You think in two languages and can’t tell right away which language you are thinking in.
You know what it’s like to visit five different churches in three days…. and everyone knows you there – yet you have no idea who they are.
You have a passport, but no driver’s license.
You know how to pack.
You wince when people pronounce foreign words.
You are asked if you have lions in your back yard.
You don’t know what to say when people ask for your address.
You prefer boiled sugar water and maple flavoring rather than real maple syrup.
You describe Americans as if you were not one yourself.
You have to think of what time it is for the person you are about to call.
You think in meters, liters and grams – just like everyone but the US.
You speak with authority on the quality of airline travel.
Going home can be used in both directions of flight.
You sort your friends by continents, then countries, then alphabet.
You tell people where you are from and they ask if you can say something.
You believe vehemently that football is played with your foot and a small round spotted ball.
You realize that it IS a small world after all.
Your mom gets excited over finding Doritos at a local store…and buys them all.
You have stopped in the middle of an argument to find the translation of the word you just used.
(011) and (001) are familiar area codes.
You read the international section before the comics.
The nationals say “I knew an American once” and ask you if you know them.
You aren’t terribly surprised when you do.
You would be more afraid to send your kids to public school then on an unescorted plane trip.
You look at the Rockies and think “nice hills.”
You hesitate before writing the date because you are unsure of whether to write day/month/year, month/day/year or some variation thereof.
You wake up one day and realize you aren’t a foreigner anymore.
You wake up one day and realize you are still a foreigner.
And for those of you who don’t know what MK stands for, you aren’t one. It stands for Missionary Kid, by the way.