Boy, Girl, Baby

"Truth spoke in whispers will tear you apart
No matter how hard you resist it
It never rains when you want it to
You humble me, Lord."
 - Humble Me, by Norah Jones



It was a lazy Sunday afternoon when they rang the doorbell. The rest of the Casa Gabriel boys and I had returned from lunch about an hour ago. Some of them were studying, some were watching TV, and I was reading, pausing occasionally to follow along with a Spanish-dubbed superhero cartoon. Above the inside front door, there is a telephone for speaking to the person outside, and a camera for seeing who it is. I couldn't tell at first who it was, peering at the blurry image of the two figures on the screen above my head, when the voice on the other end of the line said his name.


It was a boy who had lived at Casa Gabriel for a time before making some poor choices and deciding not to face the consequences. The staff had met with him in love, outlining how we would work through things with him, but he had refused. The normal consequences for actions such as staying out past curfew, not doing chores, being disrespectful towards staff members, among other more serious offenses, can include extra house-hold chores and loss of cell phone and other privileges for a time. He, however, shook his head and said he'd rather leave. Among the things we were trying to work through with him included that his girlfriend had just had a pregnancy scare. We asked that the teenage couple take some time apart to focus on school, which they were not willing to do.

"You're so close to graduating," we told him. "If she does get pregnant and you become a father, not having a diploma will make it so much harder to provide."
We hoped, of course, that the pregnancy scare would help them refocus, pause in having sex and consider the future more seriously. We talked and talked, holding out bright dreams of graduating, of figuring out what job field he was most interested in, of working through things in a home where people cared about him instead of running away. But in the end, he chose to run.

But still, we have an open-door policy for most of the boys who had chosen to leave. We, the staff, are always willing to reconcile and offer a second chance. He had talked about coming back and had even started the process a couple of times, only to pull back.

The last time I'd seen him, he stole a cell phone.

He had visited Casa Gabriel and left with a staff member's cell phone in his pocket. After weeks of denial he finally admitted to the theft, the phone being long sold on the streets. He was living with his girlfriend's family then, and, as we had predicted, she became pregnant after all. The next time I heard from him was when he sent a photo of their brand-new baby girl to the director. Then nothing, until the three of them showed up at the front door.

I let them in and we sat and talked.
"Do you want to hold her?" he asked, passing the tiny baby towards me. She was light and lovely, dark hair peeking in wisps from beneath a knitted cap. Slowly her eyes opened; only three months old, still a newbie to the world, still fragile and fresh. I wondered if she'd look more like her Ecuadorian father or her Africa Ecuadorian mother. As I rocked her, the two young parents smiled at me, shy and proud. They handled the baby with both gentle care and confidence, yet when I looked at them, I saw two children playing at being grown-ups.

"I have a job, and she's studying," the boy told me. "But she needs glasses. She has trouble seeing the blackboard." I nodded sympathetically. I knew they had likely come to ask for money. It's always a hard balance: how much can we help those who have refused to let us help them in the past, when we have a house full of boys to help as it is?

We talked for about half an hour, and I got a couple of the boys he had known before to come and say hi. They too, cooed over the baby, because how can you not?

In the kitchen I found some pancitos - large rolls of fresh bread - and put four into a bag.
"Here's a snack," I said, handing it to them. I hate to send anyone away with nothing. They had asked if the director was there, disappointed to hear he was in the States. When it was time to go, the boy set the baby into a sling on his front. I found myself glad that he was taking on the job of carrying her and giving the mother a break, which isn't always very cultural.

"See you later," we said.
I wish I had a happy ending to this story. But like many, it is simply in process. I'm sure I will see them again, perhaps soon (such as joining us for lunch one Sunday) or perhaps not until the summer, when the director returns from the States. I only hope they will be well. I hope their beautiful daughter inspires good choices and for them to build a strong future together. For the two of them, their daughter, and any other children they may one day have, I hope for many good things.