Editor's note: This is a guest post by our very good friend Laurita Tellado. Laurita directs the Latinos In Social Media (LATISM) Central Florida chapter and won the "Best Latina Health Blogger" Award at the LATISM 2011 Awards. In March 2013 La Prensa Orlando Newspaper honored her with the "Young Leader" title at the Mujeres Destacadas awards. Follow her on Twitter at
@Laurita86,
@HoldinOut4Hero and
@EspressoYLeche.
Mami and I had a very sobering, humbling experience this afternoon. While spending some quality time in the front yard, we noticed a young, preteen boy going door-to-door on our street. We both agreed we didn't want to deal with that today, having to say no to whatever he was selling. Besides, we didn't really have any cash on us to buy anything.
We quickly went back into the house and waited for the doorbell to ring, inevitably. The doorbell rang, there were knocks on the door, and we ignored it all. Finally, I realized he wouldn't let up, and I said to Mami, resigned, "I guess you'd better open the door." So, she did so hesitantly, as there is always the fear now of opening the door for strangers-- even kids.
She opened the door as the boy was leaving a bag of caramel popcorn from the Boy Scouts at our doorstep. He said it was a free sample. Mami questioned him, "How can you give that for free?" He explained that they wanted for people to try it out to see if they liked it.
She noticed he was wearing a Boy Scouts T-shirt from Puerto Rico. Mami asked him if he was from P.R., and he immediately switched languages. He began to ask her, in Spanish, what part of P.R. our family is from. They chatted for a bit, and after he said his family had only been living here for two months, she asked how he was adapting to Orlando. He admitted, "it's difficult." He had the sweetest, saddest expression on his face. By this point, my curiosity was piqued enough to emerge from the sofa and abandon the T.V.
I introduced myself and mentioned that I was really little when we moved from P.R., but that growing up an only child here had been hard for me. We asked if he had any siblings. He said he was an only child, too.
The middle-schooler said he was trying to learn to play all of the instruments in his school band. I gaped as he rattled off the names of all of the instruments he's learning.
Finally, Mami decided to go out on a limb. She asked if his family attended a Church, and if so, what religion. He said, "We're Catholic." We told him we were, too, and started telling him about our parish, which is Maronite Catholic and is in our neighborhood (this kid only lives a street away). He lit up when we talked to him about Church, saying that his family has been searching for a Church to attend ever since their arrival. They have looked in other neighboring communities, too. He looked at us and said, " I really want to find a Church. It feels like a void."
As Mami went off to write down our contact info to give to his parents on a Church bulletin, I talked to him about our fellow parishioners, who are from so many different countries. He liked that, and said he wanted to learn about different cultures. I told him many of them are from countries like Syria and Lebanon, and how many of them might be persecuted in their countries for being Christian. He said, "Oh, I'm fascinated by stories of religious persecution. It's sad how many people are persecuted for wanting to go to Church."
This is probably the moment when my mouth dropped. Here was a baby-faced Boy Scout who was completely aware of the injustices of humanity; someone who was young enough (and open-minded enough) to still possess a childlike, universal acceptance of differences, and yet was wise enough to understand how rare it is. And we had initially refused to open the door for him.
Finally, we thanked him, and he thanked us, and this painfully shy boy who was putting off his soliciting left our doorstep with a smile on his face, back to his house, where he hadn't been since early in the afternoon. As he waved goodbye, he told us, "God Bless you...many Blessings."
No sooner had the door been shut than Mami and I burst into tears.
On a seemingly ordinary, somewhat gloomy, first day of December, a prepubescent boy who just moved here knocked on our door...and met with a couple of jaded, wary "Christians." Never could we have imagined that this little boy would teach us such a remarkable, universal lesson.
"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me."
--Revelation 3:20
