(no subject)
Unrealized potential
Pio rolls his eyes when you ask him to do something and he giggles as you attempt to feed him, snaking his head back and forth to avoid the spoon. He seldom cries, but when he does it is designed to break your heart. He does not make a sound. He simply lets his eyes well up and the tears spill over silently while dark wet lashes trying to fade them away. If your back was turned you might not notice.
Conchita smiles when you sit her in the sun shine, big blue eyes opening wide to take in the light. She sees only in silhouettes but I believe she enjoys the contrast, and the warmth on her skin. She laughs at nothing, sitting alone in her car seat by the window she begins to giggle. She shakes and her woman’s head of hair moves across he small shoulders.
Margaret is in need of something new to explore. She has learned to pull her self up, and to walk when she is sitting in the walker. She’ll be able to do it on her own at some point, a skill none of the other children will acquire. She moves about the room trying to pull things down to her level; plates full of baby food, dirty bibs, the other children’s feet. She wanders in to the hallway by herself when my back is turned, trying to find something new to see, to taste, to touch. I want to take her to find something new. I want to take her to the park; I want her to feel the sand in the sand box running through her fingers, I want to see her laugh on the swings. Children learn by doing and Maggie is running out of things to do and see. She has a learning delay and could benefit from a more than the physical therapy she receives. She could use speech therapy, more attention, more to see and explore, more room to grow. They all could. But there are too many children, there is not enough money and there is not enough time.
Every child in the house gets personal attention, they see the doctors by themselves, they take their baths with one attendant, they are fed one by one, and they are played with. It is not the same though. They don’t receive the same treatment as the kids I’ve worked with in the past. How could they? They have no parents, and while they have found a place where people care about them they are each one child in a group of many. More than that ( or maybe… hopefully… someday less) even though they have people who care for them now it cannot erase their pasts.
Juanita is five years old and afraid of the world. She can only move her torso. The muscles in her legs and arms are so tense that she can not make them straighten. She has trouble swallowing and she cries when the room is filled with bright light. I can only imagine what she feels when the room fills, what she sees. Does she still see him looming over her? Does she still feel the burn of the glue in her eyes? Does she feel him strike her? Does she hear herself crying? Does she hear shouting? What does she sees before she finds security again, in gentler hands.
All of the children at Hugades have some unrealized potential, they can each move forward from the place they are at, though not all of them will. It’s worst for the babies, in their one little room, without school as an escape. They need things the people that love them can’t give. There aren’t enough eyes, there isn’t enough space, and there isn’t enough money. There will be fundraisers for new extra therapies and extra hands, Hopefully with enough care some of the kids potentials will be filled, and hopefully with enough love some other problems can be healed, but it doesn’t change the initial unfairness.
Pio rolls his eyes when you ask him to do something and he giggles as you attempt to feed him, snaking his head back and forth to avoid the spoon. He seldom cries, but when he does it is designed to break your heart. He does not make a sound. He simply lets his eyes well up and the tears spill over silently while dark wet lashes trying to fade them away. If your back was turned you might not notice.
Conchita smiles when you sit her in the sun shine, big blue eyes opening wide to take in the light. She sees only in silhouettes but I believe she enjoys the contrast, and the warmth on her skin. She laughs at nothing, sitting alone in her car seat by the window she begins to giggle. She shakes and her woman’s head of hair moves across he small shoulders.
Margaret is in need of something new to explore. She has learned to pull her self up, and to walk when she is sitting in the walker. She’ll be able to do it on her own at some point, a skill none of the other children will acquire. She moves about the room trying to pull things down to her level; plates full of baby food, dirty bibs, the other children’s feet. She wanders in to the hallway by herself when my back is turned, trying to find something new to see, to taste, to touch. I want to take her to find something new. I want to take her to the park; I want her to feel the sand in the sand box running through her fingers, I want to see her laugh on the swings. Children learn by doing and Maggie is running out of things to do and see. She has a learning delay and could benefit from a more than the physical therapy she receives. She could use speech therapy, more attention, more to see and explore, more room to grow. They all could. But there are too many children, there is not enough money and there is not enough time.
Every child in the house gets personal attention, they see the doctors by themselves, they take their baths with one attendant, they are fed one by one, and they are played with. It is not the same though. They don’t receive the same treatment as the kids I’ve worked with in the past. How could they? They have no parents, and while they have found a place where people care about them they are each one child in a group of many. More than that ( or maybe… hopefully… someday less) even though they have people who care for them now it cannot erase their pasts.
Juanita is five years old and afraid of the world. She can only move her torso. The muscles in her legs and arms are so tense that she can not make them straighten. She has trouble swallowing and she cries when the room is filled with bright light. I can only imagine what she feels when the room fills, what she sees. Does she still see him looming over her? Does she still feel the burn of the glue in her eyes? Does she feel him strike her? Does she hear herself crying? Does she hear shouting? What does she sees before she finds security again, in gentler hands.
All of the children at Hugades have some unrealized potential, they can each move forward from the place they are at, though not all of them will. It’s worst for the babies, in their one little room, without school as an escape. They need things the people that love them can’t give. There aren’t enough eyes, there isn’t enough space, and there isn’t enough money. There will be fundraisers for new extra therapies and extra hands, Hopefully with enough care some of the kids potentials will be filled, and hopefully with enough love some other problems can be healed, but it doesn’t change the initial unfairness.