As the youngest child of my family I have not spent an adequate amount of time with children. The way that people speak to children reminds me of how people speak to dogs and that makes me uncomfortable. I have this vision of how I am going to raise my children one day but, if we are being honest, I fear that the first time I look into my child's eyes I will be overwhelmed with uncertainty. I watch as my friends fall in love with their campers or children that they babysit and undoubtedly know that, although she will be scare the bejeebers out of her children, my sister will be the best mother in the entire world. I guess what I am alluding to is that everyone has their strengths and weaknesses and my absurd knowledge of geography and history, my means to hit a high note, or ability to tackle a 170 pound heffer does not negate the fact that children frighten me. It is for this reason that I decided to volunteer 6 hours a week at La Macarena.
It was one of those moments when you feel like you're living in a sitcom. Within the first 3 minutes through the gates I would approximate that 80% of the children were crying and to my left a 4 year old girl is projectile vomiting all over herself. It was at that moment, as the pearly maroon chunks of last nights dinner were spewing out of the infants mouth that I felt the most afraid. "I can't do this" was the first thing I said to Pat, who is volunteering at the same placement. But, amidst the chaos and the putrid smell, I felt tiny fingers grasp my hand as a little girl looked up to me and said, "Hola, tia". Pamela, as I would come to know her, has become one of my favorite students and will always be remembered for being the outlet for hope that first day.
At La Macarena the children refer to the teachers and volunteers as "Tias y Tios" (Aunts and Uncles). I guess it's best to start at a low point because there is only room for improvement. Well, this theory proved true because my first week as a Tia was marvelous. I watched Shrek in Spanish, painted with the children, helped them with name recognition, and spent more time on a playground in two days than I have in maybe five years. I even got to see two 4 year olds making out (well, it looked more like they were eating each others faces)... it was horrifying. Because I am not a malicious person I cannot post a story on the web regarding perhaps the most awkward moment at La Macarena this week but for my own memory 30 years from now when I re-read these (DS gal hump air) should help me remember the story. Perhaps the most frustrating part of volunteering with these children is seeing their half rotten teeth eating nothing but bread and milk for breakfast, or pushing them on the swings for what seems like hours knowing that they still cannot read or add small numbers. I can only hope that my time there this semester will yield positive results for these children. Only time will tell.
This weekend we stayed in Quito because a few of us had field trips/ copious amounts of homework; however, being on the latter end of that predicament it was definitely a much needed down time. Friday night we went to La Mariscal to a bar called Strawberry Fields. If you are reading this blog I assume you care about/know me well enough to have read this far. Thus, you must know of my disgustingly insane admiration/love/respect for the Beatles. Yes, I am that girl who lights candles, puts "Imagine" on repeat, and cries like a small child on the anniversary of John Lennon's death. I am that girl whose heart stopped functioning for a good five minutes when Paul McCartney first came on state at MSG in NY. I am that girl whose first daughter's middle name will be Lennon. Knowing that, you can perhaps have a more accurate comprehension of my reaction when I walked into a bar whose walls were covered with Beatles memorabilia and whose menus served drinks named after famous Beatles tunes. Let's just say I wet my pants a tiny bit. We played "signs" and "f' me", and had deep discussions regarding one-hit wonders and 90s tunes that have not been sung in probably 10 years.
Saturday night we reserved a table at a nightclub called Colours to celebrate the 21st of Patricio. Everyone got dressed up... men in ties, girls in skirts and dresses and we partied... oh we partied... Let's just say after some members of the group had to leave early the seven of us that made it until about 2 were in for a lovely surprise when we asked for the bill which ended up being over 400 dollars. I did not get home until about 3:15AM after about an hour of trying to figure out how we were going to find 400 dollars. Great night though... and cake at five today for Pat's birthday! Feliz cumpleaños, puta!
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