ESTA ES SU CASA--NOVEMBER 2010

ESTA ES SU CASA--NOVEMBER 2010

THE POOR ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU

Every time I gave a talk in St. Louis, I’d show pictures of Chemo and his heart surgeon and I’d say something like, “Imagine these doctors leaving their own children behind to come to Honduras and help my son--that is real love, don’t you think?” Then suddenly, at Wydown Junior High, I caught myself mid-sentence--I don’t know if the kids noticed my pause--and I thought, “O my God, that’s what I'M doing...!” That sounds pretty self-congratulatory, I know, but it cleared my mind. I was missing Chemo so much that I didn’t see the open hearts right in front of me, full of love.

Of course, it would be Wydown that tipped the balance--thanks to Debra Baker and other awesome teachers, the kids had had not one but two “Hat Days” (when students “pay” to wear a hat or cap); they collected a valise full of toys; and they just wouldn’t let me go. But it was the same everywhere. Tom Wehling’s eighth graders at MICDS had adopted Chemo almost as much as I did. Lisa Portell and Jeanette Sipp at Parkway South High had prepared my visit with World Cup precision, and eager, attentive students filled the theater during their “free time,” Academic Lab, and they are following up with special tee-shirts. And at Selvidge Middle School, Julia Buehler showed exactly why she was voted Teacher of the Year when she whipped up the troops in less than 24 hours for my “surprise” visit. Kim Hanan-West at Parkway North was in a class by herself. Her father had just died suddenly but she greeted me with a huge hug, “Oh, Miguel, how are your children?” She gave me money she had collected from hot chocolate sales in her classroom. “There’ll be more, when it gets colder,” she winked.

Maybe it helped this time that I began each presentation with a phone call, to Chemo or Pablo and Chepito, and had the audience shout “Hola!” all the way to Honduras. That brought things into perspective, how close we are, though far away.

Indeed, my biggest expense in St. Louis was calling Honduras at least twice a day. Well, first of all, I did miss Chemo, but I wanted Dora, who was taking care of Chemo, to know I was not taking her kindness for granted. So I’d call before and after school, along with frequent calls to Pablo and Chepito, Cristian, Santos and Alba, and Dionis, and others. At about a dollar a minute, the cost was high, but it did keep me focused.

Focused on friends and family. It was not just the “stadium” venues like schools that bespoke the power of love, but even more the intimate and individual relationships that make my visits so memorable. The gracious hospitality just overwhelms me. Teresa Jorgen was the constant companion, and more generous with her car than ever, if that’s even possible! If it was a “sacrifice” to leave Chemo behind, friends and family up in the States consoled me endlessly. You know, I probably ate more in a day than I’d eat in a week in Honduras, including a late-night run to “Five Guys Burgers and Fries.”

The whole world celebrated on my birthday October 12. Of course, most of the cheering was for the 33 miners getting rescued one by one in Chile. Like you, I bet, I watched it all night, till everybody was out. As someone said, it was a mirror-image of 9/11, the world’s attention riveted by a disaster in a tower BELOW the earth, where everyone got out alive this time.

But I have to say, it seemed as if a lot of folks were in even deeper holes. Every time you turned around, another gay teen, most notably Tyler Clementi at Rutgers University, had thrown himself to death like the jumpers in the Twin Towers. And the same question, how bad is it in schools where kids are killing themselves to stop the pain? Amidst the helpless feeling, a website emerged that promised some hope: It Gets Better, filled with video testimonies of survival (itgetsbetterproject.com). And maybe you saw the extraordinary video of Fort Worth councilman Joel Burns pleading for the rescue of our bullied children (joelburns.com). What if all politicians spoke this honestly, this compassionately, this briefly? For one thing, they’d stop torturing us with all their skunk ads.

I caught some things--besides my birthday--that I miss when I come in April. It’s usually just about impossible to get my family together, but we had built-in parties to bookend my visit, my niece Justyne’s 8th birthday just after I arrived and my niece Jaslyn’s first birthday just before I left. And Parkway North Homecoming. North beat Kirkwood, thanks to a gutsy 4th-and-goal play with about 5 minutes left in the game. (“We voted on it!” the coach said proudly.) I turned to principal Jenny Marquart and shouted, “I’m just as excited as the last time!” Speaking of Homecomings, Teresa’s challenged nephew Bryan, a junior at Lindbergh High School, dressed up and went to his Homecoming Dance in his wheelchair, and “danced” with the sweetest girl in the world, Lizzie, a friend since kindergarten. And Barb Kelley came in for a visit from France, just before the lock-down there with all the strikes protesting the End of the World, a little uptick in the retirement age from 60 to 62. Mark Williams snuck in, too, after two months abroad with his extended “family” in France.

