Sometimes you become a father and don't even know it ... now that doesn't sound right does it?
Follow me on this.
I saw Oskar walking up the narrow street in Grupo Mexico and pulled over to say "Hi." He smiled, came over to the car leaned into the window ... and we talked.
He wanted to thank me for being his father image and for the attention I had given him. I was the male he targeted. In his early life he had many "step-fathers" as his mother had many boyfriends. Who his actual father was, he didn't know.
When I first met young Oskar he was living on a dry hillside in a little one room shed of squalor. Small, no windows, and, of course trash. He was taking care of his little brother who stood there looking at me. His pampers were loaded and he was dirt from head to toe.
But Oskar was just a kid himself on "little brother" duty.
We became friends. He went to our Bible Club and came to camp.
One night I became his doctor. I remember that one well.
I was the last car left. We had finished our Bible Club program and I saw that the doors were locked, generator off, lights out. It was very dark as I began to pull out and head for home.
A few neighborhood teens, gang members, stopped me and they were holding young Oskar. It was dark but by my lights I could see Oskar bleeding and crying a bit.
"Hey, von" one teen yelled. "Oskars hurt!"
It seemed that he was running around in the dark with some of his friends and caught his eye-lid on the barbed-wire and it cut the eyelid completely across and the top part of his eyelid was just hanging.
Oh boy! What do you do in a situation like that? Take him to the Mexican Red Cross? Those intern doctors would ruin the kids eyelid. He really needed a specialist. A plastic surgeon. No way at that time of night to get a specialist in Tijuana!
Time for a quick prayer and common sense.
I grabbed a flashlight, tube of Neo-Sporin, some Kleenex and we went to Oskar's house. He was twelve, a Mexican and he didn't cry much.
Oskar's mother opened the door and looked a bit startled. "Where'd his bed" we asked. Oskar's bed was an old door in the corner with a blanket over it. We laid the boy down. I found another blanket and fashioned it like a pillow and told him to just relax and close is eyes. His mother was holding the candle.
(No electricity in all of Grupo Mexico at that time. )
Wetting some Kleenex I carefully washed around the bad eye and very carefully pushed his torn eyelid up to butt against his top eyelid. Held it for a short time. It stayed there. It held! PTL!
I told his mother to stay there and watch all night while he slept, in case he would move around or place his hand to his eye as he slept. It was not to be touched, his head was not to move!
As I look back ...
I hadn't washed my hands. The water was Tijuana tap water. No gloves. No antibiotics. Candle light.
Just God.
I left with a prayer that Oskar's eyelid would heal. Driving home I fought my doubts.
It worked! Today you can't even see a scar.
Oskar's a Christian. He has a wife and son and a small business there in Groupo and still has that wonderful smile.
Nice to stop and get thanked by a "son" I didn't know I had.
