The Strength of Cultural Misunderstanding
One hot summer day when I was six years old, my Swedish parents surprised my younger sister and me with an excursion to the public pool. We were recent immigrants and had only lived in our new town for a few weeks. To add to my excitement, they gave me a dollar to buy us some ice cream. Thrilled, as soon as we marked a spot with our towels, I darted across the pool area towards the long line of kids waiting to buy a cone or a sundae.