Ever since our last collaboration back in January with Los Cabos Missions for Christ alongside a group of chiropractors, they had been busy at work. They had opened up a new community center, a new kitchen, and were still fully operating in the same three kitchens we had run programs at prior. A week before, I had reached out to my contact and friend, Brian.

“Any chance we can run a program next week? I’ll be in the area for a few days,” was all I said.

“Well, we have the community center which could draw a few kids if we put the word out ahead of time, or you can visit our new kitchen which promises to ALWAYS have lots of kids,” he replied.

“Lots of kids? Say no more,” I responded. It was set.

The late start was definitely nice after the early morning and cold shower the day prior for our program with FLCK. Plus, with all the extra work before and after that program, it ended up being a full day out from about 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.. Friday finally arrived and my phone buzzed to a message from Brian, “Heading to your house now, be there in ten!” he wrote.

I piled my luggage and soccer balls high outside my spot’s gate. The five dogs kept watch over my precious cargo as I locked my door behind me. Brian pulled up with his wife, Jackie, who I’d met several times before. She greeted me with a big hug, as did Brian.

As I settled into the backseat, Brian caught my line of sight in the rear view mirror. “Looks like we both finally cut our hair?” Brian chuckled.

Last time I was here, I was sporting a long beard and a top knot, as was Brian. I’ve since ditched the beard and cut my hair short back in May.

“Do you miss yours?” I asked.

“Missed it as soon as I cut it 3 months ago,” he said with a laugh.

“Me too, man, me too.” I said, with a shake of the head. “Once I cut it I was like wow, that’s a whole lot of forehead, where’d that come from,” I added, to which we both shared a hearty laugh.

As we left town and approached the colonias, I was overcome with an overwhelming feeling of familiarity. We drove by Comedor Shalom, where I ran a program with Brian back in November 2020.

Then, we passed by a soccer field from an old session with another Comedor. Then, down a dirt road lined with another cement court and kitchen, “Oh, that’s Por los Niños de la Sierra!” I said excitedly to Brian – I had worked with their director, Paty, over a year ago when we were just returning to international sessions.

Bouncing over bumps and moguls, we finally pulled up to the kitchen. This was my first time here, but there were still familiar faces besides those of Brian and Jackie. In the kitchen was Margarita, who I had met back when working with Comedor Shalom.

“I remember you!” she said. “But you had a lot more hair then,” she said, to which we both laughed.

As kids excitedly crowded around, I dropped my bags to the side of the kitchen in a very small square of shade I could find. I asked one boy to help me out, Rafael, who enthusiastically set up lines of cones, while his younger brothers placed soccer balls on top of each one for us to begin our listening exercise. Sold on his work ethic, I took a captain’s band out of my pocket and gave it to Rafael, which he immediately and excitedly pulled over his left arm.

Throughout the session Rafael kept trying to give me the captain’s band back, not realizing that it was his to keep as long as he could uphold the responsibility that came with it – which he absolutely did. Brian later told me that Rafael is part of one of the charity’s sponsor families with his brothers and one sister, Dulce, who I met as well. Their circumstances are extremely trying, but thankfully less so with the help of donors and monthly sponsors. Finally, the kids were all gathered in front of me and our equipment was ready. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and the weather wasn’t getting any less hot, so I decided to kick things off.

“Ok guys, for our first activity I’m going to need groups of three!” Everyone excitedly and frantically grabbed the arms of their closest friends or family.

We had nearly 30 kids at this time and more heads were still showing up! I ran a few rounds before asking Rafael to lead the drill himself. 

“Remember, use your voice, loud enough for everyone to hear,” I gently told him.

He followed my advice and ran 3-4 rounds before I broke the group into relay races.

“Profe, boys versus girls!” The group chanted. “Dale, whatever you say,” I answered. “Boys on this side, girls over there!” I yelled, gesturing to my left, then to my right.

We ran through multiple variations, working on dribbling, skill moves, teamwork, and more, before jumping into mano o cabeza. Just like the day before, parents eager to receive a warm meal watched on with pride as their children enjoyed an afternoon full of soccer. I explained the rules of mano o cabeza before announcing how many winners we were looking for. 

“Okay guys, this time, we’ll go until eight winners!” I yelled out.

Suddenly, a young girl tapped me from behind. I leaned down to hear her voice, quiet as a whisper.

*Shyly* “Sir, are the winners the first eight eliminated or the last eight left?” My heart skipped a beat and I was unwell.

We hit a round, then we hit another, until we reached a final third vuelta.

