s quick, inexpensive and comforting. And, when you want comfort, you want a truck you can trust.

I graduated from Rutgers in 1991 and I’ve gone back frequently in the years that followed to play tennis with a classmate, watch the US Men’s National Soccer team play Colombia, and compete at Grandmaster Y. B. Choi’s annual Open Taekwondo-Karate-Kung Fu Championship, which was always held in The Barn (the College Avenue campus recreation centre). In the 2000s, I took my wife down to show her where I went to school and to listen to His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. Just last spring, we brought our son and I got to reminisce with a meal at Stuff Yer Face, which hasn’t changed much. We even bought him a red hooded Rutgers sweatshirt. With regard to the grease trucks, though, it was a trip in 2003 that stands out. 

My son in his Rutgers hoodie

I went to the stadium on the Busch Campus with a friend to watch Manchester United’s practice. After it was over and he got autographs and awed at some of the best footballers in the world, we drove to College Avenue for a Fat Cat. (My friend from Singapore, the same one who introduced me to the grease trucks, also introduced me to this ridiculously generous sandwich, which I have to say has gotten much smaller - by more than half - from what it was when I was an undergrad. The size and variety of the Fat Cat is one of the two things that struck me but I’ll talk about the Fat Cat in another blog post.) The other thing that struck me was the location of the grease trucks. There were far fewer in 2003 than when I attended Rutgers (1987-1991). Then, they were lined up on the quad side of College Avenue from Scott Hall all the way down to the dorms just before Brower Commons, the College Avenue dining hall. Now, they’re safely ensconced in a lot behind the bus stop across from Scott Hall on one side, at the corner of College Avenue and Hamilton Street, and frat houses on the other.

They were still there but there was something bland about my grease trucks experience in 2003. Maybe it was because it was summer and not a teeth-chattering December afternoon. Maybe it was because there weren’t many students getting on and off the D and G campus buses and rushing to class in an intense frenzy, harried the way only a self-important college student can be harried. It was bittersweet for me, to say the least. Nonetheless, my friend and I got our Fat Cats and we sat on a concrete stump to enjoy our burgers and talked about football. 

In 2012, the grease trucks are still there in that same lot. I’ve been down to Rutgers a handful of times since 2003 but I see things with an older man’s eyes. The grease trucks may not be what they used to be but at least this generation has its version of them. I hope they stay in the Scott Hall area. That’s where they’ve always started (or ended, depending on which side of College Ave you’re coming from). I don’t know where the new proposed location is for them, if there is one. I hope there is one. There’s nothing like them, especially the way they were when I was a student at Rutgers. Independently owned and rivals for the same crumpled dollar bills in students’ pockets, they form a fleet nonetheless. Lined up, front-to-back and side-by-side, separated each by a generator that purrs as familiarly as the cat you left at home and weren’t allowed to have in your dorm room, they’re there for every Rutgers student. They’re unacknowledged and unconditional friends. If you listen carefully enough, you can almost hear the generators whispering, “We’re here if you need us. If not today, then maybe tonight. If not tonight, then maybe tomorrow.”  Either way, they are a part of Rutgers – a tradition – and they should be maintained. 

I’ve rambled enough about this to the point of needing a pick me up. Think I’ll get myself a coffee, light and sweet, of course.

Least Favourite Days of the Year

In the winter, I wrote a blog post discussing my top ten days of the year. Here, in the interest of balance, are my least favourite days. I tried to find ten but I, honestly, couldn’t think of ten bad ones. I came up with five - barely - which, actually, made me feel good. It reinforced, in me, that there are more good days and times to be enjoyed than there are bad ones.

That said here are my five least favourite days of the year in no particular order.

1. Tax Day. It’s always stressful and confusing; even when I was single, had one job and no self-employment situations. Today, I’m married, have a child and multiple jobs (including one - writing, that I love but isn’t paying off yet) and there are so many other things to consider. Sometimes I agree with the notion of a ‘flat tax’ but sometimes I don’t. What really confuses me, especially when I was single and had only one job, was how there were times I still owed taxes on April 15 when I already had taxes taken out. And this was before they made you pay quarterly taxes in anticipation of what you might owe. Taxes, I suppose, are a good thing when they help provide common services to keep everyone healthy and safe - things like education, police, fire, medical care - but they’re so confusing that sometimes I wish I could just put my money (if I ever have any to speak of) under the proverbial mattress and live in a forest somewhere.

