ORPHANAGE BLUNDERS: Ten year old Julio stood with a small group of boys looking at the floor while the orphanage worker told me he had bad blood. "Brother von, he repeated, he has bad blood!" According to the worker, "Julio would always be trouble and never amount to anything." He made this pronouncement in front of the boy's peers and myself, an adult friend of his.

I know little Julio and indeed he's a problem kid. I also know that most of his immediate relatives have been in prison or are in prison now. The good looking boy is fatherless and from a rough neighborhood. As young as he is, we all know where he's headed. And it's people like this who help send and seal a boy into crime, and later say "see I told you so!"

I find it hard to understand why an adult Christian worker could be so cruel. This short pronouncement did a lot of damage. It hurt a young boy deeply, set his future against the church, Christians and adults, set him against authority, demeaned him in front of his peers and distanced him from another adult whom he respected. Lets include the kids standing around Julio; what did they learn?

The boy wants to run away. (and he will) And I can see why. But where will Julio go? The answer is painfully clear, there are a lot of streets in the center of Tijuana

Well meaning orphanage staff workers can be so cruel and immature; creating the very antagonism and rebellion that frustrates them. This frustration makes them have to yell and beat the kids to get them to behave ... never realizing that they, the staff, are half the problem! (Edwardito ran to Trinchi 2/'09 )

A BOY ALONE: In the orphanage and after our evening talk the teenagers filed out and into bed, all except fourteen year old Fernando, we asked him to stay back. "Take a seat Fernando."

It was lonely time!

This young boy is a Mexican Indian, placed in the orphanage by the Government. He doesn't speak much Spanish. He sat uncomfortably straight and stiff in his chair; his eyes avoiding ours. I know Fernando, he's very quiet and not close to anyone. A loner in the true sense of the word.

The kids call him "Indian."

I was asked to tell him that his little brother was dead.

No one wanted to tell him, neither did I. Fernando had asked about his little brother from time to time but the subject was always avoided. The Mexican Government had separated the two of them several years back, placing them in different orphanages. I knew about the situation but was waiting for information to come in as to what happened and where the young boy was buried. We only knew Fernando had no mother or father or even a relative, only his little brother, whom he loved ... and now his brother was dead. The government stonewalled us in trying to get the details.

It was time to tell him.

As we sat there, I broke the news to him as gently as I could. He took the news like the Indian he was, stoic; emotionless, his black eyes staring straight ahead. If he felt pain or loss, it didn't show.

He had no questions ... I had no answers.

I broke the silence by asked him if he liked it there at the orphanage, he paused and then whispered "no".

"Fernando, if there was anything in the world I could do for you or give you, what would it be?" ... After a long pause he whispered, "I wish I had a family."

He walked from the room ... truly alone.

UNLOVED: I've never felt unloved. It must be a terrible feeling. Yesterday I took twelve year old Isidro shopping ... not for clothes or food but for an orphanage that he would feel comfortable in.

I don't like that kind of shopping. What hurts most of all is that Isidro isn't a bad kid (yet.) He's a thin quiet boy who goes to school even though he isn't encouraged to. On off days you might find he and his buddy Luis working along a local dirt road, filling the big pot holes and hoping some drivers will give them a tip. The other day he proudly showed me his watermelon plant and tomato plant near the house.

Twelve, the critical age.

He knows I like figs, so he climbed a neighbor's fig tree and picked me a load of ripe figs, but I didn't return for about a week ... so much for the figs.

To his stepfather Isidro is a threat; to his alcoholic mother he's a liability. It seems the only one who really loves him is his dog.

At one point in the 'shopping' tour we sat alone in an orphanage and talked about the changes he would experience becoming part of an orphanage. The freedom he would have to give up, and the rules and discipline he would have to accept.

I told him very clearly; it's an orphanage or the street, you have to choose.

Isidro sat looking into my eyes and listening. No questions. No emotion.

In the afternoon we arrived back at the small shack he calls home, I told him to think things over and be sure of his decision. I'll be back Saturday, when he's to give me his decision.

