The trouble with the whole missionary situation is that, by default, the mission field is always a zillion miles from home. Pastor’s Kids get it easy in this regard. Their dad drives to work. Ours took 5 separate flights of varying length and comfort (I take that back. The comfort was non-existent) over 12 different timezones and dragged us along for the ride.
Welcome to MK Tales, home to MK’s that survived the journey and lived to tell the tale. As a Missionary Kid, you’re pretty much an acronym from the word go. MK*, TCK**, PK***, CL****, you name it. They slap a badge on you and shove you out into the bright light to run around blind and disoriented, bumping into things.