We've had such and amazing year. Logan played his first year of American football at his new school in here Brussels. The team wasn't winning trophies this time, but they improved a lot and had many great experiences. I was proud of them.
Owen just finished his season of soccer (or, I guess here you would just call it "football"). His team did really well and I enjoyed seeing everyone get better and better with each game. Ellie chose to do wall climbing and art this past semester. She is begging for more of both, so that's a good sign. Lincoln tried debate and has a coding class he is really interested in. He likes to draw and make little comics that keep us all entertained.
As for Dan: between his church calling, work, and the "honey do" list I always seem to throw at him, he is plenty busy. He recently began biking to work and even though it makes me a little nervous some busy mornings, he seems to be liking it a lot.
I've been working now for over six months for the U.S. mission to the EU (USEU) in their public affairs office. It was a perfect, 20 hour-a-week job that felt completely over whelming at first, but is getting easier every week. I'm learning so much about many new things, plus, I get to use my photography and design skills from time to time and of course, I LOVE that.
For summer vacation this year we took a road trip through France. We spent time in Normandy, Loire Valley and Paris. I have always loved road trips and this one did not fail to impress. It was absolutely lovely. I'll see about posting a few pics with more details later this week!
It's been so much fun to see how the seasons change here in Belgium. It stayed hot longer than normal (or so I was told) but when it finally decided to change temperatures, it happened to so quickly that I had to dash to the store to buy new coats for everyone. Our light jackets weren't working any more!
We had a fun visit from Dan's mom in March and got to see Ghent again and Brugge, and this past weekend we made our first Christmas Market trip to Aachen, Germany. It was so beautiful and magical and cold and crowded. :)
So, now that we've gotten all of that business out of the way, I wanted to take a second to post a story I wrote after our time spent in Brazil. I found it this morning as I was going through files, and felt like it was one I wanted to share. This time of year, many people are looking for opportunities to give and donate and though the sight I am recommending below is for a charity in the Philippines that provides education to children in impoverished areas, this fictional story of a favela kid from Rio emphasizes how I feel about education and its potential to make lives better for kids all over the world.
If you want to donate to an amazing educational cause, click the link below. It doesn't cost much to provide education for a year for a child in Manila. If you know of any other good causes from any country in the world, please post them in the comments below.
I hope you enjoy my story. :)
https://aligmanila.com
I’m a Tree Too
Written by: Becki Kanigan
In my neighborhood trees don’t grow. Yes, I live on a mountain. It must have been beautiful once, but now all we have is crumbling cement and cracks filled with vines. Some bushes survive beside colorful houses made of cardboard, wood, tarp, cinder block and wire…but trees? No, we don’t have any of those. In my neighborhood kids play futebol on the streets and avoid the drug lords who run the place.
Futebol is our lifeblood. It courses through our veins and feeds our dreams. Only a few of us will make it, the rest … well, the drug lords we avoid so carefully used to run around with a ball too. Not very long ago.
This is where I was born, where I was planted. I go to school, sure. Sometimes. Four hours a day with an underpaid, undersupplied, overworked teacher. Papai’s never been around. Mãe spends most of her time raising some rich, white woman’s kids for just enough money to keep us fed. She’s gone all week. We go to mass together on Sunday, then she spends the afternoon napping and ragging on me about missing so much school. I’d go more, but I don’t see the point. My teacher doesn’t have anything else to teach me. Most kids my age dropped out years ago. I’m thirteen. I find other things to occupy my time now … mainly, futebol.
Sometimes my friends leave our mountain and go down to the beach. They leach onto some charitable looking foreigner and beg for money or food. I stay here and practice. Scouts could turn up at any time. One picked Marcelo’s brother off the street about five years ago. He plays for a city league now. He may even make it to Europe. Marcelo left the neighborhood. He lives down below with the middle class and attends a private school. One talented brother changed his life forever. Filipe’s brother was discovered too, but he didn’t make it far. Two years after they took him, they threw him right back. I guess he wasn’t good enough. He’s running the neighborhood now.