As we got out of the car, his mother met us on the street. "Why did you bring him back? I thought you were going to leave him at an orphanage!"

How would you feel if you were Isidro?

My world is full of unloved and worthless kids ... but who really cares?

A BAD BATTERY: Saturday night I stopped by Isidro's house in the evening to let he and Luis off ... it was a long day of checking out orphanages. I was tired and ready for home.

When I got back into my SUV. to return home ... my car wouldn't start! Oh! Oh! No battery! No lights. No nothing! ... here in Pana!

Pana is well known to be a bad area any time especially at night, and more so if you're a Gringo and your car is dead. A couple of houses down the street two steel doors were pulled open. A mom 'n pop tire repair shop appeared which looked like any other house ... Seeing that I needed help, two Mexican men motioned me inside.

My first thought was ... is this the last of von? But at this point what are my options?

I put the car in neutral and slowly coasted in ... the men lifted the hood and started cleaning the battery, pulled it out and with a make-shift charger fast charged it.

During our conversation I told him who I was and who we were. The man, Ramon, who spoke good English, said " Oh, I've heard of you; you guys are the ones who help people."

What a relief!

When they were finished, I asked him how much for the battery charge. "No charge!" He wouldn't take a cent. "Don't let the engine die ..."

Thanks I said, and headed for home with an engine and lights.

It's nice, if you're going to be in a bad area in Tijuana on a dark night ... to be known for doing good.

Note: Two days later I returned and brought him a set of wrenches. I noted that night he only had a pair of pliers and a screw driver.

FACES: As I study the faces of kids here in the U.S and compare them to the faces of my many kids in the poorer areas of Tijuana. I find a very visible contrast; an unsettling contrast. The expression on the faces of American kids seem to read dull, sullen and unhappy ... almost like the adults they're trying to emulate.

Contrast that with the honest and animated face of boy-hood joy!

I guess I mean to say that our U.S. kids don't act like kids. Boyhood fun today is a kid quietly sitting scrunched up in a corner playing with his little joy stick, vicariously playing out his life using an electronic game. He can be a successful criminal, boxer, a soldier or sports hero ... just a few dollars more and he can enter a new and different world of challenge.

What happened?

That's a good question; a more important question is how long has this movement into the vicarious been happening? Weak chubby little American boys with that electronic stare already on their faces. Their fast moving little fingers bring them victory in fighting the unreal.

In my Mexico, where progress and technology are simply two words found in a Western dictionary somewhere, the kids show a youthful excitement, curiosity and joy of life. Happy-go-lucky bundles of boundless energy. You'll find them spinning tops, playing marbles or flying kites. Kids happily pushing old four wheel carts, riding crippled tricycles. Wow! That's fun.

Even the poorest of kids in Mexico are a happy, energetic and noisy bunch. Why? They're normal kids; outdoor kids and as kids they are happy.

And they don't have our technology ... yet!

On the northern side of the border while our wealthy and sophisticated little American kids are busy staring into their addicting screens, our young teens are busy Googling out the forbidden fruits of 'Adulthood' ... Adult shows, books, magazines, toys, games, parties, language ... teens way too young to know that there is no meaningful purpose in hedonistic pleasure.

Where has the simple joy, freedom and happiness of youth gone?

Is anyone really paying attention as to the direction in which our technology is taking us? Our youth have got technology, or worse, maybe our ever addicting technology has them.

A bad scenario.

TWO BOYS WITH PROBLEMS: PEPE'S NEW FRIEND: Roberto's home tragically exploded the other day and he ended up as one of the flying pieces. He had two choices, the street or an orphanage. It's hard to explain to a sobbing twelve year old what happened and why it happened. I reminded him what happens to young kids who try to make it on the street. He, like most kids in the neighborhood, knows the facts of Tijuana life.

As we were settling him in an orphanage located near little crippled Pepe house, I asked him if he would like to take a side trip and go with me to visit Pepe. I thought seeing Pepe and his condition might temporarily take the sting from Roberto's own world of problems.

He agreed and wanted to see him.

