Longer Than Me

February 28

It’s crazy how in such a short amount of time so much can change. How life can be so different so soon.

Just a couple weeks ago, the campus was quiet and empty. There were a few kids here who had stayed for the summer: Maria, Amy, Fermin, Daniel, Kepler, Jay, Janette….and that’s about it.

And then Sunday, February 15 came. And now there are sixty-eight little bodies running all over the place.

The kids are back.

After three lonely months without them, they are finally back.

And it’s crazy to me that I’d only spent four months with them, yet being around them feels like comin’ home.

I was sitting in my bed a few days before registration when Dani came around the corner with a giant smile on her face. I looked at her, wondering what she was hiding, and then she pulled her hand in front of her, and holding onto it was little Rodrigo.

Oh my heart. That is one face that three months is far too long to go without seeing. I was so surprised. I didn’t know he was coming that day. I screamed and ran out of bed and couldn’t let go of that little boy until we dropped him off at the Frijole’s house to spend the night.

He was incredibly shy and quiet. I couldn’t get a word out of him. But the next day? He was back to causing all sorts of trouble with Fermin and climbing trees and playing more than any kid I know and my word I love him.

And February 15? Kid after kid kept coming back. And time after time it felt so right for them to be here again.

When I saw Wilfredo and Hugo drive in on the back of a motorcycle with their dad, I couldn’t handle myself. But the dad drove off and I wasn’t able to see them right away. A few minutes later I felt someone tap me. I turned around to see Wilfredo, his hair long and wild and dyed red, standing in front of me. He’s a Frijole this year. But my word my boy’s back.

And later I found Hugo, and he is sweet and precious and giggly as ever.

Ronald showed up. He’s cute and chubby once again. And oh my goodness. Ever consistent Ronald. It’s so good to have him home.

Gabriel, Henry, and Luis Miguel all didn’t come back. Thankfully Gabriel lives down the road so I still get to see him frequently. And Henry lives in town so hopefully I’ll be able to see him again before I leave. But Luis Miguel? Well, I may not see him again before I go back. And that’s something I don’t want to think about.

He was my boy I got closest to.

And, well, now we have seven new boys. Yep. Four returners, and seven new. Which makes eleven little Fruito Secos running around this little house. Eleven little boys to get showered and teeth brushed and ready for school and to laugh at as they say and do ridiculous things and to love love love.

Which, after two weeks with them, I know is going to be easy to do.

We now have Josue, Elivis, Limber, Yordy, Byron, Joel, and Reuben joining the fam.

I could already tell you a million stories.

Like the first night when I asked Yordy and Byron a million and a half times to stop leaving their beds and running around upstairs and ever since then the theme of this semester has become

Where’s Jordy? Where’s Byron?

The head count has gone from counting for eleven heads to oh Yordy and Byron are here we’re good.

It’s not uncommon to be teaching a class and here a student say Teacher one of your boys is running to the road!

And there goes Yordy.

Thankfully Byron hasn’t discovered the road.

Those two. They’re a handful and a half and an armful of about three people. But hey, don’t they say chasing down children makes you a better person? Maybe?

Little Josue had a really hard time when his aunt left him here. He’s just ten years old. He always wears this red shirt that says “Dear Santa, I was framed” tucked into his rolled up jeans with a belt. That’s Josue.

He’s tall and lanky and has this little crooked smile and twinkly brown eyes.

From the very first day he kept running away to the street. I would find him there, waiting for his dad or aunt to come pick him up.

Or I would find him crying at the church because he was homesick.

I thought there’s no way this kid is going to make it. He’s going to end up going home.

He would have moments of really having fun, really fitting in with the other boys. But right after I’d find him at the road, or crying at the church, or sulking around sadly by himself.

Poor kid. He’s not gonna make it.

But I just tried to love him as much as I could, to tuck him in at night and ask him how his day was and let him know he had a home here.

This last week I was standing in the Big House as we were assigning work assignments. Little Josue came running over to me, wrapped his arms around me, looked up into my eyes and said

Teacher you’re never ever ever leaving are you?

What do you mean, Josue?

You’re never going back to the United States, are you? You’re never leaving here?

That’s one of the worst things I think we have to do here. Tell these kids we are going to leave them.

No, Josue. I’m going back.

After classes are over?

Yes. But I don’t want to leave you ever ever.

And he just hugged me, and I hugged him.

And I thought to myself,

I didn’t think this little kid would make it, but look how strong he is with his Santa shirt and rolled up jeans. He’s gonna be here longer than me.