Unpacking: Toothbrushes

As I continue unpacking my luggage, let me share another story with you all about my time spent at a certain orphanage:

There lies twenty-some-odd blue toothbrushes with smudgy black ink names etched into masking tape on their handles. They are all neatly divided and arranged into two rows, one for the boys and one for the girls. As I am putting the toothbrushes into their places, it comes across me that each one of these names, that each one of these silly toothbrushes represents a child, and a broken home. Looking at these rows of brushes, I realize that I know each one of these children. I know their faces, their smiles and the sound of their voices. 

Even though each toothbrush appears as a carbon copy of the next, the children who use these toothbrushes are entirely different from the other. Looking at the toothbrushes lying there on the sink, I knew that it was going to be my last day there at the orphanage, and that it would be the last time that I would be able to arrange these infantile hygiene utensils in order. After putting the last dab of toothpaste on the last brush, I guess I kind of just stood there, taking it all in. The mundane task of pasting the toothbrushes, something that I had been doing for months suddenly meant something so different to me.

I was very blessed to win a scholarship last semester which required me to volunteer at a local organization. The form only said 25 hours, but our program director told us that it would be 8 hours a week, every week for the duration of the semester. Needless to say, it was a big shock to me and my fellow classmates who also won the scholarship. After finding out about that, we were informed that the volunteering would be done at a local orphanage right next to the university that I go to. The place is called 'Casa del Sol' or House of the Sun, and is a joint German-Mexican volunteer operation that takes in orphans, neglected, abused children, and those who are in the middle of custody disputes. 

Each day was a different experience, and a different task. Some days I would match up and fold the baby socks (which was incredibly hard given the small size and the uniformity of the color and design of the socks), other days I would wash windows, or the plastic playhouse toys. Most days though, I would play with the kids, whose age ranged from new born all the way to about 10 years of age.

At my orientation meeting with the head bus lady on my first day, I was told that male volunteers were really needed. That many of the children would be able find mother figures in the many female volunteers and workers there, but that there was a scarcity in men and strong male/father figures. I am happy to say that I rose to that challenge and that hardly a day passed without me tossing a kid into the air or spinning them around super-fast to the point of near-nausea. I even tried out a few luchador tricks I learn at the fights that I went to.

I honestly believe that what did when I played with the kids wasn't just horseplay, but a form of male bonding. Because you know what, sometimes a child (especially a boy) just needs to thrown around, spun, and/or tackled. But with that said, I was also a comforter when a child would fall, or have their newly won pinata candy stolen from them. Yes, there was blood, and yes there were tears and yes it was hard, but I felt that I needed to be there for them.

Looking back on my last day there, arranging the toothbrushes, it scares me to think that just as the toothbrushes were uniform and (mostly) sterile, many people view orphans in the same kind of light, almost like they're numbers, or even worse, faceless and mundane tasks that simply need to be dealt with. 

When I first started volunteering at the orphanage, I'll freely admit that I wasn't a fan of the job, and that it definitely takes a special kind of person to work there on a daily basis with the kids.

But all of that changed about a month and a half into the experience when the kids there started asking when I would return at the end of my shifts and when they would start to scream my name (or a close pronunciation of it) when I would walk in through the front door. I hope that throwing them into the air and adding toothpaste to their toothbrushes made their lives and the workers lives better. I hope that I touched their lives and made being an orphan a little less painful, and that I showed God's love to them, who is by far the most perfect father-figure.

Volunteering at that orphanage is one of my fondest memories of my first semester in Mexico, and I know that I'll be seeing them again soon. 

I promised them a picture of a snowman, something that they're never seen living in Mexico.

:)