Pepe was excited to see us, especially me as I always give him a little Hotwheels car. The two new friends got along great, soon they were happily playing 'cars' together.

Pepe became thirsty so I asked Roberto to give him a drink of water. Roberto looked at me puzzled and then realized the situation, Pepe can't feed himself. He found a glass, walked over to the bottle of water and poured some water in the glass, placing a straw in the glass he walked back to Pepe. Roberto had to hold up the glass of water so Pepe could drink. It was sort of neat to see this.

As we left Pepe's house I asked Roberto how he felt there with Pepe. "I like him, he's fun, I want to come back, he's my friend." "Roberto, did you forget about your problems while you were playing with him?" ... He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I forgot all about my problems ... "

An interesting sight. Roberto the rejected, helping Pepe the cripple.

One way we can forget our own problems, is by getting involved helping others through their problems.

TRICKY-TRICKY: Last night was Halloween complete with a cold night, slight wind, and a bright full moon. In Tijuana they call Halloween, 'Tricky-Tricky'

Kids appear from everywhere.

As I was driving home after speaking to a group of teens living in an orphanage that was located in a large remote area of the Tijuana back country; I noted how different Halloween night would be a couple of miles north in good old San Diego.

In this area there were no lights, just dry hills, and small, candle lit houses located along dusty rabbit trail roads. As we drove down the road my head lights caught small groups of rag-tag kids costumed for the night carrying little plastic bags and walking along the side of the road; the trail to goodies. The little houses, each with a small bowl of sweet treats, were spaced from a half mile to a mile apart. Quite a night's hike for just a few pieces of small candy.

To kids who have little to nothing, getting a few pieces of candy is worth the long hike. Quite a contrast to rich San Diego.

A LITTLE BOY WITH CAR TROUBLE: This picture says it all! Daniel, about seven sitting in his little red plastic car. He sat there on the road with a wide smile even though his little clunker was falling apart! I was driving down a narrow dirt road slowly passing him on the left. Obviously one of Mexico's younger drivers. It seemed he had car trouble so I stopped to take a look and see what could be done. On a closer look it seemed he had a total car problem. His engine was (Two foot power), and looked like they could go on forever, and his brakes (his two feet) worked well, but the suspension was gone and steering was bad! The front wheels were in bad shape - out of alignment, out of balance, out of round and his right rear wheel kept coming off. But he was not one to be discouraged! Daniel was happily sitting in his little red economy convertible with a three-foot wooden antenna wired to the side! Wow! He had no radio though; bummer! Now if only the car would work. Smiling contentedly, he just sat there pretending. That's what you do when you're poor ... you pretend (I gave him a little chocolate bar to help re-start the engine).

THAT LITTLE HOUSE ON THE CORNER OF HELL AND PAIN: It looked like a lot of the houses on the street. Their house was a slapped together combination of old plywood, two-by-fours, cardboard and plastic tarp surrounded by a make shift fence of old boards and wire. In the weedy yard was a scrawny but aggressive dog chained to a dog house of sorts.

Indeed the small two-room house may have looked like 'hell', but it was the inside that made it hell.

Inside the dark house with one window and a door lived a family plagued with problems. The environment could best be described as truly hopeless. Mom, a sick alcoholic with T.B and AIDS. A father, an angry man, with T.B and AIDS and their four small kids. Little Jasmine (6), and her brother, Jose (5), had AIDS and T.B. also. Roberto (12) and Jennifer (11) were the oldest and each had T.B. Roberto and Jennifer cooked and odd jobs for cash.

They lived together, occasionally ate together and fought together in that dark, chaotic and dirty house. Crying, hunger, drugs and alcohol along with cockroaches were just a part of life.

Relatives, like the neighbors, kept their distance.

It all exploded one day when the Mexican government came in and took the family apart. One day they were together in their pain, the next they were separated and enduring a new form of pain ... confusion and loneliness.

Hell takes so many different forms ... we see it so often. My heart still aches every time I pass the broken down house ...

... on the corner of Hell and Pain.

This site is maintained for Spectrum Ministries by David Pence/ACE Micro