Pasame la Botella and Enjoy the Show, My Father’s Eyes, My Mother’s Eyes And a Load to Carry

Attachment: Jorge came by Gerardo’s house the other day and said that the family was returning to the States Thurday morning and that I would stay with them (essentially move out of Gerardo’s house). Gerardo gave me a hard time about it, joking and all, but said that when his wife heard that she was going to cry. And she did. When we were sitting down for our customary cup of coffee in the evening Gerardo told her I was leaving the next day, and sure as Spanish in Mexico she started tearing up. My mother’s eyes told me she didn’t want me to leave. I felt in my heart in that moment that I didn’t want to leave either…
We woke up (my protégé and I) and went to the caseta. As we were walking to the caseta I passed a man with gray stringy hair, bent over by the weight of a large trash bag, with shoes on that barely had the soles attached. I walked by him thinking what could I possibly do for the man. We weren’t far from the caseta so I asked Rosa Alma for a torta. She made it very quickly and I caught up with the man. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Amigo, Dios te ve y Dios te bendiga.” I handed him the torta as he mumbled some sort of thanks, but as I turned to go he glanced up and caught my eye. I can still see his eyes very clearly, blood shot and half closed, a dark brown that was deep and heavy. I turned away with tears filling my own, being pounded with the thought that this man could be my grandfather, this man could be my father, this man could be my brother. I walked away thinking about how much I would want for someone to give my grandfather, father, and brother a sandwich if they were in such destitution. I couldn’t shake the thought that my father could be on the streets and could have that same look in his eye. It tears my heart out, but I still have faith that God will provide food for that man daily and was glad to be a hand that was a part of it. I returned and had some eggs and coffee; we then caught a bus to Tule because I was to be nanny for the day.
On the bus I noticed the sign above the driver said Pasame la Botella and was hoping that no one had yet. I was sitting behind MK who was sitting behind two little rascals. The ringleader was probably two and half years old while his cohort was one year three months by the looks of his biceps. These guys were straight jokers. The oldest bouncing up and down (thrilled to see a couple of white guys I suppose) and poking the younger who was the smilingest little bugger I’ve seen down here. They laughed and giggled no stop for ten minutes solid. It was quite a show.
We arrived and I sat the babies for a few hours. MK was the new item so he was asked to play all of the games (which I was really really interested in playing (I would have but didn’t want to intrude)). The padres returned and we had some pizza. At this time I was given my assignment in detail. I was going to be in charge of the adolescent group (11-16) for the next 4 weeks. We would meet on Fridays for a couple of hours and class on Sunday morning; we would probably get together other times to do stuff as a group also. But the point is it’s my show in another language. It’s my show trying to show God’s show. I have been wanting this all trip, but I am very much aware of the potential difficulties that lie ahead with such a group and my own shortcomings. However this isn’t an option (thankfully) and I’m preparing my best for the upcoming event on Friday while also thinking down the road so as to have some continuity. Tomorrow my mind will meet my hands and hope that my tongue doesn’t screw it up.