We started sending him money over eight years ago. My mother would probably correct me and say that she has been writing checks long before that, but I'm pretty sure we started around when I entered high school. The money we sent allowed him to go to school and to eat decent meals. He wrote us periodically in crayon letters penned in Creole, which were translated on the back by a teacher or worker at the mission base. They always said
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moore,
Thank you for all of your generous help, I am working hard in school...."
We tried to write him back, but we didn't try that hard. We more often forgot to return his greetings and on the rare occasion that one of us four kids did write our Haitian brother a letter, it sat on the dining room table, stamp-less until kingdom come.
My mom always was good when it came time for Christmas or his birthday. She always had a care package for him, normally full of treats and a new soccer ball. But we didn't even really know if he liked soccer that much.
It all makes me think. I am not the type of person to block out the world, selfishly absorbed in my own cocoon of American arrogance and success. Far from the latter. I actually spent two summers in high school traveling to Panama and Mexico on work trips. My senior year in high school I spent several weeks in Amman, Jordan on an exchange trip through the U.S. Department of State and the United Palestinian Appeal, trying to help mend relations with our Middle Eastern brothers and sisters. So why was I so negligent and uncaring when it came to the kid whose photo stared back at me everyday in my living room?
I don't really have an answer to that...maybe I got too busy and he became associated with the normal monotony of everyday life--one more thing to do, one more person to keep in touch with. Or I was just selfish and insensitive to his needs as another human being. I wish I could say that I helped him in his development in some way; that we shared a bond growing up-- despite our thousands of miles of separation. But I cannot make these claims.
I can say that Nicholas Kristof sure makes me think.
By Catherine Moore
camoore@bu.edu