2. The day after the end of the school year. Apart from the two or so years I worked as a personal trainer and ran my first Taekwondo school in the early and mid 1990s, right after I’d graduated from Rutgers and didn’t land a teaching job yet, I’ve been in and around schools all my life. As a result of that, for better or worse, I kind of live with a ‘10 month’ mindset; one that gives me summers off, a week or two off a couple times a year for Spring Break and the holiday vacation in December and the days off for national holidays (Thanksgiving, Memorial Day, etc). The day after the last day of school is nice because it means it’s vacation time and when many people around me - when most people around me - work the entire year and still have to go to work I guess having that vacation time is also a privilege. So, in this regard, it can fall as the 11^th best day of the year.

I’ve included it in this list of worst days of the year because, as much as I cherish my down time and time for myself to do whatever I want (like writing) and as much as I’ve become nostalgic for a simple life, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve also come to treasure what daily routines give me. In some ways, even though I’m busier during the school year, I find that by being busy I’m actually more productive and better organised and, I believe, that is because of the regimentation a daily routine with greater demands gives me.

I’m not saying that I’m lazy and a slacker, although, like many of us I have my slacker times. I’m just saying that routine helps (me) and the end of the school year does a lot to disrupt that.

3. The end of the summer and the start of the new school year. This one might be a little evident. As teachers do, I love my summers because it offers me time to rejuvenate and get stimulated for another school year with new students, students who have gone from one grade to the next and who have become more (sometimes less) motivated. So, for the mere fact that I lose some of my down and me time, I’m sad to see the summer go and for the year to begin. However, this day is also on this list for the same reason that the day after the end of the school year is - it breaks up my routine. The start of summer is rough. Even though I work in the summer, I still have a fair amount of me (read writing) time. However, it’s because I work and don’t have complete freedom that I am able to structure a routine that makes me fairly productive and allows me to get a fair amount done while still enjoying time with my wife, son and dog. The end of the summer disrupts the existing routine, albeit forcing me to structure and get into the groove of a new one, but it’s that period of transition that is so detonation-wire sensitive that, if not greeted properly, can lead one to unstructured and undisciplined months of poor productivity and unhappiness. It’s really a conundrum life is, isn’t it? As good as change is for keeping us on our toes and nurturing creativity and as much as I enjoy my times off, there are many days when I wish I could work in one job that did one thing, like writing, where I could focus on one thing and not have to worry about putting on multiple hats each day.

4. The end of the European football season. Thanks to the wonders of cable television and the internet, I was able to watch and/or listen to coverage of every Arsenal match this season. While it would have been a happier season had my team won more matches and, perhaps, a trophy or two, it was great those one or two times a week when I could shut everything off and enjoy my football and share it with my son. I love Arsenal and I love football. It’s one of those simple pleasures that always make me happy regardless of what else is going on. Arsenal is a team in England and the English league season ended in May. The entire club season ended last month, too, with Chelsea defeating Bayern Munich in the Champions League Final. (Although a fan of English football and a fan of SV Hamburg, a rival of Bayern Munich in the German league, Das Bundesliga, I was rooting for Bayern.) With the European club season over until August, I turn to the local MLS matches here in the US to get my football enjoyment. The quality has gotten better and many European players are coming to play here in the US even before they’ve hit their final legs. For me, though, there’s nothing like English football. When the season ends every May, my heart breaks a little. This year, however, the hurt is alleviated a little because it’s the European Championships, which are being held in Poland and Ukraine. For those of you who don’t know, the Euros is the championship contested between the qualifying national teams in Europe. It’s the World Cup for just European countries and there are also championships in Asia, Africa, South, Central and North American. So, I’ll still get to see some of my favourite European players in action and I’ll get to cheer on my favourite Germans. In the last Euros, in 2008, the German national team lost to Spain in the final. The score was 1-0 and Cesc Fabregas, a former Arsenal player and one of my favourite current players, set up the winning goal that Fernando Torres scored. I watched all of this during the party we had for my son’s baptism. Maybe this year the Germans can lift the cup.