I avoid him.
It’s a gamble, dropping school to play futebol, but really I don’t see any other option. Mãe says I’m smart. Maybe, but if that’s true, it’s just a curse. I’m smart enough to see what my future holds, and I know that there is no way off this mountain.
It’s cold today. Sixty-five degrees. Everyone’s wearing sweaters. I grab a bottle of water and walk down my road through the main strip past markets and schools, dribbling my ball between my toes. It never escapes my control, not even once. A city bus whizzes past me, missing me by about six inches. Doesn’t faze me. I’m heading to the beach. Not to beg, to play. Who knows, maybe someone big is down there. Maybe today, I’ll be discovered. I descend along congested streets to the sound of motorcycles beeping and careening back and forth through the endless flow of traffic. Once I’m past my neighborhood the streets widen and the pavement becomes smooth again. I pass private schools where on the other side of heavily fortified walls, rich kids play and learn and plan for their futures.
I have a plan too. I pass them and turn right, continuing on until I reach shiny, Portuguese tiles that stretch along the beach in a wavy black and white pattern. School’s in session for most kids, so I walk onto the open beach and practice alone. I run and kick and balance and dive; dribbling and playing, with all I have. A white guy shows up. We play together. His language skills suck, but he’s not too bad with a ball. A few more gather with us. We play hard until eventually our game morphs into volleyball. Feet only. We launch the ball above the net. I never let it hit the sand. I dive hard if I have to. There is no way I’m going to let the ball drop. When we finish, I notice a man standing back, watching me. My pounding heart accelerates. Could this be him? My savior? My scout? He approaches. His language skills are much better than the others. He asks me who I am and where I live. His manner is easy and calm, but his eyes are intense, concentrating. He asks how often I come down to the beach. I lie.
“Every day.”
He asks me about school. I laugh.
“School’s a waste of time.” He nods, pauses, and then turns to leave.
“See you around.”
My heart slows again. Tears push forward but make no exit. He isn’t a scout after all. I slump my way back up the hill, carrying my beat-up ball in my arms. Again I pass the rich schools. Children are leaving now, holding hands and entering cars with nannies and parents who are able to be there for them. Some of them glance at me quickly then away again. A few cross the street or avert eye contact all together. I notice, but don’t blame them. Street kids my age mug people like them all the time. The drug lords like to get groups of us together to go down and work the beaches and quiet allies. So far I’ve stayed out of it, but I know that soon the pressure will be on me too. I need to get out.
I ascend into my neighborhood, passing the same bustle and filth as before. A group of young kids race down the street on an old skateboard, laughing aloud, only inches away from traffic. No one seems to mind. Laundry hangs from windows in bright colors along corrugated, steal siding peppered with bullet holes and graffiti. Stray cats and dogs chase each other about. I pass my school, where kids are running outside on the cement. There aren’t many of them above the age of twelve. I watch them … small, scrawny creatures with light still shining in their eyes, completely oblivious of the hopeless future that awaits them. It makes me angry. In frustration, I kick a stone in the dirt. I’m wearing only flip-flops and the blow hurts my big toe. I swear and kneel down to observe the wound. It’s just a little scrape but it feels much bigger. Slowly I stand and take a step forward. In front of me I notice something I hadn’t before … a tree sticking up from the dry earth. It’s a pathetic thing with no more than four branches and ten leaves. I must have passed by it a hundred times without noticing.
Today it calls to me.
“I am here. I'm pathetic and small, but I’m a tree too.”
Its cry reaches my soul and we understand each other. I have some water left and pour it into the earth near the trunk. I nod at him, my new friend, congratulating him on his survival.
