It was around nine o'clock Saturday night in Emmanuel orphanage and we had just finished our teaching session. The last group of kids, dressed in their P.J's, headed down the darkened upstairs hallway, and slowly disappeared into their small rooms. Three bunks to a room.
A little later on my way out, I walked down the dark hallway toward the big door and the stairs. The thirty-five boys were quiet at last. I decided to drop into one of the darkened rooms. Leaning over the middle bunk I said "Hi" to Carlos, a ten year old boy laying there. He turned my way and said, "Hi von." I put my hand on his head and ruffled his hair, quietly asking him about his family ... his mom and dad.
He said he had no mother, but he has a father and younger brother and sister, and said he was doing good in school. I grabbed his leg and started tickling his foot. He giggled and laughed as he pulled his foot back. That's when I noticed a foot come down from the top bunk and then another little foot coming up from the lower bunk. Three neat kids that deserve homes, love and fathers that could tickle their feet. (Yes, those three kids in that room were sufficiently tickled that night.)
On my way out, I continued down the hallway and on down the stairs. I can still hear several of the kids in hushed voices calling to me from their rooms,
"Hey, von come in here."
