A Story

This is a short story. It’s also a true story. I call it a short story because it is a glimpse into the lives of the students here at St. Labre, specifically one student named James. While it is his unique experience, it also adds real insight to the larger issues many kids face on the reservation. James lived in the group home when he was younger.
Two of my housemates work in Shiloh, the group home, this year. They work, play and mentor the six elementary aged children currently living there. These are kids whose parents have lost custody or, in some cases, voluntarily bring their kids to stay at the home because of their own parenting challenges. Just two weeks ago, a mother brought her son to Shiloh with a mixed explanation of his unruly behavior and her own lack of parenting skills. She told him that when his behavior improved he could return home. Her son could not control his temper, often violently reacted to the other kids in the group home and as a result, he was not allowed to play with the other kids, and vice versa. His mom missed a scheduled appointment to drop off his things at Shiloh, only to return a week later to pick him on short notice and bring him home. Grandma and grandpa had convinced her that the little boy belonged at home. The administrators and counselors who run Shiloh had no control because she had retained custody throughout the entire affair.
While returning home was hard for the little boy (he cried, hid in the corner, not wanting to leave), it was also hard for the other kids living there. They had no home to return to and no mother or father to pick them up. This is part of the reality they face.
This year was James’ first back at St. Labre. Living according to the expectations at the dorm was difficult because he had experience many different home environments, including stints in jail. At first, he refused to respond to attendants requests for him to do his chores and make his bed, but slowly he came around. At first, he refused to do any homework in study hall, but then he slowly began to work, even if only in certain subjects. His behavior began to improve and it seemed the dorms were having a positive impact on him. Suddenly, he was gone from school for a week. After ten to fifteen unexcused absences from school students may be dismissed from St. Labre and James was asked to leave. It turns out the week he missed was spent in jail. I don’t know why he went to jail and I don’t know where he was headed after St. Labre. Most likely it will be one of the high schools on the reservation. While St. Labre isn’t perfect, it’s supposedly a much better institution than many of the other schools in the area. I will probably never see or hear from him again and I doubt his future will be easy. Before he left, he was given a heavy winter coat. He didn’t have anything thicker than a t-shirt to wear. This past week, it reached 3 degrees outside.
Last week, I chaperoned a wrestling match for the middle school. At the end of the night, we dropped many of the kids off at their homes. The final kid, Chris, we dropped off at a bar in Ashland. His grandmother worked inside and would take him home after her shift was over. He told me sometimes his family would not eat dinner until 11pm because his grandfather was drunk all the time, so his grandmother would have to work at the bar, and his uncle wouldn’t come home from work until 11 and then he would make dinner. Chris will probably come live in the dorm this next week. There are 70 other students who live at the dorm. Some may have stories and backgrounds similar to his. Some may not.

There's no place like home.

Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

I write from the comforts of the big red chair in the living room of my home in Snohomish, Washington. In the beautiful Pacific Northwest. The NW really is so beautiful. It is so great to be at home again with my family, my dogs, to walk around the beautiful garden, water the apple trees, to have fresh raspberries for my cereal and plump blueberries that I eat write off the bush.

I got home Sunday night around 10:30pm and have since spent the time relaxing.

My final destination in Guatemala, Lake Atitlan, was supposed to be filled with relaxation. However, while on a hike to Indian Nose (a mountain shaped in the pface of a person with a prominent nose), I was robbed and assaulted by 4 young men, 2 of whom were carrying machetes. I am okay :) but the experience was quite scary.

I had asked 2 people (one of whom was a guide) at the place I was staying if it was safe to do the hike alone. The response I got: "Yeah, you'll be okay. You're a man, they shouldn't bother you." Well, after hiking up the road for about just over an hour I started to catch up to a group of youth who were walking behind an older man. As they approached a blind corner, one looked back, spotted me and motioned to the others to stop. I noticed this and started to call out loudly (so they knew the older man knew I was there-or that was my intent), "Hey, how's it going? What are you guys up to?" One of the teens immediately pulled out a machete, pointed it at me and stalked towards me, saying: "Give me your money." I purposely didn't bring any money so this wouldn't happen and told him that. That didn't stop them from pulling my shirt up and sticking their hands under my belt (looking for a money belt) and into my pockets. I let them do so, out of pure shock and hoping that they would see I had no money and walk away. After repeating that I didn't have any money, the boy then said, "well, the backpack then" and another boy started to try to cut the straps off my backpack (which I was wearing) with his machete. This bolted me into action as my backpack had my camera in it. (My nice, new camera, but more importantly a lot of pictures that I had yet to save somewhere else) So, I grabbed the first thief's machete (which was inches from my face) and pushed away and tried to get away from their grasps. After a few attempts to run(it was impossible with 4 people holding onto different parts of me (trying to take off my watch) and my backpack I started to yell, "Thieves! Thieves, help me!" With this, I was able to break from their relaxed grasps and they ran off, up the hillside taking my room key and a bandanna from my pocket. I yelled in fury after them, "Hacen falta" (it's what fans cry after a foul in futbol, but I think I got my point across)

I am very grateful that God protected me during this incident and nothing worse happened. Their are stories of strong, grown men losing their shoes and shirt right off their back in past robberies.

A hundred meters up the road I met worker who offered to take me up to the top in safety for 5 bucks (the thieves don't attack when you're with a local), which I agreed to. We made it to the top and back down, without further incident. Though along the way we saw a few other young boys with machetes who Pablo, my guide, said were likely other potential thieves.

This was a horrible way to end my trip. I know the Guatemalan people are a beautiful, humble, giving people and they have shared so much with me even in the midst of their poverty. But, it is one part of the reality of this country, where corruption prevails in government and many people don't have jobs. Some of these people resort to theft. Maybe it is out of desperation to feed their families. In this case for these boys about my age, it was more likely out of want to buy an iPod or cellphone. Even in a country as poor as Guatemala, these modern symbols of luxury are everywhere.