Monday, June 25, 2012

FOOD STAMPS?


She came slowly out of the door holding some pampers and a small can of powdered milk. It was six in the morning and the neighborhood's little corner store was now open for business.

The people in the barrio (neighborhood) watched as Margarita walked home.

They knew what was going on.

Several times a week Margarita takes this early walk to the store; she has no money but the store owner cooperates by asking a sexual favor in exchange for pampers and milk.

The retail price of the pampers and milk is about $8., the wholesale price, about $5.

Margareta is a young grandmother. Her own three children turned out like most in that neighborhood, and their mistakes somehow ended up living with grandma. Five little boys; the youngest in pampers; all crowded into a small two room shack. Cupboards bare!

"Margarita, why do you do this?" We asked.

"I don't want to," she replied ... "but the children are hungry and we have no food" ... and they say one in six people in the U.S. are hungry. American's don't know what hunger is ... not until you're willing to sell your body for the sake of your hungry kids!

Mom, how far would you go to feed your kids?

How far would you go to feed Margarita's kids?

Monday, June 18, 2012

A UNIQUE BUNCH OF KIDS


Orphanages here In Tijuana are getting hit hard by Tijuana's ever dropping economy. (Now even orphanages raid trash cans and dumpsters for throwaway produce) ... More and more mothers and grand mothers are desperate to place their children in orphanages where at least they will get food and a bed and maybe school.

Sadly, there is very little "Americano" support anymore, as groups are warned against traveling to Mexico. The U.S. groups soon forget the orphanage kids.

To make matters worse; you have someone like Edith, director of "Tribo Jesus Orphanage" (Tribe of Jesus Orphanage) ... who will take in any needy kid that comes her way, handicapped or not. Indeed she's an unusually optimistic light in a dark world.

Rare as it might be, a Christian acting like a Christian.Edith doesn't complain ... but when you see the needs, you can't help reaching down into your own pocket ... a serious Christian can't just walk away. Unfortunately Spectrum doesn't have it; fortunately I've still got a pocket with some cash in it

This makes for a very unique group chemistry. They are very poorly clothed bunch of kids indeed, but for the most part a big happy disorganized family where they help one another. I'm watching the boy's in the kitchen peeling off the bad areas of fruit and produce.

Normally Orphanages fare better than the poorer Barrio kids, but in this case they are about even. Poor clothing and shoes, and two meals a day ... on some days, one meal.

Tribo has washing machines, but no money for electricity. To wash clothing, the bare-foot teen girls fill tubs with soap and cold water, dump the dirty clothing in ... and then jump in; two girls to a tub and they foot wash the clothing ... squeezing out the water by hand and hanging the wash on the line to dry as electricity is very expensive. (Positive point, their feet are really clean!)

I love teaching the older boys in the evening, about thirty of them, and they listen well. Julian and I come on a regular bases.

I always leave thirty or forty dollars lighter than I came.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

ATTACK!


It's been far too long since I've seen a "happy attack." There he was, in the store having a full on happy attack! The six year old was jumping around, his little arm's out-stretched and he was laughing and singing! No ear buds; he was just too happy to keep quiet! Too many endorphins for a six year old to hold back so he decided to let it all out in a joyful jig.

I, among others, stood and watched him rather wistfully ... Searching my memory I couldn't remember when I ever had a full on happy attack, or for that matter I can't remember seeing anyone else in the throws of a happy attack.

Yep, I could use one, even though at my age it would look rather silly ... what the heck, I'll chance it!

Thursday, June 07, 2012

IMPRINTING


At an orphanage, years ago, I watched an interesting thing happen. Mama duck was sitting on six eggs and someone added a seventh egg; a chicken egg. One by one the family hatched; six little ducks ... and a little chick.

One day mama duck took her family out for their first swim. The swimming pool? This was a fifty-gallon can cut down to about a foot, set in the dirt and filled with water. I got there to see the first family swim; mama duck first, then one by one the little ducks jumped in and soon were happily bobbing around in the water ... now the chick watched mom go In and without hesitation, jumped into the water and ... fluttered a bit and then sunk! (We rescued it.) A very wet little chick peeping loudly!

Indeed the chick thought it was a duck, but it wasn't.

Unfortunately it imprinted on mama duck but it was a chicken not a duck ... from then on, things for that little disoriented chicken got real confusing.

What a cruel thing it is to see boys grow up with no father to imprint on! No father to bond with! I work with these kind of disoriented boys. In many cases, products of single parent families. I know well what I'm talking about.

Add to this problem, the growing Western trend to feminize the male. The progressive activists yell ... "Lets make them all one happy gender, a new kinder and gentle gender ... Unisex! The Metro-sexual ... buying, smelling and grooming like a girl. Cutesy! The bi-sexual. The homosexual! Femi-men. A sick experiment!"

This disoriented boy easily falls into a perverted social slot.

As we can see today, an anatomically correct boy doesn't necessarily grow up to become a real man.

When a boy grows up imprinting on mama and his sisters, there is trouble ahead! "Billy, you're Mama's little man ..." (I hate to hear mom say that!)

Caution, single parent Mom! Not only is it difficult being a single parent ... it can be dangerous! And take a good look you "anti-male women activist" ... hope you like what you've done.

And father, by the way ... where the hell are you?