After nearly three months in the Philippines, I returned back to the United States immediately to be met with what felt like a permanent state of jetlag. The time change had me swapping dinners for breakfasts and vice versa. To say I was struggling would certainly be putting it lightly. I was asleep early and awake in what felt like the middle of the night. Despite wanting to get back out to host more sessions, I decided to wait to let my body adjust.

After two restful weeks, I was ready to get back at it. Luckily, there were a couple programs already in the works. First, a return back to Guatemala – a place central to our story dating all the way back to 2016. If you can remember, we ran a special session back in October of last year with Moises Hernandez of the Guatemalan National Team along with a group of street children. Unfortunately, Mo was playing in the states for Miami FC so a repeat collaboration was simply not possible this year. Still though, given Guatemala’s affinity for the game, I was eager to get back and run some other sessions both with new and old beneficiaries.

I arrived on a Thursday afternoon and immediately got the run around from customs, despite a signed letter from one of our beneficiaries. Nothing more than a minor inconvenience later, I hailed an Uber back to Zona 10 where I stayed just months before. My first session was scheduled for Friday afternoon, which was a short turnaround but I suppose a testament to how excited I was to run some programs. That program was scheduled for Zona 15, so wasting no time I immediately settled in at my Airbnb and began to pump up soccer balls.

I planned to work with an organization called God Bless the Children Home. They were a new set of kids, but I was stoked to share the game with them and they welcomed me with open arms and smiles, as we dove headfirst into a lively, hour-long session. Then, Saturday followed with a free day – but one hardly spent as such. I inflated nearly 35 soccer balls for Sunday’s full slate of programs. In the morning, I hosted two sessions with a new partner – Hogar niños de Fatima, a big organization working with children coming from Casos Extremos in the city.

Then, in the afternoon, two more sessions with our trusty friends at Orfanato Valle de Los Angeles, a place near and dear to Around The Worlds’ story since 2016.

Long story short, the two sessions went great in the morning despite having niñitos as young as 3 years old. Our second session, if you can believe it, was literally a dozen 3-4 year olds. Fortunately, they were super well behaved and very engaged when it came to our activities. After a quick lunch at the local market, I hailed an Uber to head towards Zona 24 and Valle.

Once there, I was met with friendly faces. A longtime volunteer who was teaching English showed me to my room while I met with Valle’s executive director, Father Joaquin, who I met in 2019. Before we could kick things off the boys all came running down to the cement court, la cancha, similar to our sessions back in October of 2022. I circled all 32 of them up, while some of the older boys helped set up our familiar listening drill from just six months prior. 

Ready to kick things off, I picked a familiar face out the crowd – Guayo, mi capitán desde antes.

“Guayo?” he asked, bewildered. “No my name is Carlos, Carlos Eduardo,” he said. Surely I was confused. I responded, “Oh I thought it was Guayo. Wait, it’s because Carlos graduated last year so you have your name back now (Carlos Eduardo),” I said, recalling Carlitos Ortiz who had graduated just months ago after receiving our Willy Garcia memorial scholarship.

“I need your help hermano – can you explain the game you ran last time, the listening drill?”

“Pues, I don’t remember it,” he answered.

“How don’t you remember it, you were my captain!” I yelled out.

“He can’t even remember his own name, what do you expect?” joked another boy from the crowd.

With a nudge in the right direction Guayo was back on track and helped run a couple rounds of the listening exercise. I smiled ear to ear as I watched the niños smile, too. Later, we used the same grid for relay races as I broke the boys into four teams of 8, 8, 8, 7.

Later that day at dinner, I sat across from some of the younger boys as they asked in unison “Cuantos años tienes?” 

“Cuantos años? 18?” said one. 

“How many do you think?” I asked a lively boy sitting across from me. 

“Ochenta?” he asked. 

I threw my hands in the air, dumbfounded – “80? Like an abuelo? Do I look like an abuelo?” I asked him. 

“No!” he said through giggles. “Ok I have another guess – 90?” I knew they were just messing with me now. 

As we enjoyed a dinner of doblados with rice and beans, the younger boys wrapped their tiny hands around my wrist – “Profe, I still have your bracelet, the one you gave me last year!” “Really? Where is it?” 

“I gave it to my mother,” responded one. 

“Me too!” said another.

Later that night, after the kids had all brushed their teeth, I sat down for a popular Valle pastime – reading bedtime stories.

The boys all rummaged through their closets to bring me their favorite night time tales. Eventually we settled on Hansel y Gretel and Country Mouse, City Mouse. The kids patiently sat by my feet, as I paged through the short tales in front of them, struggling through my Spanish but having a heck of a support system in front of me to see me through.

At times, realizing my pronunciation was way off as was my intonation, I couldn’t tell if I was reading the stories or if they were reading me. Having exhausted the first story of Hansel and Gretel, one of the boys tapped me on the shoulder.

“Profe what does this mean? And this?” he asked, showing me his book filled with speech bubbles in English – as I read the words back in English before translating them to Spanish when I could.

“Okay boys, save some stories for tomorrow night, I’ll see you guys soon. Sueñas con los angelitos (sleep with the angels),” I said, and in doing so felt myself traveling back in time to 2016 when I had first read bedtime stories to a different, albeit now older generation of valley students.

The same boy who was fascinated with the English language ran up to me eager to share his knowledge of the states. “Profe conozco varios lugares de Estados Unidos!”

“San Francisco, Los Ángeles, Brooklyn,” he said.

“Green Hills too!” said another boy.

It was such a random assortment of places I was baffled – “Porque Green Hills?” I asked.