Just as I was about to begin, a young boy cut across our circle. “¿Amigo que haces? You don’t want to play?”

I kid you not this boy looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Ya gané” without even breaking stride. The attitude! 

Rafael came up to me quizzically and said “I think I remember that game, mano and cabeza” . It turns out he participated in our program at Comedor Shalom almost a year ago. He used to go to that kitchen with his family but this one was much closer and easier to access. “Did you win a ball then?” I asked. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Good answer, safe answer” I joked to Brian.

We had 33 soccer balls, one for almost every participant, or at least each family like before. As they each approached for a high five and a ball, I saw out of the corner of my eye one of the boys wearing a deflated ball as a hat and burst out laughing. He saw I had noticed and he started laughing too. Then his brother saw us chuckling and joined in on the fun.

Brian was calling out from his car parked down closer to the dirt road, quite some distance away from the kitchen

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Bad news bro… the car pump just stopped working. It’s on, it’s lit up, but it won’t run,” he said.

After we had given out soccer balls, Brian had run back down to his car to inflate the remaining ones so that each kid would leave with a ball-shaped ball, as opposed to a hat-shaped ball! Unfortunately, my trusty car pump had apparently hit its mileage and could go no further.

“How many do we have?”

“I think ten or so,” said Brian.

“Say no more, I have a manual one in my bag just give me a second,” I said, confidently, and honestly, naively, I’m sure because

1. It was 90 degrees and as mentioned before, not a cloud to be found in the sky.
2. These kids are well, kids… so patience isn’t always their strong suit.

Unsure of what I had just gotten myself into, I leaned back on the kitchen’s wall under a small spot of shade and went to work. The kids all crowded around me as I silently counted to myself, 50, 51, 52, 53 – trying my best to will the ball to a state of inflation. The sun was beating down on my neck and I found myself pausing only to wipe the sweat off my forehead and forearms.

“Ok kids, how many do we have?” I asked.

One boy took the lead in the count and said, “9 profe.”

“Ay Dios mío,” I said to myself.

Brian, eager to memorialize a moment he’d never seen, began snapping pictures of me doing things the manual route.

“Brian! Scrub those pictures from everything bro I refuse to have evidence of me in this state of misery consumed by the public,” I said jokingly, but not really. 

Slowly, I had carved through our pile of soccer balls, inflating 1/3rd, then 1/2, then 2/3rds, etc.

“One by one. One by one, Stephen,” I kept reassuring myself.

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I think by now there were only three left. These kids had all patiently waited their turn as their friends had their soccer balls pumped up and surely were already back at their homes at this point. I took a deep breath and whispered, “Falta trés… vamos”

With the kids all still crowded around me, one ball dislodged itself from a child’s hands and fell over a barbed wire fence into the neighbor’s yard. The kids gasped.

“Can you get it or is it gone forever?” I asked them..

“Tal vez forever,” an older boy responded.

“Perfecto falta dos now” I answered, obviously for a joke.

We all laughed before pausing to retrieve the soccer ball, much to the joy and relief of its hopeful owner. Finally, the last ball was inflated and I wiped the last bit of sweat from my brow.

“Hasta luego chicos. Thanks for everything,” I said with a smile.

“Bye profe!” the small group left responded.

We retreated back to the car, this time with Margarita joining us for a quick errand. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the last bracelet I could find, a little blue/green number.

“Margarita, this is for you,” I said, turning her arm towards me and tying it on myself.

“Ah gracias Esteban” she said, excitedly checking out her new accessory.

We were stopping at a local bakery to check if Margarita’s new phone could somehow be figured out. I was exhausted so I was just sitting in the car, in the comfort of its air conditioning. Brian always has seltzers on deck after we run programs, and I’ve certainly come to look forward to putting one (sometimes two) down after our long, tiring sessions. Suddenly, my thirst-quenching was interrupted by a knock on the window.

It was Brian

“They want to give you cake, to thank you for helping the kids and the community,” he said.

“CAKE???” I said enthusiastically. This was certainly a first. How could I say no?

Brian came back around to my side of the car and passed a huge slice of Tres Leches and another piece of ‘queso’ flavored cake through the window. I barely had enough room in my hands for the both of them, that’s how large they were! Such a thoughtful gesture!

Cada vez que visito Cabo San Lucas, la gente me trata como un hermano. Cabo, te amo y hasta pronto. 

Every time I visit Cabo San Lucas, the people treat me like a brother. Cabo, I love you and I’ll see you soon.