Shoes for Haitian Children

Large serious brown eyes in small, thin faces. No smile on the lips. Hesitant but compliant, they obey the directions of their teachers and our team leaders.

I hold my hand out to one of them, the littlest of the students in this village school. "Chita souple," I say as I pat the hard wooden seat in front of me, smiling with my heart as I squat on the dirty cement floor.

I murmur through my smile as I struggle to untie the stubborn shoelace and slip off the worn shoe and notice the torn dirty sock...too large and folded under the small foot.

Smiling my love, I call out "28!" to a team member who tosses me a rubber-banded pair of new black cotton slip-ons, compliments of Thom's Shoes.

Fitting the wide foot into the narrow-cut shoe, all the while smiling my optimism while the sweat trickles down my back under my cotton shirt, the shoe just barely fits. Fine.

Efficiently binding the shoes together and slipping them into the black plastic bag that already has some shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste and pencil, I knot the handles together.

Now the old shoe is forced back on and eventually I have to apologetically ask the child to "compli." They pop right up and begin pressing their heel into the too-tight shoe, this such a "normal" and universal movement for children and parents everywhere.

Finally I tie up the ragged laces and hand the bag to the still-serious child, pressing it lightly against their chest. This belongs to them. "Okay. Bye-bye!" I say and smile with all of me as they leave...and maybe getting a glimmer of a smile in return.