It's Halloween here in Chile. I was told, by a somewhat reliable Chilean source, that in Chile the kids don't really do Halloween. What he told me, exactly, was: "If they want candy today, why won't they want candy tomorrow?" I reminded him that we work with kids, but that didn't have much of an effect.
But the kids came to our little casa in droves. Lots of princesses and superheroes. The obligatory baby pumpkin (he got most of the candy). We hadn't expected them, so we all emptied our pockets of the candy that we had acquired throughout the day and gave it to the little kiddies, who had previously (along with their parents) been afraid of the houseful of gringos, whom they thought were Mormons.
I dressed up, as I thought it was a requirement of the small party/meeting we were having. I had my costume picked out since I arrived. The Chilean teen has a very distinctive look: Lots of black, short denim skirt, piercings, tights and high boots. I have these things. That was it. I celebrated my briliance.
As I live with a Chillena, and have Chilean friends, I thought I might offend someone. So I made a point of saying that I was a Chilean teen. Teenagers, by definition, can be made fun of, no matter where they live. So I went with it. Brilliant.
During the party, I spoke to my parents. I'll admit that with my choices, as they are, I feel like a little kids in their eyes right now. I need help. I need money. I need support. But for all of that, every day I realize that I have adult problems. Problems that when I left, I had no idea I had.
Each day is a little more about perspective. I try to remind myself that compared to most of these eight year olds, I have it pretty easy. I try to remind myself of this when I'm pissed that I've had to stop buying shoes and bags. Or DVDs. Or the good toilet paper. That it isn't just about money. Its about having the security, and the knowledge that no matter what happens, someone will help you. My kids don't always have that. That's the perspective.
I'm trying not to preach, or be too dramatic. I'm lucky to see that the children in my class have moms, or dads or someone who loves them. So many of the other volunteers never get to see that. They don't see my kids hugging their parents when I let them out of the gate at the end of the school day. They don't see the well-packed snack. They don't see the love.
But I do. I see it in my kids, and in my own family. Adult or not, problems or not, I have love waiting for me in NYC.
So thanks for that.
But the kids came to our little casa in droves. Lots of princesses and superheroes. The obligatory baby pumpkin (he got most of the candy). We hadn't expected them, so we all emptied our pockets of the candy that we had acquired throughout the day and gave it to the little kiddies, who had previously (along with their parents) been afraid of the houseful of gringos, whom they thought were Mormons.
I dressed up, as I thought it was a requirement of the small party/meeting we were having. I had my costume picked out since I arrived. The Chilean teen has a very distinctive look: Lots of black, short denim skirt, piercings, tights and high boots. I have these things. That was it. I celebrated my briliance.
As I live with a Chillena, and have Chilean friends, I thought I might offend someone. So I made a point of saying that I was a Chilean teen. Teenagers, by definition, can be made fun of, no matter where they live. So I went with it. Brilliant.
During the party, I spoke to my parents. I'll admit that with my choices, as they are, I feel like a little kids in their eyes right now. I need help. I need money. I need support. But for all of that, every day I realize that I have adult problems. Problems that when I left, I had no idea I had.
Each day is a little more about perspective. I try to remind myself that compared to most of these eight year olds, I have it pretty easy. I try to remind myself of this when I'm pissed that I've had to stop buying shoes and bags. Or DVDs. Or the good toilet paper. That it isn't just about money. Its about having the security, and the knowledge that no matter what happens, someone will help you. My kids don't always have that. That's the perspective.
I'm trying not to preach, or be too dramatic. I'm lucky to see that the children in my class have moms, or dads or someone who loves them. So many of the other volunteers never get to see that. They don't see my kids hugging their parents when I let them out of the gate at the end of the school day. They don't see the well-packed snack. They don't see the love.
But I do. I see it in my kids, and in my own family. Adult or not, problems or not, I have love waiting for me in NYC.
So thanks for that.
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