Is he yours?

Today I went on a field trip with an american group of middle schoolers and 18 kids from Casa Hogar Bethesda as well as 8 kids from Casa Hogar Douglas.  Our destination.... Plaza Sesamo -- which is a Sesame Street themed water park and theme park for kids.   

As the day was winding down and we were getting all the kids changed into dry clothes for dinner, one little boy ("my son" Jair) who was playing and running around, slipped and cracked his head open on the ground.  His american partner for the day ran Jair over to our water station where I was trying to help people find their clothes and backpacks.  Blood was all over his head and he looked faint but was not crying or saying anything.  So I took him from the american and ran Jair over to the medical center for emergencies at the theme park with another staff Matt.  Jair checked a couple of times with his fingers as we hurried through the park to see how much blood was on his head but still said nothing.  

After we had him in their little ER room, Matt had to take off and help the other 50 people with us navigate to the dinner location which left me alone with a bunch of other moms and their kids to get Jair some medical attention.  He was so incredibly brave and clearly a little freaked out by the whole situation.   They asked me who I was and if I was his mom and kept asking, "Is he yours?"  I didnt' really know how to respond.  I didn't want them to know he was an orphan cause that's embarrassing and carries about a million social sigmas.  I responded in spanish that, "yes but no. umm what?"  I kind of played the I don't understand spanish card - which is about half true.  They fixed him up and gave him some ice, kids tylenol, he didnt need stitches and then it was time to fill out the information page.  Jair doesn't know his full name - the whole last name part.  So the paramedic asked if he had parents.  He said that he did but that didn't mean that he knew his last name(s) - in mexico you carry the last name of your mom and the last name of your dad.  They wanted to know what street he lived at - and then i finally just broke down and told the paramedic and the rest of the ER who was listening to everything I said (weird american girl with 6 year old boy -- it draws some attention) that he lived at a casa hogar - this was my way of getting them to stop asking questions.  And i heard the others in the room let out a little gasp when they found out he was an orphan and my heart just sank.  Everyone was really nice and all but the truth sucks.  Life's simple questions for this kid have painful answers.  I signed the medical form as his "guardian" and we left holding hands to walk to dinner.  

He never cried.  I wonder if he was abused before he was abandoned and left at the orphanage this past september.  But as I thought about the day I just had... and what that must have felt like to Jair, what it feels like everyday when he goes to school as the "orphan kid" who never has clean clothes or nice shoes or anyone to pay attention to him personally day in and day out and i just lost it.  The weight of his pain in his abandonment and now this scarlet letter he carries around everyday crushes me.  Why can't he be mine?  How much do you just wish the answer to that question is "yes he is mine.  someone cares enough about him to be his guardian.  He's not abandoned and alone in this world.  There is nothing wrong with him!"  I just wanted to scream that so he would know that.  

And that's just the thing... the only thing that matters is that HE knows that there is nothing wrong with him- he's not a reject.  

Beth, another B2B staffer here was telling us a story last night about one of the girls she was able to "adopt" as a sort of foster child and how to God, the story of these kids lives is not over yet.  For Jair, the story is not over yet.  It is just beginning.  God is not done.  There is hope for a bright future.  Jair could grow up and be anything he wants to be thanks to B2B's Hope Program.  Maybe one day he'll be a paramedic.  

But honestly, in my heart - the answer is, "Yes!  He's mine."  But he's sleeping at an orphanage as I type in a room with 20 other little boys with scars on their hearts just as big as his.