We pull up. A boy in yellow shorts who is afraid to talk with us. Afraid of what might happen after we leave. I choose to see. To look into his eyes. I see hopelessness.
We pull up. Another boy in pink fleece pants. His body is rigid and his eyes full of fright. He recoils when a hand reaches out to touch him. How many times has that hand reached out to hurt him that he no longer knows touch can be healing? We give him some candy. Hopefully he did not pay for our kindness.
We smiled at the kids. Touched and hugged and held as many as possible. Tried to make them laugh even knowing it was so very fleeting. We handed out new shorts and dresses, praying the masters would let them keep this one thing and not take it from them, returning them to the rags.