The Words I Couldn't Say

March 3

Words are my thing. It’s my love language. A kind letter means so much more to me than an expensive gift ever could.

My career goal is to be a school counselor. I want to have an office in a school where kids can feel welcome to come and talk to me about the good or bad day they might be having and I can be there for them and support them and talk to them.

I love conversation. I love telling people what they mean to me.

So being here and living with these kids who I love

            oh how I love them

so much and having the language barrier between us feels so impairing to me.

It is so frustrating.

It’s funny because I feel like I really know some of these kids. I’ll spend hours with them. And I never really consciously think to myself “Everything we are saying right now is in Spanish.” I guess I am just so used to it that it goes unnoticed now.

But sometimes I just stop and think if I could only talk to you in English. If I could only ask you where you’re from, what you like, what your past is. If I could only listen to your story.

I’ve really realized these past couple weeks that my Spanish has gotten a lot better. For one, the kids make me laugh so much. They say the funniest things. And I know they’ve always been funny, I just didn’t use to get their jokes.

I’m also starting to understand a lot more. Miguel has started doing the announcements every morning for staff in Spanish, and I almost always understand everything he is saying. Teaching math in Spanish really hasn’t been that difficult. And whenever I give my little boys a good talkin’ to? I can pretty much say exactly what I want to.

Which usually consists of please stop tattling Elvis or stop everything you’re doing right now Byron or Rodrigo please just one kiss goodnight. I don’t want your slobber all over my face. Oh you’re so cute I love you.

There is a kid here named Armando. I know I have mentioned him before. He’s definitely one of the kids here who really sticks out to me. He is eleven years old but acts and looks at least fourteen. I kid you not. When I think about how he is only one year older than some of my boys, it stops me in my tracks every time.

He is intelligent. Incredibly intelligent. At only eleven he is already in ninth grade. Four years ahead. He is sweet and funny and an incredible leader and, might I just say, quite a little stud muffin.

Armando is a tough kid. I remember when I met him in March and we were going around in a circle hugging all the kids Friday night and Victoria, the sm who was here last year, gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He loves it she said to me, smiling, as he made a disgusted face.

Oh my. I thought. I’ll never be able to do that. He’s not that kind of kid.

I never let Armando walk by without a giant hug. Oh, but Teacher he’ll say, and I’ll kiss him on the cheek like Victoria did. Because he loves it.

The other day I was playing the piano (YES WE HAVE A BRAND NEW KEYBOARD) after church and everyone had left but Miguel and Armando. Miguel sat down and started talking to Armando. I heard him start to cry. I kept playing, thinking it was okay for me to stay when soon enough he broke into sobs. He was out of control. He was heaving.

I quietly turned off the piano and walked out of the church, not wanting to embarrass him.

It was all I could think about. What was wrong with sweet, tough Armando? I had never seen him cry.

The next day I asked Miguel what was upsetting Armando. He told me he had asked Armando what was wrong and he said he was too upset to talk. So he wrote it down. On the top of the paper he wrote, “My life story” and then wrote about all these things he has gone through. He wrote about how he has a handicapped sister and is worried about her. He doesn’t know where she is or if she’s getting care. He wrote about several other things. And then, at the very end, he wrote “I just want a mom.”

Armando has never had a mom. He feels abandoned and unloved and rejected.

I can’t. I don’t know how to explain how much I do not understand why anyone would not want these children who are abandoned.

Who could ever not want Armando?

And then, to know that this incredible, beautiful, talented child feels insecure because of it? It breaks my heart. A thousand times over.

Wednesday, a few days later, I gave my ninth grade class a test. We were one short seat in class, and it happened to be Armando who didn’t have one. He sat down in the back of the classroom and said he wouldn’t take his test because he didn’t have a seat.

I walked over to him after everyone else had started and told him he needed to either take the test or look for a chair.

He said he had looked and there wasn’t one.

 I told him he needed to take the test or he would get a zero.

He said he would take the zero.

After a few minutes I walked over, grabbed him by the arm, and told him I’d look for a seat with him. We couldn’t find one. When we got back to the classroom I realized he could use the one under my marker board, and so he did.

But it was already twenty minutes into the forty minute class period.

He started his test. He didn’t understand the first few problems, so he crumpled up his paper and said he wouldn’t take it.

He laid his head on the desk and by the end of the class period he was crying.

Ah I don’t even know how to explain how I feel in these kind of situations. I just want to shake these kids and scream in their ears how intelligent they are and how much they are capable of and how I just want to help you help you help you. That’s literally all I want to do.

I left, feeling discouraged about Armando.

Later that night I was in my room and heard Is Teacher Darian here? I need to talk to her outside my door.

It was Armando.

I walked outside.

Teacher I want to take my test.

Okay Armando. Here’s the thing. Tuesday during the review you weren’t paying attention. Even after that I told you if you came by my house that night I would review with you. You didn’t come. Then today you refused to take your test. And now you are asking me to give up my free time to give you your test after all of that. Do you see the problem with this?

He smiled awkwardly and said he did.

I told him I would think about it.

You know, that thing you say when you know you’re gonna let the kid retake the test.

Here’s the thing. I know that according to rules and stuff I shouldn’t let him retake it. But he is eleven. He is a freshman in highschool at eleven years old. And on top of that he has been really upset and I know why. It’s because he wants a mom. Something no eleven year old should have to live without.

And if my options are not letting him retake the test and making him feel like his grade is bad and getting even more discouraged or letting him retake the test and score high like I know he will and feel enabled and motivated?

Well, I’m going to let him retake the test.

I went to study hall that night to help some kids with their homework. While I was there Armando came over and asked me if he could retake his test. Again.

I took him outside. I put my arms on his shoulders.

Armando listen to me. Here’s the thing. I don’t really care about your test. It’s not that important. You know what is important to me? You. You are important to me. You were crying in class today. That’s what makes me worried. Not your test. What’s wrong?

He looked at me. So much sadness in his eyes.

Armando I only want to help. Do you think I like cold showers and rice soup? I don’t like Bolivia. I like you kids. All us volunteers aren’t here for Bolivia. We are here for you kids. That is the only reason. I only want to help you. That is all I want to do.

You can’t help me with my problem. Noone can.

What’s wrong Armando?

It’s something personal in my life.

Well, God can help you.

No. God can’t help me. Noone can.

Armando, God can help you.

No. Noone can.

Well Armando I want to help you. That’s all I want to do. Because you are an incredible kid. You are smart and kind. And all I want to do is help you. I love you so so much.

He had tears in his eyes. He gave me a hug. And he went back to study hall.

And today he came into class determined as ever and he did wonderfully on his test. I knew he would.

He even brought a baby bird to class that serenaded us all the way through the forty minutes.

Every time I see him I think about how he wants a mom. And I hope that I can be a small fraction of the mom he needs. Make his life a little brighter, his load a little lighter.

I hope that maybe some of what I say and do will get through to him and show him that even though I may not be exactly what he wants, I care. More than he could ever know.

And I think back to our conversation, and realize I had words.

I had so much to say to him, and I was able to say some of it.

But not all.

There were words I couldn’t say.

You deserve so much more than what you were given. You don’t deserve to feel rejected. And you don’t know how much it is going to break my heart to be here with you and love you as much as I do and then leave you, too. I never want to leave you. Oh I never want to leave you. But you, sweet boy? You will be in my heart forever, Armando. Forever and ever and ever.