How Do I Explain These Things About America to My Danish Husband?
Why we don't know where Denmark is and other fun facts
Have you ever tried explaining this weird country of ours to an outsider who asked a lot of questions? That’s my life every day. With a husband who left “the second happiest country on Earth” and landed in America right before the outbreak of COVID, this isn’t just a strange new place. It’s a parallel universe.
Here are just some of the things he’s been wondering about (and I’ve been struggling to explain) lately.
Why everything is donated
It started with the benches. My husband noticed that so many of them in New York and Los Angeles were “dedicated” to people. I explained to him that those benches were “sponsored” by family members.
Then he noticed the long stretches of highways that were up for “adoption.” Hospital wings were “donated.” So were the libraries, trails, trees, you name it. It seemed like in America, anything from a children’s playground to a bathroom stall could be purchased.
“The whole country is pretty much for sale,” my husband laughed.
Indeed, during my graduate studies at UCLA, I was explained that if you wanted the “nice stuff,” you should go to the business school cafeteria, which was ten times nicer than ours, at the Schools of Arts. They had free cucumber water, pool tables and better sandwiches, all because their alumni donated more money.
It turned out that in America, it wasn’t enough to pay high college tuition. You needed to send in more money after you graduated, too. And, amazingly, people do!
“What are you people paying taxes for if everything has to be donated by private individuals?” my husband wondered.
“Our amazing healthcare system, of course!” I responded.
“Or is this just another way of ego-boosting in America? Slapping your name on something, anything.”
Why so many people don’t understand where he’s from
In America, my Danish husband is a man from “Where?” or Amsterdam, at best. Often the pasties come to mind. A small and irrelevant country of Denmark has never seemed smaller than when he landed in the U.S.Ti
My husband doesn’t get offended, and he never corrects the person. In fact, he feels embarrassed every time someone confuses him for a Dutch. As if he was causing the discomfort. He lowers his eyes and nods along.
“It’s our fault,” he says, “We’re barely visible on the map.” But I don’t agree with him.
My step-daughters have had two years of American public school education now, split between New York and Los Angeles, middle schools and high school, and they’ve yet to have Geography as a subject. Something they studied regularly and loved in Denmark doesn’t seem to matter in the U.S.
“I guess it pays to keep Americans dumb,” my husband noted.
Maybe one day we’ll realize that there’s a lot to learn from the tiny European countries. Until then, I’m married to a Dutchman.
Why an American summer camp is a scary place
This summer, my Danish step-daughters were going to their first summer camp in America. After a tragic year of online schooling in a new country, they were excited. Back home, they were used to sleepaway camps in the woods where kids got to run wild and free and experience a true sense of adventure and immersion in nature. They couldn’t wait to get back to that.
Then something called a “Registration Packet” for the camp in the mountains landed on our dining table. My husband was psyched to learn about all the adventures the kids were gonna be having. Instead, he found a list of every scary scenario that might occur during the camp, warning that the organizers wouldn’t be liable for any of that. Followed by a list of disclosures to sign, of course.
“American summer camps seem like really scary places,” he sighed.
Once again, he learned that we were a country of legal warnings and not carefree activities. Especially, sadly, when it comes to children.
Upon his daughters’ return from the camp, the younger one complained that she wasn’t allowed to play by the shallow river running through the camp grounds, unless she had permission and a company of a counselor.
My husband laughed when he saw that “river.”
“In America, if there’s no real danger, they will invent it!”
Why they always recommend you “see a doctor first”
I recently came across this suggestion while researching how to get rid of fleas on the dog: “If you’re thinking about using a flea shampoo or something similar, talk to your veterinarian first.” Seems like an innocent suggestion to most Americans, but to an outsider, it’s insane.
As my husband recently pointed out: “Why do American articles, and even people, always recommend I talk to my doctor first?” I realized he was right.
“Don’t people forget that doctors here are expensive, even with insurance? And visits are a hassle!”
He got me thinking. Why are we constantly told to go see a doctor for every stupid reason, instead of being advised on how to help ourselves and avoid visiting one? Can’t we all just agree that doctors in America are hardly patient-centered?
Indeed, while living in England, I was able to easily get free advice over the phone from both doctors and veterinarians. That is not at all the case in the U.S. Last time I tried to ask a receptionist at a vet clinic in Los Angeles for some free advice (to avoid bringing my dog in for no reason), she repeated like a parrot that I had to come in and see the doctor (as if he wasn’t going to charge me $80 for his answer).
My husband’s daughters even had to go to a physician for a “health check-up” before they could enter a summer camp (on top of another mandated check-up they had a month earlier).
“This obsession with constantly seeing doctors is just another scam poor Americans are not aware of,” my husband concluded.