Finally I make it home. I throw my ball into the corner and sink onto the cement floor in front of my small television. I spend my evening alone, watching soccer and eating the cheese bread Mãe baked last Saturday. I think about the man from the beach and feel more depressed than before. When I finally fall asleep, I don’t dream a thing.
He looks a little taller.
Juan Carlos and Filipe run to join me. At the beach we sit back and watch others play. I notice the man from a few days before. I don’t wave because I know he won’t remember me, but he spots me and comes over.
“Moisés, right?” He remembers my name. I nod and introduce my friends. They mumble a greeting then look down at their toes. The man tells us his name. It’s Pete. He says it with a smile and invites us to play. The game is volley ball again, no hands. We play for hours, each of us poor kids holding our own against the rich guys. Pete makes sure to include us and passes the ball to me often. I never miss. When we’re done, one of the old guys asks us if we want a popsicle. Juan Carlos and Filipe bounce up and down in excitement. I just lean back and laugh at them.
Pete comes and sits beside me in the sand. At first he doesn’t say much, but soon he starts asking me questions: Where is my neighborhood? What about my family? Do I like to read? What do I want to be when I grow up?
That kind of stuff.
His questions are weird, but I answer honestly: I don’t like my neighborhood, but it’s home. Mãe’s rarely there, but she loves me. She hates that I’m alone all the time. I like to read, but I don’t own many books. When I grow up, I have to be a futebol star. What else is there?
He listens closely, nodding here and there. Soon my friends join us again. They bring me a lime popsicle. I smile and devour it. As we leave, Pete asks when I’ll be back again. I shrug. “Maybe on Monday.” He nods then says good-bye.
I like the guy, even if he is a little strange.
Mãe doesn’t like him. I told her about him on Sunday after mass. She says I need to be careful and not go around people who ask too many questions. “Foreigners can’t be trusted.” She says. “Trust only God, and Jesus and no on else.” I nod, but I’m not sure I agree.
Monday morning I head down to the beach alone. My new friend looks particularly thirsty today, so I dump all of my water in the dirt around his trunk and go back home for more. Mãe would be angry if she saw how much water I was wasting on one small tree. I don’t know why I do it, but whenever I see him, he calls out to something inside me. He’s pleading, “Help me! Take care of me! I may not look like much, but I am a tree too.” We understand one another.
At the beach I practice alone for an hour, then Pete shows up. He’s walking a dog, a pretty old Boxer. “Bom Dia!” he calls. I look up from my game and smile big. I’m still not used to foreigners giving me the time of day. “Olá.” I answer. Pete ties the Boxer to a pole and sets a bag down beside it, then makes his way to me. We dribble the ball back and forth to each other, trying not to let it touch the ground. We chat as we do so. I ask him where he learned to speak so well. “I spent a few years here when I was younger.” He replies.
“For work?”
“No, um, for my church actually. I was a missionary.”
“Hmm.” I shrug.
After a few minutes he confesses that he needs to be going.
“I’ve got to work, but I brought you something.” I’m surprised and it shows because Pete laughs. He retrieves his bag and hands it to me.
“These are for you.” I stare at him, feeling suspicious of what Mãe had said about foreigners. I open the sack to find a futebol encyclopedia. All the current UEFA and FIFA teams are in it. I swear, I am so excited I about pee my pants. I can’t speak either. I just stand there, bouncing with an amazed smile across my face.
“There’s one more in there.” He laughs. I open the bag again to find another book. This one is a novel, The Outsiders. I looked up, confused.
“You said you didn’t have much time for school.” Pete says.
“This is a classic. I thought that maybe you could read it and we could talk about it later.”
I don’t know what to think. I wonder why this guy even cares. What am I to him? And then I glance back down at the book and realize it doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to be nice. I smile.
“Thank you.”
“You bet. Enjoy them. Next time I see you, we’ll talk about them.”
I visit the beach every day after that, passing by my new friend with a daily drink of water. He looks stronger and stronger. I always bring my books with me, but I don’t see Pete again until Friday morning.