5. Boxing Day. The day after Christmas is such a downer of a day. There is so much hype leading to Christmas, and there should be as a religious celebration and as a secular holiday, but once it’s over it’s like it never was. Is it that things today have become items on a checklist? “Christmas? Done. Check. Take down decorations? Check. Throw tree out? Check.” Everything and everyone seem to be in such a rush these days that no one cherishes and enjoys what’s in front of them anymore. Savouring moments. We don’t, as a society, do enough of that anymore. We should. One day, we’re all going to regret it.

So, those are my least favourite days of the year. Maybe they’re yours too or, perhaps, you’re thinking, “Who is this nut?” or “Dude, have you got some issues!” Whether I am or do, I appreciate your spending the time with me. Hopefully, something in this blog has made you think introspectively or, at the very least, entertained you or made you smile. And, if you want to share what your most and least favourite days of the year are, I’d love to hear from you.

Thanks again and enjoy your day. Who knows? Today might be your favourite.

Things May Change But They Will Always Be The Same

We - my wife, son and I - took a trip down to New Brunswick last weekend. That's where I went to school, as an undergrad at Rutgers University. It was the Friday after our son's birthday (his birthday was on the Thursday) and usually we visit Belmar, stroll on the boardwalk, have pizza then head home. That's what my wife and I did the day before our son, Jude, was born so we've made it a bit of an annual tradition. We were all set, with Jude's new Optimus Prime Transformers bicycle with training wells, but it was too windy and cold so we took Jude on a very early college visit instead.

We parked on Hamilton Street, close to the frat houses, and had lunch at Stuff Yer Face. This wasn't the first time I'd visited RU since graduating in 1991. I'd probably gone back a good dozen times or so but this was the first time I'd gone as a parent. It is WAY too early to think about where Jude will be going to school - although we do need to start saving money for his college tuition now - but I can't help from think about such things, this time of the year, as I see speak to my former students and current athletes who are seniors who are starting to receive acceptance (and rejection) letters.

Stuff Yer Face has a new outside dining area. The walls are less decorated than I remember they were but it's still the same place. The wood paneling hasn't changed and there are, naturally, the requisite Rutgers posters on some of the walls. In the corner, next to the fireplace, is something I think very collegial - a poster advertising Stuff Yer Face's 70 Beers Club. After you've tried their seventy beers you get something like a t-shirt and a free boli.

Thomas Sweets, the ice-cream parlour that my college girlfriend introduced me to and the first place I learnt about that blended ice-cream with 'fill-ins' like M&Ms®, Gummi Bears®, crushed Heath Bars®, nuts and other candy is still there. We didn't go there this time but it did bring back memories of Friday nights having dinner at Stuff Yer Face followed by dessert at Thomas Sweets.

We headed towards The Ferren Deck Mall where the Rutgers Bookstore is but, on the way, we made a pit stop into the New Jersey Books, an independent bookstore that specialises in RU textbooks, attire, paraphernalia and, even, 'regular' books you'd find in any other bookstore. It's a much bigger place on Easton Avenue, with two floors, which is a far cry from the small and often subway train-cramped location around the corner on Somerset. We bought my son a Lisa and Gaspard book and I managed to talk to one of the managers about carrying my novel, Back Kicks And Broken Promises, on consignment.

As we headed for the college bookstore, we passed the new (well, they were already up in the mid 1990s) campus apartments next to the New Brunswick train station. Looking at the building, with apartments on the upper floors, and stores on the ground floor, the structure could've been pinched from New York's Fifth Avenue or Upper West.

Ferren Deck Mall, however, with Marita's Cantina next to the bookstore looked exactly the same as it did when I attended Rutgers. Inside, the bookstore, albeit with newer things -iPods instead of Sony Walkmen - and more stylish college apparel, was laid out the same too. We bought Jude his first pullover college hoodie and, in his straight jeans and adidas® Sambas, he did look like a mini-collegian.

