The 4th of July tends to mark the middle of the summer. BBQs, Fireworks and the Baseball All-Star Game are all annual family traditions. This year, we started a new one. Our neighborhood decided to do a kid's 4th of July parade. We got up early and decorated our scooters and trikes with the most sparkly red, white and blue. All the neighbors gathered to watch the kids walk up and down the street waving and screaming "Happy 4th of July." We concluded with freezie pops and more summertime snacks. It was fun and it choked me up a little, but of course the 4th always does.
About ten years ago, our church back in New Mexico, had a small group of parishioners sponsor a very poor orphanage. It was located over the border, in the small town of Anapra, Mexico. It was located about fifteen minutes away from the church. One Sunday after service, our friend invited us to comeback with our truck to help deliver some donated supplies for the orphans. We agreed and loaded up the truck with heavy bags of rice, beans, blankets, bottles of water and a few used toys. It was our first time going.
We caravaned down to the border. The trees and green grass of the upper valley quickly faded to dirty sand with littered filled tumbleweeds, over the border. The road was rough and at times seemed non-existant. We made a right at the chicken coop and a left at a large agave cactus. We entered the neighborhood which was spotted with "houses" made of mud and used particle board. The more "well-off" residents had doors made of scrap metal and roofs made of old burlap onion sacks. Gang graffiti greeted us as we pulled up to the gray cylinder block building.
I walked in and noticed the strong smell of urine and boiled rice. The floor was dirt and the cracks between the cylinder blocks were held together with a mud mixture. It was primitive. There were no windows and the hoards of flies were very aggressive. The American, who lived there, ordered the older boys and church men to unload the trucks. I went out back to escape the smell and the flies.
I was suddenly greeted by many little girls trying to pull my hair. Back then, I was a bleached blond and my hair was much longer and styled taller. I must have looked like an alien to these dark haired little ones. They spoke very little English, but one little girl managed to get me to push her on the swing set. The play set was donated and was very old. The chain links on the swing were rusty and made my sweaty hands smell like dirty pennies.
I pushed the little girl higher and higher, listening to her scream and giggle. I looked forward toward the horizon and saw El Paso and the Rio Grande. The mountains were beautiful as they turned shades of pink with the sunset behind me. I could see cars zooming up and down I-10. The local casino's roof top glittered of gold with the blazing sun. The racetrack below was perfectly manicured and very green.
As I looked across the river, it hit me...everyday this little girl gets up after sleeping on a dirt floor, maybe eats a meal and comes outside to play. She swings and looks out on the United States and wishes she could be there. The American kids have warm shelter, food, love and most importantly hope. I thought about the violent gangs that broke into the orphanage and stole our previous donations. The director had to buy a gun to protect the young girls from rapists. I thought about what it would be like being afraid to sleep at night and not having a mommy and daddy to protect you.
It was getting dark and it was time for us to go. The little girl wrapped her arms around my legs and begged me to take her. It was heart wrenching. She cried and cried as the director told her to go inside and "be good." At the time, I had no children and parenthood wasn't even on the radar yet, but I found myself really wanting to adopt her. I felt guilty as we drove away.
Back on the dirt road and over the border, we went. I looked up at the American flag flying above the government building as we crossed. Right then and there I realized how great it was to be an American...and how blessed my future children would be.
After our little Mexico trip, the next weekend was the 4th of July. As I watched the fireworks that year, I wondered if that little girl could see them too, swinging from that ol' rusty swing. The 4th of July will never be the same for me and I swore to teach my kids to appreciate everything this country offers them...especially...hope.
