The family car was a nice maroon and gray 1989 Mitsubishi Colt Vista. The interior of the car wasn’t clean at all, which is very usual when a family has three boys. Dad used to drive all the time: mom in the front seat, my sister Rebeca and I in the second row, and my brothers Pablo and Sami in the third row. The rides were never quiet; there was at least one fight per ride. Rebeca would get car-sick and puke, and I would always make fun of her: “she’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke!” Mom and Dad would argue because we were lost, or other circumstances. So, the rides were not precisely quality time with the family. Or maybe they were, depending on the point of view of the family member. The worst rides were the Sunday morning rides. Everybody was late, Dad didn’t have enough time to finish his sermon, Mom was cooking breakfast, and we were running around the house instead of getting ready for church.
Children
A Note for Grant: Shit!
When I lived in Tacoma, WA. my friend Kris hosted me and opened his house for me. During that time I became really close to his kids, Mitch and Grant. A few months ago Kris asked me to send Grant a letter for his 13th birthday. Kris said: “it can be funny, serious, irreverent, or just a few lines.” I decided to go on the irreverent and funny side. So, here it is. Below you will find the letter I sent Grant. I hope you find it as funny as I think it is.
Dear Grant,
First of all, happy birthday. I really hope that you have a very exciting day. Turning 13 is quite a step in life. In this time of your life you will start realizing that things that were not shameful before now will make your blood go to your face. And, for that reason I am going to share with you a story,something that happened to me when I was your age. And just so you know, just a few people know these story. (And in this blog, all of my readers!)
Every summer my family and I used to go to lake Atitlan. Atitlan is a beautiful place where mayan legends become alive and where hippies fill the streets with weird hand-crafts and dances. During the summer of 1997, i had just turned 13, we went to Atitlan as we used to.
During the first night that we were in Panajachel, the town where we were staying, I went to eat out with one of my uncles. I ate 3 slices of pizza, a hot-dog, an empanada (a meet filled pastry), and 2 pieces of pie. And as you can imagine, i was very sick the next day. I woke up at 2:00 am with the runs, and i felt as if my butt was going to fall off. After a few hours with the runs i fell asleep again and was able to rest.
Around 10:00 am that morning my family was going for a walk and to do aome shopping, and of course i didn’t want to miss the adventure. Before leaving the house my mom asked me, “are you sure you feel well enough to go?” To what I answered “yes”. Little did I know that when you have had the runs, it is very likely that you will have them again during the same day. A couple hours after we started walking i felt my tummy growling. Every step i took my butt got looser and looser. But, i didn’t want to tell my mom about it because she had ask before if i was well enough for the walk, and i had said yes.
My first idea was to use the restroom at the first stop we made. The problem was that the store owner didn’t let me us the restroom because we didn’t buy anything. At this point i decided that i was going to walk back to where we were staying. I thought I would have enough time to walk back and go to the bathroom. I knew that it was going to be hard for me to get back in time, so I decided to take the back way to the place where we were staying. I knew that I was not going to find people in the back way, so I thought I was safe.
I started walking back and as soon as I gave the forst steps i felt mu tummy growling again. The more i walked the more my butt got loose. Every step of the way back felt like a mile. I started sweting cold and took a break every electricity pole on the way back. After walking for about twenty minutes I knew I was not going to make it. I felt a chilling cold down my spine. I felt my hands sweting and tingling. And then i felt an itch on my nose and seezed. And, as I sneezed, i felt my butt relaxing and letting everything inside me out. As soon as i sneezed I realized I had shat my pants all the way to my knees. O was waring shorts so i could feel it dripping down my legs. And then, I started the walk of shame back to the place we were staying. When I was going to start walking i saw that there was an old guy staring at me. He had witnessed everything, from the swet, to the sneeze, to the crap dripping down my legs. The old guy stared ate and said, “you are a nasty little prick!” And then, he walked away. But, the story is not over yet. I walked all the way back to where we were staying and realized tha I had forgotten the key to the house we rented. I had to wait in the courtyard of the property, and use a hose to wash my legs.
I know this might not be the kind of story you wanna hear on your birthday, but this is how I realized that there are some things that aren’t funny when they happen to us. I think, however, that we need to laugh at these embarrassing things, so we can live a life with abundance. I really hope you have a great day, and enjoy this teenage years. These years to come can be the best, but can also be really difficult and hard to understand. In fact, you might never understand what happened to you through this period of your life.
Finally, I just have to say that I love you little brother. I pray and hope that you grow up to be a man of good knowing that love is all that matters, and that we cannot allow fear and shame to define who we are.
Peace,
Chasing a Little Ghost
A couple weeks ago I went for a walk with my wife in the afternoon and we ended up chasing a ghost. my wife and I live in an area of Guatemala city that is very interesting. We can drive to either the wealthiest or the poorest parts of the city in a matter of minutes, that is without traffic of course. We love to take walks in our neighborhood and see how the city jams in the afternoon when everybody is trying to go out for lunch. Today, it was not the exception. The streets were packed and business people were all over the place.
