Understanding love, Fun love, Sad love, Tough Love

It's recently occurred to me that I have become a blog slacker. I haven't blogged in over a week. But that's not to say that nothing worth writing about has happened. In the last week I have become English teacher, buddy, game referee, nurse, maid, hairdresser, and disciplinarian. I have given and experienced many different kinds of love. I can't write about everything that's happened in the last week, but here are some of the highlights.

Understanding love

Last Tuesday I started teaching English at the school here at Casa Bernabé. They didn't choose me because I have remotely enough experience, the right kind of degree, or any special talent for teaching. They picked me because I speak Spanish and English, simple as that. So, armed with only a few Dr. Seuss books, a copy of the last test that they all failed, and my own intimidation, I headed down to the school to teach 6 classes--Special Ed, Kindergarten/Pre-Kinder, Preparatoria, 1st grade, 2nd grade, & 3rd grade. At first I tried to teach them all the write the numbers 1-20 in English, but that was a greater challenge than many of them were ready for. With the younger kids I tried singing the ABCs song (yes...I somehow found myself in Guatemala singing acapella by myself to a room full of children...if you know me you know this is very close to my nightmare!), teaching them their colors, and working on hello/goodbye/thank you/you're welcome. These lessons had various levels of effectiveness--some went well, others ended in me having to take disciplinary actions or getting a book thrown at me. But, in the end, I found that the most effective part of each one of the six classes I taught last week was the part when I sat down and told them about my own experience. I sat in a chair in the front of the classroom and explained to them why I knew that they could learn English. Basically, I told them, they could do it because I had. I explained that Spanish is not my first language, as they can probably tell from my poor use of grammar. I had to study for years to be able to talk to them right now. Then I explained that in all my years of studying, the thing that made me improve the most was talking to Spanish speakers and practicing. I told them that they have a rare and special opportunity in living at Casa Bernabé. They have groups of Americans here every week who would love to practice English with them. No, they said, we speak badly and they will make fun of our bad English. But then I asked them, do you judge me when I make mistakes in Spanish? No, of course not, they said. Then, I asked them, why do you think the other Americans and I will judge you? We won't. We are here to love you, not to judge you. I told them that from now on, in my English classes, nothing will happen if they make a mistake speaking. I will correct them, they will say it right, and we will move on. If I make a Spanish mistake, they are welcome to correct me. We will all learn and no one will judge. Despite all the lesson plans I brought and all the things I tried to teach them, that small five minute conversation in each class was the one that brought the most smiles to their faces and made them relax and listen to me.

Fun love

This past Saturday Alejandro, a 17 year old high school student from the area, came to visit the kids in Casa Lamar and Casa Samuel. He told me he used to come here all the time but his senior year has kept him too busy to come often. He was leaving Sunday for a long trip to the US to tour colleges, but he wanted to visit one last time before leaving. All the kids talked about all morning was Alejandro's impending visit. Why? Because Alejandro had promised to bring piñatas. All kids love piñatas. So just before lunch, we took all the kids down to the school and Alejandro hung up a huge piñata shaped like one of the Incredibles. We took a bat, lined them up by size, and let them hack away. Six year olds are stronger than you might think! In the end, we had to limit them to one swing each because the first few destroyed the neck in a matter of seconds. When it finally burst, joyful mayhem ensued. See pictures below for details:)

the piñata

The birthday boy got the final swing

and this is what 17 kids fighting over candy looks like

Other moments of fun love include: a Casa Samuel June birthday party (if you fill 19 children up with cake, nachos, and sugary apple juice, chaos will erupt!), watching Brazil's 3-0 win over Chile with a room full of excited Brazil fans in Casa Ester (complete with Cressia screaming and kissing the screen), and watching Spain's win over Portugal today with a group of teenage girls who are all in love with David Villa and squealed when he scored...¡viva España!

