It is more blessed to give…
Being charitable makes you feel good, and sometimes sad.
I was a twenty something bouncing from job to job just to pay rent in San Diego and keep beer in the fridge. I had moved in with a college buddy who was studying law. Our lifestyle in the modest, working-class neighborhood we called home was a bit Bohemian, and in some ways, it was like we never left college.
My roommate, Patrick, noticed we were swearing… a lot. Pat suggested we set up a “swear jar.” Anytime one of us would swear, we had to put a quarter in the jar. The idea was to fill up the jar and buy beer with the swearing fines.
The jar started to fill up fast. We got a bigger jar. When the bigger jar was nearly full, Pat had another idea. Instead of buying beer with the swear jar proceeds, he suggested driving to a nearby Gemco store (a membership store before Price Club and Costco arrived) and buy food staples to donate to the orphanage in Tecate, Mexico, just across the border. Done and done.
Pat and I walked through the neighborhood and asked our neighbors if they had anything to donate to the orphanage. We got odds and ends like a nightstand, an electric fan, a bed frame, and other assorted stuff. We drove his pick-up to Gemco and bought a couple of hundred dollars’ worth of food… large bags of rice, beans, and flour plus a lot of plain, white-labeled generic canned goods.
The next Saturday, we packed up and drove about an hour and a half to Tecate. The town was kinda like a movie set… a quiet pueblo with plenty of shops and restaurants but not much traffic. We had a problem… we didn’t know where the orphanage was located. We stopped at the police station. Again, I’m getting the feeling we’re on a movie set… the police station was straight out of a Sam Peckinpah film. A couple of police officers, both wearing mismatched shades of khaki uniforms, were busy doing paperwork. I noticed a rifle rack with an assortment of rifles of different calibers plus a couple of shotguns in the corner. We got the attention of the police sergeant on duty.
Uh-oh… now we have a language problem… we know a little Spanish but how do we ask for directions to the orphanage? Pat and I started brainstorming as El Sargento looked on patiently. OK… let’s start with “dónde” for “where.” Hmmm… then how would we say building or house… OK, that’s “la casa.” We already knew that “niños” meant children. We’re getting close… “Dónde la casa para niños?” We must have looked like two dumb gringos to the supervisor trying to sound out a simple question in Spanish. I’m trying to figure out how to say children without families when Pat says… “sin familias.” Thank God for cognates! We turned to Sargento and asked in unison… “Dónde esta la casa para niños sin familias?” The police supervisor looked at us and responded in English, “Do you mean orphanage?” Pat and I were a little shocked. Were we supposed to laugh or act deferential? We smiled and said… “Si!” He gave us directions to the orphanage. We explained, in English, we were delivering supplies to the nuns at the orphanage. He smiled and said… “Gracias.”
Ten minutes later we were driving down a rutted road to a couple of nondescript tan buildings. Kids and a couple of nuns came out of nowhere. It was early spring, but the nuns told us that earlier, heavy rains had made roads in the area impassable until a week or so ago. We were the first people that year to bring supplies and donations to the orphanage.
Kids were everywhere. Pat and I unloaded the back of the pick-up. Pat is solidly built and he sports a shock of blond curly hair. I pointed to Pat and said to the kids, “Mi amigo… El Rubio!” The kids roared with laughter. It felt good helping these “niños sin familias.” Then, one girl walked up with a huge smile. She was 8 maybe 9 years old. I didn’t notice at first, but when she turned her head, I could see a golf ball sized tumor on her cheek below her right eye. I was overcome by feelings about what her life must be like. Would she get medical care? Do the other kids tease her? I was still feeling good about helping, but I turned to Pat and said, “Let’s go.” The kids waved goodbye to us for a long time as we drove away on that rutted road.
Copyright © 2023 by Ray Fowler