As we were walking through zone 10, the streets were flooded by people and cars coming in every direction. It was quite a work out to cross the streets and get to our final destination, the bakery and the post office. After we dropped some letters at the post office, we went to the bakery, which is just a few blocks away. Right when we were getting to the corner where the bakery is on, a little boy, not older than 7 years old, extended his hand and asked us for some coins. The scene is not unusual in Guatemala City. In fact, Guatemala City authorities say that there is about 6,000 kids and young adults who live on the streets.
When the little boy asked us for money we decided that we were going to go into the bakery and buy him some bread. We went in and bought the bread, and when we came out to give it to him he was gone. it didn’t took us more than a few minutes to complete the transaction and buy the bread. Though it was enough for him to take off and disappear on the streets of Guatemala City. But, we didn’t give up and we knew that he was not far away, it was impossible to just vanish in a matter of seconds, and we decided to go and look for him in the blocks around the bakery. While we were deciding which was to go on our search I saw a small figure in the corner of my eye walking away, almost at the end of the block. I told my wife that the little boy was not far away, and we started walking towards him. I never lost sight of him and we walked fast enough to get to where he was, but slow enough to not look menacing or scary.
As we were walking towards him, my wife saw another little boy on the street who was playing with some sticks and bottles. When my wife saw the other little boy I took my eyes off the other kid and checked on the kid playing with sticks and bottles to make sure he was not the first boy we saw. When I looked up again I saw the boy that we saw first turning right around the corner. By then, we were just a few steps behind him. When we got to the corner it was as if the kid vanished in thin air. The little boy wasn’t there anymore, and the street where we turned was almost empty of people.
I know the kid wasn’t a ghost. But, it felt like if I had seen one. It felt as if he made himself present only to my wife and I. As the boy walked through the street, people didn’t acknowledge his presence, people didn’t even notice he was there. And for that reason, the little boy was a ghost. In the end we gave the bread to the kid who was playing with the empty bottles and sticks. But, the whole experience made me think and reflect deeply. How many times do I ignore the vulnerable? How often do I fake blindness and omit the presence of the needy? Could it possible that I purposely blind my eyes as I am out of my office and the communities where I work? I ask this questions from the perspective of somebody who has dedicated his youth to work among vulnerable populations, and I am ashamed that the answers to these questions are not what I would like them to be.
Los Niños Siempre Serán Niños
Hace un par de días visité una comunidad cerca del Relleno Sanitario de la Zona 3 en la Ciudad de Guatemala. Las calles lucen igual desde que comencé a trabajar ahí hace ya siete años. Los vecinos han hecho un par de “chapuces” (arreglos), como ellos dicen, en algunas casas. Sin embargo, la comunidad tiene la misma apariencia. El día que visité este vecindario me di cuenta que muchos de los niños que había cuando comencé a trabajar allí, ya no eran niños. Ahora, muchos de ellos son pre-adolescentes y adolescentes. Muchos de ellos ya no tienen el brillo que solían tener en sus ojos, otros reflejan mucho dolor y otros simplemente pareciera que se han perdido en un mundo paralelo creado por sus mentes.
Mientras miraba y reflexionaba en esta situación pude observar a un grupo de niñas que estaban jugando “a la casita”. Sus sonrisas y carcajadas iluminaban el sombrío callejón en donde jugaban. Al ver esto, no pude evitar pensar en el personaje de Peter Pan, el niño que nunca creció. Según el cuento, Peter Pan es un niño que vive en una mundo lejano, la tierra de Nunca Jamás, y junto a un grupo de niños (los niños perdidos) viven aventuras increíbles tratando de huir de el malvado capitán garfio. Para ser honesto, después de ver el sufrimiento de los niños al perder su inocencia y darse cuenta del contexto de pobreza y violencia en donde viven, quisiera que “Nunca Jamás” realmente existiera, que en vez de jugar sobre pilas de basura pudieran jugar en montañas verdes y bosques llenos de vegetación, que en vez de ser abusados sexual, física y emocionalmente tuvieran que enfrentarse al Capitán Garfio y sus secuaces. Sin embargo, no hay montañas verdes, y los problemas a los que se enfrentan estos pequeños son peores que el Capitán Garfio.
Después de reflexionar y luchar con esto, me he dado cuenta de que los niños siempre serán niños. Pasarán generaciones de generaciones y siempre habrán niños. La pobreza siempre estará y ahí estarán los niños. El abuso siempre lo sufrirán y perderán la inocencia. Sin embargo, reirán de los mismos chistes y jugaran las mismas rondas. El Problema es que los adultos también siempre serán adultos, y el abuso, la omisión y la indiferencia también permanecerán. Por eso, los niños siempre serán niños. “porque lo hiciste a uno de estos pequeños, lo hiciste a mi”—Jesús.
theurbanwonderer 