“No, that’s not us!”

The following are a few of our mistaken identities: ***STEPHANIE IS NOT*** Barbie There was an elementary school field trip to the museum in San Geronimo the same day we were there. It was clear that the kids were more interested in examining us that the artifacts in the museum. A group of little boys would come near and shout “Barbie!” and then run away giggling and hide. It’s not just the kids who call me Barbie, there is a grandpa-aged man who calls me Barbie, as well! A mom By far, the most popular question to ask me is if I have any children. Once people realize that Mike and I are married, they want to hear all about our family. The easiest explanation of course, is to tell them that we have only been married 7 months. My response hasn’t been as effective as I had hoped (though I still continue to use it). People figure that I should at least be five months along by now. I even had one lady (after only minutes of knowing me) ask me what I was doing to prevent pregnancy. It didn’t bother me, just helped me see the huge contrast in what is socially acceptable to say here! Natalie I took a little field trip with an older couple to the market in a neighboring town. We went with some other members of their family. When we met up with them, they introduced me as Natalie. I didn’t have the heart to tell them and embarrass them, so I became Natalie for the entire trip. On the way home, they realized that they had been calling me the wrong name the whole time. We all joke about it now. A member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir Mike and I sang in a regional choir for a regional conference where Elder Richard G. Scott spoke. It is rare that someone knows how to read music, so when I sang the alto part of the hymn correctly the first time during the first practice, the ladies in front of me and next to me were all astounded. The senora next to me asked me if I sang with the Tabernacle Choir. She was surprised to hear that I wasn’t associated with the group. That’s a compliment you just don’t get everyday in Utah! After giving the hymn a first try, we literally went through each part one note at a time. It was a long practice! Dog food This wasn’t a judgment by the people here, but by the dog himself. One night walking home from a Saturday evening Career Workshop that we taught, one of the local neighborhood animals attacked me. It caught me off guard because the dog ran at me. To appreciate this act, you have to understand that there are few dogs here that actually have all four paws. Those who have managed to maintain all of their extremities rarely have all of them in working order at the same time. Seeing a dog run at you without a limp is enough to make you wet your pants, but this dog went above and beyond the visual first impression. He made a clean impression of his teeth on the back of my left calf, just below the knee. To make a long story short, we found out that this dog actually has an owner (hence all the parts in working order), but in a rage had escaped for his chain and ran loose in the street. We made a house call to demand to see the vaccination certificate. When the woman said she had no idea where it would be, Mike got more angry than I have ever seen him (which isn’t difficult to do, since he never gets mad). He said that if the dog ever came near me again he would kill it himself (at this point he pulled out his knife). We pass by the house every day and haven’t noticed any odd (rabies-ish) behavior, so I will probably live. (Mike's disclaimer: Dogs here are a very real health risk. They're not your run-of-the-mill dirty dogs, they're often diseased, wounded, with open sores and all sorts of other unpleasantries, and the owner was contradicting herself at every turn, putting my wife's health and possibly her life at risk to try to get out having to pay a fine. I promise I won't do it again, until next time.) ***MIKE IS NOT*** An Elder (Missionary) It probably has something to do with the white shirt and tie I often wear. The fact that I wear colored shirts, and I take my tie off when I’m done with trainings, and I walk around by myself, (or with a girl!) and I never have a companion in sight hasn’t been enough to convince anyone that I’m not actually a missionary in disguise. Even telling people that I’m not a missionary doesn’t work. In Xela there’s an unbreakable equation: White + speaks English + goes to church = missionary Even my friends here slip up and call me Elder when they’re not thinking about it. Many people have told me that they know I’m not a missionary, but it’s just too hard to think of something else to call me when I’m so white. (my name, perhaps?) A former Elder from a few years ago If I’m not an elder now, I must have been one at some point here in Guatemala. Many people have recognized me from a few years ago when I served in their wards (local church units). They’re always surprised when I tell them that that must have been a different tall white guy who was here before. I guess we all look alike. A mission companion of your children or grandchildren Although your children and grandchildren had gringo companions, and in the well-handled photograph you show me there is celluloid evidence of the existence of other gringo missionaries; I can guarantee you it’s not me. Actually, the one you showed me is on the short side, has sandy-blonde hair, and is standing next to a sign that says “Bienvendios a San Pedro Sula” in Honduras. Yes, we look a lot alike (we do??) but I promise it’s not me. El hombre mas grande del mundo (the biggest man in the world) I visited a local school with a friend to pick up his three kids after class. Since he teaches music there, he wanted to show me around (and show me off a little), so we visited a few classrooms, slipping in the back or peering through the windows. There were always a few whispers and turned heads, but nothing really outrageous. When the littlest one got out of class, he didn’t have his backpack, so I went with him to an upstairs classroom where he said he had left it. It was a class of 8 and 9 year old girls in the classroom now, and they were in the middle of class, so I stayed just outside the door. One of them turned around, however, and shrieked! The class turned into pandemonium instantly. Everyone turned around, saw the white giant, and screamed in unison. It was really, really loud. Half of the girls ran to the far corner of the room and another, more daring group came running at me, staying just out of range in case I was going to try to gobble them up. Perhaps the funniest part was the nun who was teaching at the time who just stood stock-still and stared with an open mouth for a few seconds before regaining composure and reassuring the girls in the corner it would be alright. The first girl who dared to speak asked which of the students belonged to me (a kind reassurance that I was at least human, if I was capable of normal Guatemalan offspring). The second simply asked, “Are you the biggest man in the world?” A bad guy I, Michael Hodnett, solemnly swear that I will never eat your children. I will not put them in my backpack and carry them away to the United States, and I will not kidnap them and sell their organs to the CIA for genetic analysis. You need not fear me. When I pass you in the street and you grab your children and push them into the wall, shielding them from me with your body, it hurts my tender heart. ***NEITHER OF US ARE*** Senior Citizens Every new person we meet within the church educational system (or the taxi driver they send) is always surprised when they see us in person. Because even the people we work with don't know how to explain who we are or what we do, they end up calling us missionaries. Somehow it is also communicated that we are a couple. If we are missionaries and a couple, then we must be at least 65. It's funny to see their faces when they realize that their mental picture is 40-50 years off! Part of the circus Strange? maybe. Carnies? definitely not. From the pointing fingers, grins, open-mouth stares, double takes, giggles, and shouts, you would think we were a show not to be missed, but nope, it's just us. Vegetarians There is a general belief here that Americans are vegetarians. We figure it is because most of the tourists who make it up to the altiplano are the sort that hug trees and animals and Guatemalans and anything else they can find to hug. Whenever anyone invites us to dinner they say something like “you don’t eat meat, do you?” Actually, it’s true that we have eaten less meat here in Guatemala, but that is because the bloody animals hanging in the market practically talk and the other option is buying the animal 100% alive. Nothing like a walk through the meat market to make you crave beans and tortillas! Students of one of the many Spanish schools Xela's tourist niche is Spanish schools. No really, google "Xela" or "Quetzaltenango" and that is what you'll get. We pass about ten of them in our walk to the Employment Center each day. When people see gringos, especially college-age ones, they expect that they are students at a Spanish school. They must not notice that we wear dress clothes all the time, not tevas and jeans and dredlocks. A common question from friendly vendors is "and what school do you study at?" said in slow, simple Spanish. When we tell them that we aren't students, our best friend, the confused look, makes yet another appearance.