ESTA ES SU CASA--SEPTEMBER 2014
HAPPINESS IS THE TRUTH
See you in St. Louis, Sep. 17 to Oct. 15. I’ll be at Teresa Jorgen’s house (314-966-5782); my cell phone: 314-210-5303.
The horrors of Ferguson left me so helpless I had to acknowledge some truth in flame thrower Ann Coulter’s recent column excoriating “Christian narcissists” who fly off to the far reaches of the world “to serve man” when the need is so great right at home in the United States. I cried daily for Ferguson; the most I could do was climb the hill to the church every day to pray the Rosary and beg God’s mercy. So I’m in Honduras and would “challenge” you to pour buckets of cold cash on my “important” work, while my own home town is burning in shame, and broken hearts and bigotry push the very limits of FACEBOOK. I hope I can find a spot to pray and maybe lend a hand when I’m home.
Last month I had to “come clean” about Honduras, and I wonder if you are mad at me for not telling you the whole truth about how scary Honduras really is. It’s a reality I tried to ameliorate over the years with my hopeful stories of those precious and dear persons whose struggles against all odds have inspired me, folks that I wanted to be the face of Honduras for you, too. Well, the bitter truth is so overwhelming, I can hardly make a dent in it. Until Ferguson, the horror stories of Honduras were all over the news. I saw a reference in one article that these children of Central America, these “refugees” as they are being called, show the signs of PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, like soldiers barely surviving combat in war. I would never want to diminish what our veterans have suffered by diluting the term, yet that clicked for me. Could a whole generation be “disordered”? God help me, I see it even in myself! Sometimes I’m so confused, so directionless, so anxious, why doesn’t this work? why doesn’t this work out? so crippled by fear, so stressed, I guess I have to say, that I can’t move. Chemo, of course, is the touchstone of my life and my worry. I can’t help imagining that he will die in this mess here--he’s already had at least two life-threatening episodes with illness, as well as the threats that circulate even here in Las Vegas--or that I will die suddenly, a second father torn from him. More rosaries!
Let me say all this here, so I don’t have to say it in St. Louis. This is verging on self-pity, if indeed I haven’t crossed that line. I’m traveling light! I’m not taking this baggage to St. Louis! I am coming “home” to see your beautiful faces. Like Henry Fonda, lost in the woods, guided home by Katherine Hepburn in “On Golden Pond.”
So, back to our true purpose, hat tip to Pharrell Williams!
Helping Hands for Honduras--the folks that saved Chemo and so many other children in need of open-heart surgery--had another fundraiser in Tegucigalpa, this time a special performance of a wild and crazy comedy about Honduras in the World Cup. It was pure magic, beginning with the location. This troupe of performers write their own productions, and have become pretty famous around here, but their theater is ensconced in a dark corner of the fourth level of an abandoned mall that looks like the one in “Children of Men.” But once inside, it’s all light and joy. The play was sheer formula, the men want to watch the World Cup, the wives want to watch soap operas, the loopy neighbor brings them all together, but it was so lively and endearing, it seemed like one long improv. I snapped pictures like crazy, and even Chemo took some photos on his cell phone.
Dia de Lempira, celebrating the native chief who resisted the Spanish invasion of Honduras 500 years ago, had the kids dressed up in their little costumes, a tribute you might say to an undying hope that Lempira’s dream of a beautiful land could still come true.
Maestro en Casa, the education program Chemo is studying, had their annual event, too, celebrating Human Rights. Chemo was all set to perform a dance with the students in his class, but the other guys were too embarrassed, so it fell apart. Lots of other students from all over were not so shy, so there were plenty of performances.
Speaking of performers, Jorge “Nanqui” Cardona is becoming a national sensation! He’s the soccer player I told you about, eldest son of my supposed “girlfriend” Santa (in her dreams!) in Progreso. I first met in 1977, when Santa was about 10 years old. Nangui’s team, “Honduras Progreso,” is a rebirth of a team that had a short life in the 1960s; and they are getting noticed. I went to their game a couple weeks ago, which they won in a tense struggle 1-0 against an established team that must have asked themselves, “Who ARE these guys??” Nangui was outstanding in the game (“Player of the Week” in La Prensa), but his biggest “goal” came the day before, when his wife Marta gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Nangui was with her the whole time at the clinic, and went right back there after the game. Meanwhile, the rest of the family celebrated with baleadas (stuffed flour tortillas) at Marta’s streetcorner stand, now staffed by her best friend Alicia. Follow the team on Twitter--?
We celebrated Fermin’s birthday, number 48 and he’s feeling it! But he was so loved and adored at least that day--including his daughter Arlin giving him his “baby bottle”--that it might last all year.
Juan Carlos, the young man shot in the shoulder when a drunk was aiming at his boss, came back from Lajas to Las Vegas to visit family. The bullet hole has healed, no bigger than a skeeter bite, but the bullet itself is still lodged against his shoulder blade. But, you see, he’s on this “list” because there’s no hate in his heart, he’s just raising his boy, now in kindergarten, and loving his wife.
And Padre Chepito has arrived to be our new pastor. There’s a Chamber of Commerce campaign to promote Honduran products, “HECHO EN CASA,” ‘homemade.’ Well, Chepito is just that, having grown up in our own mountains. In fact, our beloved Tia Clara told me he would stay at her house when he had errands or projects to do in Las Vegas. I am hoping Chemo will soon be making his First Communion with Chepito!
First I heard of Coca-Cola’s “Share a Coke with----” promotion was when an Internet hoax said that the “Michael” bottles were loaded with dirt by some disgruntled employee. When I found a “Jesus” Coke down here, I had to buy it. I got a “Juan” for Chemo (real name, Juan Anselmo), a “Maria” for Fermin’s wife, even an “Erick” for Ery, my neighbor with Down Syndrome. I have yet to find a “Miguel”....
But, thanks as always for sharing! See you soon!
Love, Miguel
