Yucky

There’s a great temptation to romanticize poverty, to cast the poor as saints, especially the little ones.

Look at them, we say, playing so nicely, saying “please” and “thank you”, holding our hands, sitting in our lap, sweet smiling things – always smiling. So good, so cute…not like those kids back home.

Compassion Philippines

But if you were to take the most wonderful child from the streets of some developing nation, buy him a plane ticket and bring him home with you…

Guatemala_Cowboy

If you loved him…

Kenyan_boy

If you were to give him three meals every day, shoes for his feet, a roof over his head, hot water to bathe in, medicine, if you taught him…

boy-praying

If you were to band-aid his skinned knees, shhh his late night fears, hold the tissue when he blows his nose…

Boy-with-stick

If you read him bedtime stories, played cricket in the front yard, showed him how to blow bubbles and ride a bike and use scissors…

guatemala_boy

If you forgot to put those scissors away…

Yucky-Hair

He’d give himself a haircut…

Yucky-Hair-2

And he would repay your kindnesses with “My hair yucky like you hair, Dad.”

If he were four. Because four year-olds are so very…four. No matter where they come from.

I know not any thing more pleasant, or more instructive, than to compare experience with expectation, or to register from time to time the difference between idea and reality. It is by this kind of observation that we grow daily less liable to be disappointed. -Samuel Johnson