The Life in a Death in the Family

Today was a good day at the end of a rough week. My Grandfather died last Saturday. I was very far from home. I found out in an email from my brother and started crying in the internet cafe, this internet cafe, the one I´m in now. I walked back to my house. I tried to remember the correct conjugation for ´he died´ so I could tell my host mom. I went to my room. I sat on my bed. And I felt very far from home.

There´s a happy ending here. I´ve cast my nighted color off, so to speak. My family was great at supporting me, making me feel right. My pastor at the pentecostal church where I worship stopped our Wednesday service and asked everyone (I mean the whole crowd) to give me a hug. I was in a little church with a dozen hands on me, people kissing my cheeks, blessing me, and telling me how happy they were that my Grandfather was in heaven. I felt loved and supported.

And so I thank those who knew and were praying for me last week. I thank those who didn´t know and prayed for me anyway. And I thank those who don´t so much pray as just send good thoughts. It´s all good. We are small. I love you.

Some of the inner-monologue

I want to write something light and insightful. I want to tell a cute story that sums it all up. My first week of service. What to say about it? It was awful and hard and exhausting. I could say that. But don´t say that. It will seem like you are glorifying yourself, or worse, looking for pity.

It was fun and exciting and challenging. I could say that. But don´t say that. People will think that all you do is fun and games. I can´t believe you are spending a year playing tag with 8 year-olds. (I play a lot of tag.)

Talk about the boys. Talk about just one boy. Which boy? Luis? I do spend the most time with him. His behaviour covers the spectrum. It´s wild and unchecked, mostly uncheckable. Sometimes when he cries, I feel like he´s screaming against the whole world. When I put him in timeout, he kicks and punches his way out and hides under the table.

And when we ride on the bus to school in the mornings, he wants to hold the tickets, thin strips of paper with the time, the fare, and the bus line printed on it. He smiles and rolls them between his fingers. He shows me his toys and the drawings he does at school.

That should do it. It´s quick and it doesn´t have any hard to swallow details. I can`t tell these boys´ stories. I don´t know their stories. For now, I´ll stick to what I know.

Both Feet In

The boys at the home swear I have the largest feet they have ever seen. They marvel at them, ask me what size they are, and when I tell them, they tell me I´m lying. Surely these can´t be a reasonable size, these must defy sizing. I think they expect me to answer- They have no size, they are specially made for giants like myself.

I´m into my service now. I´m two enornmous feet in. And the boys, for now, treat me like a celebrity, a novelty, and I´m thankful for the reprieve. I don´t have to talk much (not that my Spanish is really good enough to do so). I can get by with hugs, with the occaisional- ¿Qué tal, chico?- and with handshakes that that they teach me and reteach me. They change every time we do them.

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Pictures are up. This group spans from orientation in Chicago through our in country orientation. There are no pictures of the home yet. Those will come later, as I get to know the boys more.

He Llegado

I have arrived. There is too much to say. Here is some of the stimuli:

- On the trains, people try to sell everything from chocolate bars to alarm clocks to mix CDs of your favorite 90s ballads (including Richard Marx, Celine Dion, and Bryan Adams). They call out their goods: ¨Un reloj, solo tres pesos...Un reloj...Chocolates, tres por un peso.¨ They pass through once, twice, sometimes leaving the chocoloate bar in the empty seat next to me. Trying to tempt me.

- In 2001, Argentina experienced an economic collapse equal to the crash that led to our Great Depression. I am seeing a nation four years into the worst economic period in its history.

- One cannot properly greet or meet with a guest in Argentina without providing tea, coffee, and snacks to that guest. I average six coffees a day, sometimes a few mates (MAH-tays), and many, many cookies and pastries. No visit is brief. Our days are remarkably busy without causing any real haste.

More entries and pictures soon.