A Drop in the Bucket

Adrienne Fisher | Oct 05, 2008 | 0

I am descending the stairs after stepping off at the Dyckman Station upon my return to New York, and I feel a shooting pain in my stomach that is as jolting and as quick as a lightning bolt traveling all the way to my brain, and it sparks an image: a little boy who plays the cello in the Youth Symphony in El Salvador. He tells me that he practices six hours a day, seven days a week, and he loves it. I naively ask him if he would like to study music at a university. He tells me that he would love to pursue this dream, but his family doesn't have enough money to support him going to college. My heart breaks, and my life is immediately put into perspective.This lightning bolt travels not only to my stomach and brain, but it also crashes into my tear ducts and causes a major hurricane.

When I was in El Salvador having this conversation with this little boy, I was very sad, but it didn't punch me in the stomach like it did as I arrived home in New York. I think what truly set off this feeling of helplessness and remorse for the grand gap in kindness between poor El Salvadoran children and New York youth materialists was something that I witnessed on the train ride home from JFK airport.

There is a group of thirteen year olds who hop on the train, and they clearly who have a black sheep. There are four of them against one. The loner is kind of a runt and awkward looking in comparison to his "friends". There is one main antagonist, who continues to hassle the boy while the other boys laugh and laugh like a group of demonic clowns. Bully says, "You are such a wimp. You've been trying to grow your hair for a year now and it won't grow past your neck. You are so gay, I know that you want to me. It is pretty obvious you are gay because every girl that you try to date has a pancake butt. You have been wearing the same Nike Shocks for the past year...you're such a poor, gay ass!"  The little boy, who I can't help but continue to steal glances at, has tears in his eyes because of how humiliated he is. A couple of times, he tries to fight back and say, "NO, you are so gay that you want me!"  But, it is a lame attempt that just provokes more mocking laughter from his friends. The worst part is that the runt boy start laughing sometimes with his friends pretending that he doesn't realize some of the jokes are on him.  This is a shameful act that just serves as a terrorist toward his dignity just to play it safe. He pretends that the jokes aren't on him or that it doesn't bother him that much...but his expression reveals the truth.

In El Salvador, the kids are so enthusiastic and encouraging of their peers. They have nothing in comparison to kids in the US, but have so much heart. Of course, the kids here truly have just as much heart, the problem lies in the jaded shield comprised of Nintendo games and Nike Shocks that encases the heart and traps inside of it a lot of normal human compassion.

I was so touched by the work ethic, the talent and the sweetness of the children in El Salvador with whom I spent this past week working on a show called I Love Broadway. I worked with a dance company called Purelements through whom I was given the opportunity to sing and dance with the Youth Symphony Orchestra in El Salvador. Some of my favorite parts of this show were playing Maria in West Side Story and being a prostitute looking for salvation in Jesus Christ Superstar. The embassy commissioned the company to work with the kids in El Salvador. The embassy is very active in organizing programs to keep the youth of El Salvador off of the streets and away from the horrible gang problem that is still brewing everywhere.

I was so grateful not only to have the opportunity to do what I love with people I love, but also to make a difference in the lives of children. I, also, got to do some radical, adventurous exploration of the terrain such as walking the perimeter of the Boqueron Crater on top of the San Salvador volcano and traveling to the Libertad beach where the waves were at least three feet high. Also, I had the luck of enjoying homemade pupusas with my friends on the way down from the volcano. We stopped at a "restaurant", even though it was more like someone's home, and ordered two pupusas per person. The family only had one stove, so it took a while for all of us to get our food, but it was way worth the wait. When I asked where the banos were, a little girl grabbed a roll of toilet paper (the bathrooms here are not equipped with paper, so you have to carry it around with you!) and she walked me up a hill, opened a wooden gate where there was a chicken walking around, and said "a qui". Behind a shower curtain, there was a toilet. It was pitch dark, so I had to concentrate on my aiming skills.

Oh, and one of my favorite moments is the "shower" at the beach.  (The cabbie will not let me into his cab until I wash off some of the gritty, volcanic sand.)  He tells me that I need to pay a quarter in order to take a shower.  He tells me I need to pay the man in the hammock around the corner. After I carefully walk around the corner, I see a man with no legs swinging in the hammock with a jar next to him.

I give him 50 cents.

I turn back around after this uncommon experience and walk right into my next uncommon experience. As I pull aside the shower curtain, I see an almost fully disintegrated piece of soap, a trash bag and a very large barrel of water. This large barrel of water has a small bowl floating on the top like a lilly pad. My friend comes into the shower with me and we pour bowls of cold water on each other for five minutes after getting over the initial shock of the strangeness of the situation.

I have been back in the Big Apple (or the Big Crab as I like to say) for a month, and I realize that the explosive emotion that I experienced when returning from El Salvador was truly special.  I don't cry very often, and when I do, it is usually steeped in just a bit of selfishness. Selfishness in the sense of something that directly affects me-loss of a loved one, personal rejection or tears of happiness that arise from personal gain or pride.  I don't know if I have ever been so affected in the pit of my stomach as a result of the misfortune of someone else. Truthfully, the only way to empathize this much for a person is to experience it with them. What am I going to do about it? Well, for one, I have been doing some research on legitimate charity organizations that contribute to children's college funds abroad. Just google children's international college charities, and you will find a plethora of results. Also, this experience has given me another reason to do what I do-make a difference in a child's life through inspiration and education.  It is so easy to get wrapped up in the New York City way of life and constantly satiated with the singular drive of achieving a goal whether it be to attain a Broadway show or become a millionaire on Wall Street (OK, the latter may be a little more unlikely than usual), but whatever it may be, if you don't have that ferocious tunnel vision, it is very hard to pave your way in a city like New York. Let's just say, it is hard to chill and get perspective on your life and recognize that there are trillions of other people on the Earth who live much simpler lives and have needs that are so basic. Just a drop in the bucket for a New Yorker could be an overflowing bucket for a poor person in El Salvador.

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Ballet, Jazz, Hip Hop, Tap, Modern, Broadway (all tags)