Here is Cressia with the new door decoration the team gave her

Sad love

Sunday was visit day. Once a month families are allowed to come visit their children at Casa Bernabé. I went to the house early Sunday morning to help Nora get them all ready and clean the house. She asked me to do all the girls' hair, which was interesting. Six year olds can be shockingly picky about how their pigtails turn out! Also, letting them know on girl #2's hair that you know how to french braid is a bad and time consuming idea. Thankfully a more Spanish-savvy person was on hand to translate the church service so I got to sit with the kids. I had one of the boys in my lap the whole time due to a lack of chairs with all the visitors there. As they all walked in, the kids craned their necks to see who had come to visit. Some were waiting for family members. Others who knew they had no one to come visit them, were waiting excitedly to spot the family members of their friends and be the first to tell them. "Hey, I see your grandma!" "Look, there's your uncle!" Their selfless excitement was heartbreaking. But the saddest thing of all was watching the little brother and sister that I love. All day Saturday they kept reminding me that their mother was coming on Sunday. "She always comes on visit day," they told me. I ironed their clothes, braided her hair, and made sure they looked extra nice and well-cared-for. They sat in church bouncing in their chairs, waiting for their mother to walk up the stairs with her visitor sticker on. But the service started and she had not appeared. That's when the little boy tapped my arm. "Emily," he said, "you should just know, my mama ALWAYS gets here late. She's always late, but she's coming." But she never came. Not before church, not during church, and not after church. Instead of spending the afternoon with their mother, the disappointed kids spent it with Mateo, me, and a group of very enthusiastic Argentina fans in Casa Nuevo Pacto, watching Argentina defeat Mexico. And, because they are darling children, they still managed to put on a smile, eat a hot dog, and cheer on the team, but I watched them sadly, knowing there was something they would much rather be doing.

Since Morgan and Beth were visiting, we took an updated team picture after church

Tough love

I thought I came to Guatemala to do basically two things: use my Spanish in a ministry setting and love on some needy children. Instead, I spend the better part of my time using the language I learned to speak forcefully to a group of crazy kids and discipline them. I went from a 22 year old with no children who has pretty much never babysat to a drill sergeant who barks orders in Spanish. Last night there was another staff meeting. These meetings are necessary for the staff to run Casa Bernabé, and also for them to have some adult time together, away from the kids. But they are really hard for us because we become the fill-in house parents all evening. I don't know what things are like when Verónica and Jairo are home, but when they leave, absolute, utter mayhem breaks out. The first time this happened I was by myself. You can read about that night in an older post. This time, there were five of us. Five adult females, and we could not control 19 hyper kids who were determined that bed was the last place they planned to go. As the evening progressed and the kids became more and more unruly, we got more and more frustrated. Although the other women were helping a lot, as the most fluent Spanish speaker and the one who knows the house rules, I was doing all the talking. I have gotten very good at telling children to go to bed, to stay in bed, to stop talking, stop fighting, stop hitting, be kind, be quiet, and that if they don't do these things, punishment will soon follow. But words aren't always effective. I can make all the threats of punishment that I want, but if I don't actually follow through, nothing happens. That's the hard part. I came here to hug and cuddle children, not to yell at them, be kicked by them, and forcefully hold them in time out, facing the living room wall. Every time I discipline them and I see that I have made them cry, I feel terrible. I feel like I'm abusing them, not helping them. At one point last night I stopped and looked at the situation. I was hitting a shoe against the door to get their attention in the chaos, and I said to myself, "What am I doing? I'm yelling at a bunch of traumatized orphans!" But thankfully, one of the lovely women with me last night was an actual mother. Most of us here are in our 20s and don't have children. But Jackie, a member of the current group from Ohio, is an actual mother. I don't know if you get special fairy dust sprinkled on you the day you give birth, but I do know that Jackie had a power over the children that none of us had. She doesn't speak a word of Spanish, but she gave them "the Mom look," and magically, they stayed in time out. Our threats became reality as she coached us through punishing them. She told me when to leave one of the girls standing in the hallway, what to say to warn her of the next consequences should she continue to disobey, and when to force her to sit down and be quiet. She assured me that I was not hurting them, but actually helping them. With her instruction I was able to follow through on all the promised consequences and make three of them sit in the living room until their parents arrived to deal with them. This allowed the other children some peace from their tormenting so that they could have a chance at sleeping. At the end of the night I was exhausted, but I didn't feel the desperate sense of failure that I felt the first time I had to put the kids to bed on my own. However, I was sure that when I went there this morning they would all be mad at me for punishing them and ignore me. But this morning I walked into Casa Samuel to the usual happy smiles and chorus of "¡Hola Emily! ¡Buenos días!" Jackie was right. Children are different, and even punishing them can be a form of love. So, even though I came here to cuddle them, hug them, and make them feel loved, and I often feel like I'm doing the exact opposite, it turns out I've been loving them all along. Tough love may not be fun, but someone has got to do it!