worlds apart

previously published by me elsewhere:

The annual update for our South American sponsor child arrived in the mail yesterday. It comes every year around this time and reads at four or five pages of frustrating broken English, as it defines in the most basic terms what's been going on in the village and how she's been doing health wise.

Every year the update arrives, as does a new set of pictures. It's always the same general couple of pictures, one or two of on-going productivity in the village, and then two pictures of her looking one year older. They are always very much like the mug shots taken for film continuity: the subject stands there devoid of feeling in a wide shot and then in a medium or close-up. It always looks like such an inconvenience to her. And I wonder what her thoughts are on the whole matter.

I've been sponsoring her since she was six. Back when I was studying Education in college I decided to answer one of those mailings that seem to randomly flow through households. Not surprisingly Katharine Hepburn was on the inside of the envelope giving her urging to help a child in need. Having always been an admirer of Kate and her film choices, I decided to accept her judgment of a legitimate organization and sent the spare change they spoke of right away.

Since then there have been sporadic letters from both ends, but it's never been much of pen pal sort of thing, like Jack Nicholson had with his child in "About Schmidt" (we use the same organization, though!). The most consistent communication would have to be what I call the inventory letters.

Every birthday and every Christmas we send a variety of gifts, which promptly get listed one by one in the form of a letter. It's a strange thing, and an understandable step for the organization to take to ensure nothing was lost in the mail, or stolen on-site. You know, to put those whiny Americans at ease that the Tickle-Me-Elmo they fought to the death over arrived without a scratch.

Surprisingly, a very random gift choice several years back of a Spanish version of the first novel in the Harry Potter series turned her into a fan. She's all caught up now. According to a letter from last year, what she'd really like is a computer. The entire phrase caught me off-guard.

There's this certain series of questions that have always existed about what things are really like down there beyond what I always interpret to be a sanitized version of the truth that comes in the letters and pictures. I tend to think she also has a certain amount of expectations what things are like here.

She's seventeen now, and this will be the last year we are supposed to be sponsoring her. I know I've been humbled by the situation, even though I still don't speak her language. I wonder what sort of effects this whole arrangement has had on her. Who would she be without this small additional involvement in her life?