“Moisés!” He calls and I look up from the Barcelona team page in my encyclopedia to squint at him in the morning sun.
“Where’ve you been all week?” I ask, without a greeting. Pete laughs and plops down beside me in the sand. His Caucasian skin is tanned and peppered with freckles. I guess he is about thirty-five.
“Some of us have to work!” he jokes, and pokes my arm. I shrug and go back to my book. “So, how’s the reading coming along?” I don’t look up.
“Great. I’ve almost memorized the entire Barcelona team. I already finished with Chelsea and Real Madrid. Pete raises his eyebrows. Wow, I’m impressed.” He pauses before pushing further. “And how about the novel? Did you have a chance to look at it yet?” I shrug again. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“What did you think? Did you finish it?” I nod and look up. “Yeah. I didn’t like it.” He cocks his head with a serious expression.
“How come?”
“Everyone dies, and that Pony Boy kid … he loses his friends.” Pete sits still for a moment.
“Some places aren’t very easy for kids to grow up in.” He finally says. I glance up at my mountain and shrug.
“But,” he continues, “Sometimes, difficult lives make pretty incredible people.” I don’t completely follow him. He looks at me seriously.
“Moisés, I have a proposition for you, but I’ll need to discuss it with your mother first. Can you both meet me here on Sunday afternoon, say at about two?” I don’t understand, but I nod anyway and wonder quietly what he could possibly want.
“Good.” He smiles and stands up. “I’ve got to get to work now. See you Sunday.” He walks away quickly, pausing once to turn and wave. I sit there watching the waves for another hour, wondering if my life could ever be anything incredible. I doubt it.
Mãe doesn’t want to go. She flatly refuses at first, but in the end her own curiosity gets the better of her. Sunday after mass we slowly work our way down the mountain. We pass my new friend. I notice leaves sprouting from his higher branches and his trunk is at least half a centimeter thicker.
When Mãe and I approach my usual spot, Pete’s already there. He sees us coming and stands to wait. His typical contemplative expression looks a little nervous today. He addresses Mãe first.
“Boa tarde.” She answers, mimicking his greeting with a skeptical look. He motions us to sit then turns to me.
“Have you memorized Bayern Munich yet?” I nod readily.
“And Manchester United.”
“Well done!” He smiles. Mãe observes him closely, scrutinizing him from head to toe. Pete turns to her then and swallows slowly.
“Senhora,” he begins, “I know this must seem crazy to you, me wanting to meet you like this.” She interrupts him.
“Yes it does.” This time he doesn’t smile.
“I don’t want to cause you any worry at all. I just, I feel like I need to do something.” Mãe stares him down even harder and he looks toward me, pointing as he speaks.
“You have a very special kid here.” His sincerity catches Mãe and me off guard. She lowers her eyes. “I know.” She whispers. Something in my throat catches, as Pete goes on.
“I want to make you an offer, and I hope you’ll hear me out.” Pete pauses for a moment, weighing carefully the words that will change my life forever.
“I want to pay for Moisés to go to private school, here in the city.”
Mãe and I gasp.
“What?” she demands, “Why would you do something like that? What do you want?” Pete puts his hands up to calm her.
“Listen. I don’t know why, but the Lord has never blessed me with a family. My wife died a few years back of cancer before we were ever able to have children. After her death, I had to get away. I took a job here and haven’t looked back. I know it sounds strange, but when I met your boy, I felt a little piece of my old self return again. Moisés is bright and talented with so much potential. I feel like this is what I am supposed to do. That’s all. I ask nothing of you in return, except that Moisés stay with me during the week. I’ve found a spot for him at the international school, but the bus system will not go anywhere near your neighborhood. If he stays with me, I can watch over him during the week, and he will be able to easily fit in at school. Your weekends will stay the same, I promise you.”
