Even though I'm going tomorrow and I'll have lots of new stories next week, I wanted to share one last one with you before I go.

On our last trip, we were all at the boys soccer game. When we go to their games, I have learned to try to bring enough water for the boys. See, in Mexico, with orphans, there is no "team mom". The other teams don't have one either. One time, I went to the store and brought the boys back lots of fruit, chips, and water to drink. It's hard to watch them drink out of a spout on the ground which is really no different than the hose they drink out of back at CdE.

Anyway, back to the game. Patty, Shannon, and I were the only women there. It's the boys, the coaches, and no spectators (besides the extra boys from CdE that can't play). One of the boys on the other team tripped and fell. I know this is common, but when the boy got up, his hand hung in a way that it's not supposed to. His wrist bone (maybe his ulna) was sticking out a lot more than normal. His coach asked me if I could take him to the doctor. Without hesitation, talking to Patty or Shannon, I went.

We went to the Red Cross. No one was there, but as we were knocking and waiting and knocking again, one of the women that work there came and talked to us. She said that they couldn't help and that we should take him to his dad.

He showed me where to take him and he pointed to a cute little green house on the side of the road. Not knowing what is culturally the right thing to do... to go with or stay in the car... I followed because Adrian did. He walked on the side of the house so I thought that maybe his mom would be in the back making tortillas or doing laundry. She wasn't. We walked down a small hill and then there was a woman making tortillas. Awe, his mom.

Nope, not so much.

We walked down another hill, a small building on the left the size of a common living room. Maybe this is his house. Nope. There was no one there.

We walked down a tire step in the hill, saw another little house - this time on the right side.

Nope.

Lastly, we walked down a steeper part of the hill (it's all the same hill), and then there's all sorts of men stirring cement and pouring it. Past them, there was a little woman. Yes, this was his mom.

His coach told her about his wrist and how bad it was. She didn't necessarily believe it and she said to tie it with a rope. The little boy moved his hand that was holding his wrist to keep his hand attached to his body, withholding all of his tears to prove he can handle it. His mom didn't even gasp (like the rest of us) and kept her same solution.

The coach didn't like that solution, so he then talked to his dad who was admist the men diligently working with the cement. His son then showed him his wrist, and he finally believed that he should be taken to the doctor. We walked back up the hill past the other 2 houses and then finally up to the top one. He then said we could go and that he would take care of him from there.

Did he? I will never know. It's hard, I had never seen that boy before, but just imagining him walk around with weeks with a rope tied to his arm is hard to handle. I really hope his dad took care of him...