Page 3 of Exchanged

“Enzo,” Dad says, digging in his jeans pocket for his keys, “give him a hand with his bag.”

I reach out to take the handle of his luggage, but Garrett shifts it away from me. “I got it.”

His tone is short, and he avoids eye contact. He’s either stubbornly independent or there’s something about me he doesn’t like.

Not that it matters anyway. He’ll be gone tomorrow.

Your first meeting with your Youth Ambassador is crucial, serving as the foundation for the deep relationship you will build over the course of the year. Consider doing the following:

Offer a warm welcome. Your Ambassador will have undertaken a long journey before arriving at your home. Plan to meet them at the airport, and make it easy for them to find you among other travelers. Welcome signs are always helpful!

Be patient with communication. It is unlikely that English will be your Ambassador’s first language. Be understanding as you navigate your first conversations together. A good place to start is asking your Ambassador about their flight or mentioning a small fact you’ve learned about their country of origin.

Introduce your community. Showing your Ambassador around your home is one of the most exciting parts of this experience and will help your Ambassador feel grounded in their new environment. Don’t be offended if they respond differently than you expect; they might be jet-lagged, and may need a nice meal and some rest before they are ready to engage.

Set clear expectations. In the first day or two, plan to have a family meeting to discuss the expectations of your home. Remember that your Ambassador is coming from a different cultural background; routines and customs that feel normal to you may be entirely new to them.

—From The Global Youth Ambassadors Handbook,

Section 2: “Welcoming Your Youth Ambassador”

TWO

On the drive to Irontown, Emma and Dad fire a barrage of get-to-know-you questions at Garrett. He’s distracted, overwhelmed, but he does his best to answer each one.

He plays football.

Does debate.

Is planning to attend Ellison University in Atlanta for pre-law.

Emma and Dad draw him out of his shell with their excitement, and soon he’s describing his favorite Atlanta restaurants and hangout spots, the three of them chatting amiably like nothing is wrong with this situation. We’re supposed to be driving home a violinist from Eastern Europe—or Western Asia—but Dad and Emma seem content to have swapped Davit out for a football bro from Atlanta.

We crest a hill, and Irontown spreads out below. Rooftops and steeples poke out among the trees, the whole place cradled between red iron-filled bluffs. Beyond the bluffs, just visible past the miles and miles of forest, sprawled across the horizon, is Lake Superior, looking like the sky flipped itself upside down and became part of the landscape. We drive through town, and in the warm amber light of evening, it feels like the opening sequence to a feel-good family film. There are golden retrievers out on walks and kids on bikes and old ladies gardening, and I can almost hear the optimistic Alan Silvestri piano theme underscoring it all.

Dad and Emma do the work of pointing out all the landmarks: City hall with its ornate clock tower and green patina. The band shell in the park. Our high school, crumbling and old; its sports complex, gleaming and new.

The Catholic church.

Grady’s Bar and Grill.

The Lutheran church.

The Range Bar and Grill.

The Episcopalian Church.

Cheeky’s Bar and Grill.

You get the picture.

As we drive, yellow flags emblazoned with a pickax-wielding miner hang from every light post, proclaiming IRONTOWN MINERS: DIVISION C STATE FOOTBALL CHAMPIONS! They’re from three years ago, and most of the players are now off at college, or—more likely—digging away in the mine and getting drunk at the bars every Friday. Irontown doesn’t care, though. We’ll take what we can get.

We drive the length of Main Street and stop where it dead-ends at the edge of town.

Garrett points out the window. “What’s that?”

A line of barbed wire fencing runs across the street, separating us from the forest on the other side. The paved road and its sidewalk continue under the fence, cracked and weathered from so many winters of ice and snow. Trees and undergrowth push in on either side of it.