Angel Smiles

“Hello, I remember you from last year.” It was the last night of the insane 9-day, round-the-clock fiesta that marks the celebration of La Cruz’s founding. I turned away from the stage, where adorable 5 year old girls were re-enacting hula dances from Lilo & Stitch, to see who, in this great crush of people, had so gently laid a hand upon my shoulder. “I am a teacher at the school…the technologic institute.” Just on the outskirts of La Cruz, the Instituto Tecnológico de Bahía de Banderas offers degrees and certificates that include marine biology, nature tourism, and adventure…essentially trains students to make a living on the water. We talked about his dive program and the possibility of trading bottom cleaning for sailing lessons on our boat.

“This upcoming week,” I said, “is hard for us. We just lost my father-in-law and things are really hectic.” He smiled and said, “For us, also…on Monday, we take my son in to check his blood and if everything is good, he will have surgery.” “What is the surgery for?” I asked. He paused for a minute, translating words in his head, perhaps, and then said, “My son Angel was born with a cleft palate…it was the other reason I wanted to talk to you…I do not know how to say…I do not want to…offend you?” he trailed off.

“It’s ok,” I said, “You cannot offend me. We are like family, no? We both have children who look different, who are gifts from God.” “Yes!” he said, “Exactly!” “Is he here?” I asked. “Oh yes, there, with my wife,” he said, pointing at a lovely woman seated in the last row of chairs, sleeping baby nestled in the crook of her arm, the only thing visible was a riot of curly black hair and one chubby hand clutching possessively, in that way all babies do, at the warm softness of his mother’s breast.

“Congratulations,” I said, “he is beautiful and perfect.” And then the sudden loud explosion of fireworks going off right next to us startled Angel awake. He cried for a moment, found himself still safely in his mother’s arms, and then decided that the strange woman peering down at him with crazy colored hair was infinitely more interesting than crying. Dark brown eyes still half-full of tears, he regarded me seriously, trying to fit me into his understanding of the world.  I smiled at him, which must’ve been the right thing to do, because he smiled back one of those whole body smiles that mean everything in the world is as it should be, and in that fraction of a minute, quite stole my heart.

“I want, “his dad began, “to know how do I raise my son to be the kind of man your son is.” He paused, “Your son is very…comfortable with himself. Very confident. He looks different, yes, but he makes it to look like this is a very good thing. He is strong and this I want for my son.”

It’s hard to say, exactly, how much it meant to hear those words. Pride, validation, love, happiness…I remembered my husband, all those years ago, sitting by the incubator, head leaning against the plastic enclosure, his strong rough hand gently stroking our son’s head, whispering, “We love you. You are strong. You are smart. You can do anything. You are perfect just the way you are.”

When Eli was born, a lot of people said, “I’m sorry.” Or, “You’re young—you can easily have a normal one.” And of course, can’t forget the advice given by Sierra Vista Hospital’s genetic counselor that we should give him up for adoption and try again right away. It was strange and distressing that so many people couldn’t see what we saw, that Eli was perfect and beautiful and we couldn’t imagine him any other way. We actually sat down and mapped out a plan of how to raise our son to have a healthy sense of self-esteem, to be proud of his differences, and celebrate his strengths. And of course we worried, over the years, that in spite of our best efforts, we might fail. Puberty is a little slice of hell on earth, especially if you stick out in any way, right? But as it happens, he turned out better than we ever imagined. Certainly better than either of us was at his age.

“You already are,” I said to Miguel. “The fact that you are even thinking about how to do this means you will succeed. Every day, tell him he is perfect and handsome and smart and strong and wonderful in every way…because he is. When you present him to the world, show how proud you are, because people will respond to him the same way.” “Yes, I do this now,” he said, “when I hold him, I carry him like this, face out to the world, so if people want to stare and look, they can do it and know that I am not ashamed of my son. I do not hide him from the world. And when they stare, you know what he does?” he asked, full of pride, “He smiles at them. “

“And melts their hearts,” I said. “Yes! That is exactly what he does. Like he knows…” And perhaps they do, these special kids we get to be the parents of. Miguel leaned close, grin on his face, and said, “This is maybe a little strange, but when I look at the faces of babies that do not have the cleft, they do not look so beautiful as my Angel’s face.” “Oh my God, yes!” I said, “Especially when Eli was a baby, other babies looked so wrong. Arms and legs so long…they looked like spider monkeys.” We had a good laugh over this, brothers in arms, so to speak.

As we left the fiesta, making our way back to the boat, I had a moment of great sorrow, that I couldn’t share this with Ken, who always worried about how the world would treat Eli. And then I remembered…he already knows.

The cross of La Cruz

Parade coming down from the highway, into La Cruz de Huanacaxtle.

Tons of carny rides.

Multilevel bounce house

Throw rocks at beer bottles…if you break one, you get some beer. Anyone can play. Seriously, our friend’s 8 year old won his dad a 6-pack last year.

There are bands at each corner of the park, all competing with each other to be the loudest.

Cacophony

Win prizes by shooting little flip-down targets with a BB gun. While ripped.

Bounce slide thingy. With color.

So many tasty things…

Foosball and stuff

Beautiful dancers

They set up this bamboo firework tower thing in the center of the plaza. There’s one company that services basically the whole state of Nayarit. The entire 9 days, they’ve got someone standing guard over the tower, until the last night, when they finally light it off.

They’ve got it roped off from the crowd, but everyone seems to think it’s more of a suggestion.

One of the town dogs ran frantic circles around the tower as it did its thing, snapping and barking at the sparks.

For each successive stage of ignition, the young guy in charge would casually whittle away the insulation on the fuse cord and then light the fuse with a cigarette.

Surprisingly, nothing caught on fire and nobody got hurt.

At the end, this guy was standing, arms outstretched, as fire rained down and the crowd cheered him on.