A picnic for employees and families of an international financial institution and it is raining. We stand, huddled in a concrete shelter, eating sushi, pork buns and cupcakes.
I talk to a husband. He is wearing a polo shirt and checked shorts. Originally from Idonesia, he likes tennis and his gait is spritely. Two of the small girls running round the shelter belong to him. He tells me he is a fan of the television show, 'Spooks'.
'My middle name is also my last name', he says in response to my question. 'It's confusing'. He explains that when he first came to the States, twenty years ago, they mixed up his names on the immigration form. When his father came to visit his newborn grand-daughter, fifteen years later, he was surprised to find her birth-certificate not bearing the surname he expected.
He tells me that he was raised a Catholic and the name is after a Catholic saint. I ask if his children are being brought up in the same religion. He looks over to his wife and shrugs. 'I don't know', he says.
No comments:
Post a Comment