My first trip outside the U.S.

Fifteen years old.

My friend’s mother invited me along on a trip through the Caribbean. A heady invitation for me. People didn’t hop across oceans back then quite like they do now and spring break meant two days off from school to play in the back yard.  Leaving the country was a big deal. At least for me and my family.

My friend’s mother like to travel. She also liked to test her French and Spanish which she never mastered despite years of study. She was bright, Phi Beta Kappa, with a love for drama that didn’t play well on our small-town stage. Translate that to few friends and a need for company on her travels through the islands, even if the company were teens.

So we began an adventure which led to my first martini and only voodoo ceremony. It was also my first encounter with racial integration and all the issues it raised. Most I had never considered, but this time I was among the minority.

I kept a journal and I still have it. Not as detailed or in depth as I’d like now, but what a 15-year-old chose to record. More from it and of this trip later.