From the bookstore, before our drive home, we stopped into the new Dunkin' Donuts-Baskin Robbins at the train station. The florist at the bottom of the steps and escalator is still there. The steps and the escalator are still long, steep and narrow and have the same brownish-green paint and tiles it had twenty years ago. Driving home, I noticed how there's a sushi spot at almost every block on Route 27 back to the Garden State Parkway and that the campus buses are much more space-agey.

Maybe it's my age and something that happens to those of us entering middle age that makes us reminisce. Maybe it's the lingering images of yesteryear - the train station, Stuff Yer Face, the familiar red brick of Ferren Deck Mall - juxtaposed with the new buildings and improved roadways that triggers fondness. Even though it had been years since I'd lasted visited my alma mater, I almost felt like I'd never left. It was like walking passed someone on the street and both of you doing a turn around, double take before recognising each other and, even though it had been ages since you last saw one another, you pick up right where you left off; hopefully it was a good experience the last time you saw each other.

I write about all of this not because it's what I did with my family and this blog is part living diary. No. It's because it's that time of year that promotes looking back for those of us who've been there and the time of year of hope and adventure for those of us who are about to step in. High school seniors are about to graduate and, two months later, they'll be college freshmen. College seniors are graduating, too, and they're full of hope and knowledge and ambition and dreams to start making their way - and name - in this crazy world of ours.

As quickly as the last four years have gone by, the next fourteen will eventually pass and Jude will be entering his freshman year. To him, in the future, and to all the high school seniors and college seniors, I wish you all good luck and happy adventures. Enjoy this time of your lives and make the most of it. Learn as much as you can, live life as fully as you can and, when the time comes, share all of that with you children.

Cousins...or not?

My father is an only child. He grew up with some cousins who became very close, like brothers and sisters. Those cousins, like my dad, grew up and had their own children. 

My father's cousins' children are my cousins. From my understanding of family tress and such, they are my first cousins. It is also my understanding that my father's cousins are also my cousins but they're my first cousins, once removed. I believe my cousins' cousins would be my second cousins. 

Who's confused? It sounds confusing - and it very well could be because who said family relationships were anything but? - but, if you read it carefully it's easy to follow.

I bring all of this up because it's my first cousin's birthday today and because of a conversation I had with a friend last week, an Italian-American friend, about something she saw in my novel, Back Kicks And Broken Promises. There's a situation in the book that has to do with cousins and first cousins but, instead of calling the older cousin, once removed his cousin, the character referred to him as his uncle. It's what I do in real life, too, when I address and refer to my father's first cousins (my first cousins, once removed) as my tito and tita (uncle and auntie, respectively, in Tagalog). My Italian-American friend said that in Italy their once removed cousins are still referred to as cousins.

So, I write about all of this because, first, I'd like to know what you think? First - and I guess I could consult a family tree resource or website and find out what the accepted definitions are - am I correct in how I've gotten my relationships sorted, regardless of what I call them in real life? Second, I'm curious to know what you do. What's your 'family language' or 'cultural language' when dealing with stuff like this. 

You see, being Asian and growing up in Asia, I found that it's not the actual blood relationship that determines the proper way of addressing someone. Instead, it's the generation and status of a person. Even though my father's first cousins are my cousins also, I refer to them as tito and tita because they're in my father's generation and not my own. This way of addressing people was reinforced during my freshman year of college. I was playing a lot of squash and I'd made friends with other students and squash players from Singapore and Malaysia. One Friday night, I had to shoot home and one of them had nothing better to do so he came with me. We ended up staying at home, eating dinner and hanging with my parents before heading back down to New Brunswick (we were students at Rutgers). My father, in particular, enjoyed the visit because he'd lived in Singapore as a journalist but what stood out was, as soon as my friend met my parents, he politely shook their hands and said, "It's nice to meet you, Auntie" as if he'd been calling my mother that all his life.  And, to my father, he used the term "uncle."

So, what is it for you? Is their a proper way or does it depend on something else? I'd love to hear what you think.