Mãe stares at him. I think she is going to say no. I’m not sure what exactly I want her to say, but when the word “yes” exits her lips my trembling frame relaxes and fills with excitement. This is a bend in my humble road that I had not expected.
Plans are made. Clothing and supplies purchased. I don’t tell the other kids what is going on. I don’t know how they will react. I just want to disappear quietly. The day before my new life begins I return to my new friend. He stands as usual, rooted down without much above ground to impress. I pour my cup of water into his earth and promise to return each week with more.
Months pass and I begin to grow. Monday through Friday I go to school. At first I am far behind the others, but I work hard and catch up quickly. I practice English every chance I can. Pete is home each night for dinner. He helps me with my homework and then we go down to the beach to play soccer for an hour before bed. Each Sunday I return to Mãe and my new friend. I bring her delicious things to eat. I bring him a fresh bucket of water. Mãe’s worry lines are disappearing. She hums as she makes cheese bread for me to take to Pete. We attend mass together and I tell her about all the new things I am learning. Our neighbors wonder where I’ve been. I tell them I work all week. No one asks any more questions.
It’s always good to be home, and yet, it’s not the same. I’m changing so drastically. I’ve grown inches and muscles, but it’s more than that. As I learn, my perspective changes. I see my future and realize that I have the power to be anything I want to be. My dreams have change with my stature. Futebol has become my favorite hobby, not my lifeblood.
My friend continues to grow as well. He’s getting to the point where people stop to sit beneath his shade.
Our futures look bright.
Two years, twelve inches and straight A’s, later I am down on the beach playing futebol with Pete. He’s my best friend. We play hard, a fierce game. I score the winning goal and Pete runs up to clap me on the back. A man approaches. He asks Pete if he is my father. He says no, that he’s my guardian. The man is from a local league. He’s been watching me play for a few weeks and is interested in signing me on full time. He thinks I have a lot of potential. It will give me a paycheck, but require all of my time. Regular school will no longer be an option.
In an instant, my childhood dream is laid before me, ripe for the taking. It is the future I always wanted. Stars fill my eyes as he speaks. This is my chance. This is my dream. Pete stands still and listens, watching my expressions carefully. When the man finishes Pete simply says, “We’ll discuss it with the boy’s mother.” He is given a card and told to be in touch soon.
I rave about it all the way home. Pete doesn’t say a word. The next morning I’m still gushing. Pete tells me to think hard about what I really want. I wonder what he is talking about. He knows this is my dream. Why isn’t he more excited for me? I speak to him in English. I tell him that I know what I want. Pete nods and says he thinks joining the league is a mistake. He thinks my potential lies in other areas and that I should pray about it, and talk with my mother. I leave him feeling upset. All day long I sit through classes. I hang with my new friends, speak English and discuss things I never would have discussed two years earlier. I glance up at my old neighborhood, visible from campus and start to realize what I’ll be giving up. My certainty is weakened. Soon it’s time to go home.
It’s Friday night. I head up to Mãe’s house and pass by my friend, something I do without thought, a sort of "coming home" ritual. For every inch I’ve grown, he has grown five. Branches reach out, embracing the space around him. There is no doubt now what he is. Without question, he is a tree. His potential had been there all along. He only needed someone to help him discover it. My friend smiles down at me. He is wise. He tells my mind what my heart already knows. My childhood dream must stay in the past. Now is the time to look at my future. I glance around my neighborhood at all there is to improve. If something is going to change, someone will have to be prepared to do it. I know now what my choice must be.
Sunday night comes and Mãe walks me down to meet Pete. He approaches us slowly. I know he is worried about what I’ll say. I run to him and he doesn’t hesitate.
“Have you spoken with your mother yet?”
“Spoken with me about what?” Mãe asks, approaching us from behind. I turn to address her.
“About going to the states for a debate competition in June.” I reply quickly. Pete shoots a surprised look at me and I smile back.
“I guess it’s time to see how much potential I really have.”
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