Next up on the schedule was a program at Valle de los Angeles in Guatemala City. I had been in contact with the boarding school’s executive director, Father Michael, for a few weeks and couldn’t wait to meet the kids who would be participating in our sessions. He was always incredibly positive and excited whenever we spoke, but gentle and welcoming as well.

He picked me up at the airport, gave me a huge hug, called me “brother”, and certainly made me feel like one. We were meeting up with some Valley supporters for lunch, and he kindly extended the invite to me after a long flight to Central America.  He ordered his favorite, chicken parmesan, and I followed his lead with the same.

He nicely introduced me to others at the long table, while explaining what we had planned for the next three days. We spoke more about the kids, the school, and about Father Michael’s story.

Basically, Valley is surrounded by what is known in Guatemala as a red zone – meaning that the amount of danger and violence is so extreme that policemen rarely ever answer calls there. Valley’s campus is completely fenced off, with security guards, and located near a country club, but the kids still recount how many gunshots they hear every night.

Oftentimes you could hear fireworks, which were really only shot off to mask the sound of gunshots. Valley houses children for about 8-9 months of the year, providing them with food, shelter, and an education. Often, kids show up to Valley’s big gates with only the clothes on their back, extremely emaciated, or with all their worldly belongings in a simple plastic bag. At Valley, they all get three warm meals a day and a traditional education, with exposure to sports, arts, theater, and more.

There were nearly 200 students. At the time, there were about 26 boys at Valley. I would see them every single morning and every single night, as my dorm room was located close to theirs.

Every morning, it would be “Buenos Dias, Esteban” and every night, “Buenos Noches, Esteban, sleep with the angelitos.”

While not playing soccer during recess and gym, we would share meals together, I’d help them study and do homework, we would draw in each other’s notebooks, and trade bracelets. Many of them had brothers attending Valley with them or sisters both older and younger. Ready to get to some real soccer training, I hijacked their weekly soccer practice with Coach Amilcar, who had the kids super engaged and always moving.

We practiced corner kicks, penalty kicks, and other ball control techniques with a few drills. They had all arrived super excited with their matching jerseys on and their cleats nice and cleaned. We broke into a lengthy scrimmage and played until we grew weary and tired.

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Then the next day, we were back out there again during recess – playing games against each other, games against the girls’ teams and more! Basically, the plan had been to stay at Valley for three days.

But the more time I was there, the more I talked to other volunteers and Father Michael, I realized that three days was always going to be far too short.

“Stephen, this ‘machismo’ complex is so prevalent in Guatemalan culture… the boys don’t really have positive role models, especially men, in their lives,” they said. “So, to see you opening doors for others, sharing your food with others who are hungry, serving others before serving yourself, treating girls with respect – it means more than you could ever think.”

Long story short, three days became three weeks. The daily sessions continued, and after hearing that, I cherished all our time together a little bit more, our study sessions, our soccer practices, our meals, and even those little “Sleep with the angels” soundbites before bedtime.

On my final day, I gave every kid a new soccer ball to commemorate our time together.

“Esteban, can you sign mine?” asked one, followed by another, and eventually every single boy.

I couldn’t help but smile as I sat there writing to: *Recipient’s Name*, Con Amor: Stephen

As I signed each ball, my smile widened, noticing the friendship bracelets covering my entire forearm, from each of the boys.