Hoping for playoffs, I did manage to catch a Cardinals game, one day before they were mathematically eliminated. Father Carl Dehne took me to the early-morning Mass he says for the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa’s nuns) in North St. Louis, where I could thank them for praying so faithfully and so fruitfully for Chemo. They loved seeing the photos of Chemo Before and After his operation. And since it had come time for Teresa’s little white dog Jo-Jo to go to Dog Heaven, we went very early one morning to Kirkwood Animal Hospital, where we shared a little prayer with the gentlest doctor you could wish for, Kathleen Hemler, and the staff, who had been caring for Jo-Jo for years.

Parkway North grads Randy and Jeff Vines, St. Louis fanatics, showed us their St. Louis Style shop on Cherokee St. (stl-style.com), where they were taking a logo tee-shirt order from Cam Mizell (North 1999) for his band in New York City. And another St. Louis booster, Tim McKernan, who heads “The Morning After” chat fest on AM 590 “The Fan,” invited me to call into the show; Tim is my second-cousin, but I like to say I’m his “uncle,” you know, ‘cause I’m so OLD, and he’s so young! It gave me a chance to boost my own love, Honduras, and compliment Tim for his admirable fairness with sensitive issues.

For my last supper, Rams treated me and Teresa and my sister Barb to Citizen Kane’s steakhouse in Kirkwood. But upstaging the fine cuts of meat was our server, Matt Krenz, who Teresa recognized from “American Streetballers,” the only film cast, shot, and scored wholly in St. Louis. Matt not only starred in the movie; he wrote, produced, and directed it! Maybe you saw it at the Tivoli last year. (Go to americanstreetballers.com to order the DVD.) It’s pretty ironic that my adios to St. Louis should so smoothly transition me back to Honduras. The theme of both the movie and our daily reality is the same: our common humanity despite the differences between us. Or, to put it another way, as Jesus said, “The poor are always with you.”

Coincidence welcomed me again in Tegucigalpa when I took my old Go-Phone to get re-tooled for use in Honduras. The technician and I started to chat, and I mentioned Chemo and his surgery, and he says, “That’s really something, my two-year-old niece just had open-heart surgery.” From the same doctors, it turns out, in town again for another brigada.

Big day for my return to Las Vegas. Dora had a delicious lunch, chop suey! Then we immediately went off to the Rosario Misionero, a daily visit during October to folks who cannot frequent church, but it includes prayers for every continent on the planet. I told them, this is what sustained me while I was in St. Louis. Then a final celebración of the novena for an 80-year-old woman who had died, which went on and on, but after a month away, I was OK, even though I had never known the woman. Then on to a wake for 26-year-old Nandito, shot by gang members in Tegucigalpa when he refused to join. Shot in the face; I took one very brief look. I did not recognize him (no one would!), though they assure me he was here last year during Holy Week, and I vaguely remember him at his grandparents' house in those days with all the other siblings from Tegus and San Pedro Sula. Then on to Maricela's, where I gave her baby clothes from Carol Stanton for little Mariana Teresa. And they looked at the photobook, they pored over it, which is appropriate, since they are featured in it so much! Then on to Natalia's house (Chemo's grandma), just to touch base, before eating supper at Alba's, picking up the routine as if we'd never left. Then back to the house (my house!) with Chemo and cousins Joel and Dionis, who I left to pick through boys clothes from Melissa Pomeranz and Laura Stanton, while I returned to Nandito’s wake, waiting for the prayer service led by the delegados. Funny thing: no delegados showed up. Finally, about 11:00 p.m., the crowd was getting restless, and the grandparents said, "Shouldn't we start?" It was so weird, I was the only one there, so I did the whole thing myself. And I didn't even know him! But I guess, fresh from a month in St. Louis, I knew what family is and what friends are, and what the love of God is. I just tried to think, what would Teresa say? What would Rams say? What would Barb say? What would any of you say?

So I guess you sent me back just in time.

Love, Miguel