“De peli de Sonic!” yelled the boys in unison, bringing everything back together.

The next day, Monday, Father Joaquin had something special planned. It was his off day, so he had asked me the day prior if I was interested in a morning visit to San José, in Mixco. I had no idea what or where either of those were, but said yes emphatically after hearing who was there. Father Joaquin answered my question with a photo. In that photo, five boys and four familiar faces. To the left of those four faces was a boy named Brandon.

“Wait a minute, I know a Brandon, but no way that’s him!” I exclaimed.

Basically, these five boys were attending a vocational school in San José, also run by priests. In an effort to stay connected with ex-alums from Valle, like these boys, Father Joaquin had been visiting them every couple of weeks – to talk about their lives and studies for an hour over some pizza. I felt incredibly lucky that he had invited me that day to share in something so special, but I’ll admit I was nervous for some reason. I hadn’t seen some of these boys in six months, and some of them I hadn’t seen in almost four years! I had no idea what to expect.

I worked with these boys in 2016, 2019, and 2022, but as soon as the school bell rang, they reverted back to the niños they were when I had first met them.

“Esteban!!!” they yelled out.

It was Brandon, José David, Carlitos, Abner, and Jhonathan – the first two I met back in 2016, the other three back in 2019 when they were just wee little dudes. They came up to greet me with hugs and handshakes just like years past. I couldn’t believe my eyes, they were already hombrecitos – their voices were lower, they’d grown in stature, their faces had matured, and they were no longer sporting the Valle-mandated buzz cut look – instead all rocking tight fades, appreciating the chance to express their own styles through their hair.

“I still have the bracelet you gave me! It’s in my room right now!” yelled out Abner.

“And I still have the ball!! El azul! I tried to stab it with a knife like you said and it didn’t pop!” Jhonathan said through laughter.

“Guys, make sure you do well in school so we can keep doing these pizza parties,” said Father.

“Yeah do well, so we can eat more pizza!!” I yelled out from behind him.

The kids spoke about school, and about their favorite subjects and their not so favorite ones while inhaling three Papa John’s pizzas laid out in front of them. Padre took out rows upon rows of hot wheels cars from his bag and yet again, the kids immediately reverted to a state of just being boys. These kids have been forced to grow up so fast that I often forget they’re still just that – kids. They’re 12 and 14 years old, but they’ve been men for a long time before that.

As we parted ways and I tied brand new bracelets around their arms, I passed a handwritten card to José David, telling him it was addressed to all the boys if he could give them a chance to read it.

“Carlitos, Brandon, Abner, José David, Jhonathan – I just wanted to take a moment to say that I am infinitely proud of you all. Thank you for your example, for your way of being. I wish you the best of the best in the whole world. With love, Esteban.”

It was an absolute gift of a day and one I’ll cherish for quite some time. As I returned back to Valle and linked back up with the boys the next day at recess, I tried to jog their memory. I was talking with the eldest ones of the bunch like Juan and Juan Diego, and Angel. I turned to Juan Diego – “Did you get a ball when I was here in 2019? Recibiste una?”

“No…” he said, shaking his head, “just a tee-shirt.”

“Ahh si yo recuerdo, tuve un mixto. Pues que bueno amigo ahora ya tienes una nueva pelota,” I said, having given each of the nine eldest boys their own new Puma balls earlier during the recess period. With a nod of his head, a smile painted itself across his face.

The next day the boys had field hockey practice which I dropped by as curiosity had gotten the best of me. Trust me though the kids were nice at it! They were balling. Ten of them would be playing in a competitive game that Sunday. I listened intently as their coach addressed the group at the conclusion of his training session, similar to what I do at the end of all of ours.

“Cada cabeza es un mundo,” he said. “I’ll repeat that, Cada cabeza es un mundo.” I don’t know why but I liked that. 

He went on to say how somos un equipo unido y si somos unidos podemos ganar muchas cosas y buenas cosas. We all need to be here, to be present. He said to look at me (Stephen), how I had come to practice and with respect asked if I could join his class and how he said yes. “Surely I would do the same for his class and he would respond similarly because respect is everything,” the coach added. I saw very quickly that this was far more than just a field hockey class, with these things being super important to hear and even more important to learn. I admired how their coach used sport as a springboard for life lessons like that, and hoped I could do even a fraction of that in sessions past and sessions future.

On the last night I was scheduled to be in Guate for, I took out 32 bracelets for the 32 boys, all fashioned in a mix of Guate and Around the Worlds colors.

Accompanying those bracelets, little bookmarks for them to use in their libros. We were celebrating Juan’s birthday from last week – complete with music, dancing, and a chocolate cake. The boys were also receiving some donated (used) hot wheels cars just like those from San José, because no party is complete without some gifts. One little boy approached me saying “Ah quiero los colores de mi bandera.”

“Y pues cuáles son?” I asked.

“Azul y blanco,” he responded, with a smile full of pride.

To close out the night, the boys all took turns standing up and wishing a very happy birthday to Juan, saying things like “te deseo lo mejor, and i hope you have many more birthdays,” and then they’d turn to me and give some additional words of thanks.

“Gracias por visitarnos desde muy lejos.”

“Gracias por enseñarnos trucos.”

“Gracias por todo su cariño, por darnos cosas y pelotas.”

Suddenly, now it was I who was reverting back to 2016, as a wave of nostalgia hit me in the face and the heart as I found myself looking back at the memory of the 30 handwritten notes from the boys I had received on my first visit to Valle back in 2016, almost all of which echoed the same sentiments and words.