Christian, the twelve year old younger brother of my friend and student Marcos, told me today that Marcos has started working. He is helping to carry things up the mountain. Marcos is the oldest of six kids in his home, his father abandoned their family.
Christian, who I met for the first time today, is two years younger than his brother though he is larger and looks healthier. He has his brother’s dark complexion, wide and narrow eyes, and bright smile. He has the same rough voice.
I worry for these kids. There are such bright lights in their eyes and smiles, but in the older ones, the older they get, the more they turn to a soft stare that is deep and dull. Marcos is a smart and creative young man, but sometimes I look at him and feel the weight of his poverty; it seeps out slowly and dully from his eyes. It sits heavily in his expression.
I do not want to believe that at fourteen years old he is beginning what is to be the routine of his life. I do not want to believe that he may never be able to explore his creative potential. I wish I could provide him with the resources to alter his destiny. I feel absolutely idle in my inadequate abilities to create change or momentum.
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