I have just had the most amazing evening. Before telling the story, I need to pause and tell how I came to know young Hector Gregorio.

     About a month ago, Hector and several other boys were playing in one of the streets near the church when I walked by on my way to a meal. I stopped to greet them and asked their names, which I quickly forgot since there were five of them and each has three or four names. I told them that I am Patricio and that I am glad to know them, would love to play, but had to go eat; so I left.

     One of the boys didn’t forget my name, as I had forgotten his. He started calling out Patricio! every time we passed on the streets. This greeting was often followed by a request for money, to which I never gave in. During the Feria, his requests became more specific, asking me to pay for arcade games.

     I only broke down once.

     One week ago, during the parade of the Feria, I was at the park, standing on a wall and taking pictures of the crowd and of the parade groups as they entered the park. This same boy came along and climbed up and stood with me on the wall. At first, he just stood and watched everything; it didn’t take him long, though, to do exactly what I expected him to do: ask me for money.

     He wanted money to buy a yo-yo; these were popular during the Feria. I stalwartly refused. Nothing he said, or could have said, could possible have budged me; I had no money on me, not even a centavo. I explained this to him and even turned out my empty pockets and showed him my hollow wallet. For some reason, this proof did not deter his efforts. He persisted in begging me for money to buy a yo-yo. I persisted in laughing and telling him that it was impossible for me to buy a yo-yo or anything else.

     I remember looking at him and asking why he thought I was made of money. He shrugged, but he didn’t deny the accusation.

     Softy that I can be at times, I started to think about just how important a yo-yo could be to a boy. I began to feel a twinge of guilt – I had a yo-yo of my own in my backpack. The more he pleaded, the more I thought that it really would do him much more good than it would do me. He was ten years old; of course he needed it more than I did!

     So, I slyly reached into my pack and palmed the treasure. I had him close his eyes and hold out one hand. As I slipped the loop of the string over his finger, I saw him glance at what I was doing, but I pretended not to notice. I would have peeked, too. When it was on his finger and in his hand, I said a simple O.K. He grinned and immediately started playing with it.

     At some point during this encounter, and I honestly don’t remember if it was before or after giving him the toy, I asked him for his full name and wrote it on a piece of note paper I had in my pocket. I had to have the name of this boy who would hold my hand and look into my eyes and ask for a yo-yo: Hector Gregorio. I wouldn’t forget it again.

     I began by saying that I have just had the most amazing evening. I will explain that now.

     It is nearly a week now since the parade and the yo-yo encounter, and I hadn’t seen Hector since then. However, as I entered the churchyard at about 6:00 this evening on my way to supper, there was my young friend, doing what seems to come naturally to him: calling my name and asking for money. (It seems his yo-yo had fallen to the ground and broken, and he wanted to buy a new one.) I stopped to greet him and wrestle with him a bit and explain to him that I had no money. I honestly thought I had nothing on me, but when I tried to show him an empty wallet, as I had done at the park, there did happen to be a one-quetzal bill in it.

     At the parade, Hector saw the wallet with no money and wasn’t deterred from continuing to beg. Knowing that I actually did have a quetzal, which was precisely what he had been asking for, there was no way he would stop hounding me. Even so, I was determined to not give in. I told him no. I told him I couldn’t. I told him there was no way he would get my quetzal.

     I told him that all I could give him was my friendship, my heart, my peace, and my prayer. To which he responded by asking for my money. I told him no, for what must have been the hundredth time of the evening. I looked him in the eye and said, "You know what you can have, and what you do have: you have my friendship, my prayer, and my love." Of course, he looked me in the eye right back and said, "Yes, but I don’t have your quetzal."

     I hope this doesn’t portray Hector as an arrogant little boy, a street urchin, a beggar-boy. I know how easily all this could make that sound true. He is a beautiful kid, normally very happy and playing with his friends. He has a great smile and what will hopefully grow into a great heart. He is poor; his family probably earns less in a year than it had cost for me to fly down to Guatemala. I am sure he has seen enough North Americans come and go and spend money in the shops, restaurants, marketplaces for him to know that the odds were pretty good I would be able to give him money or something valuable and not really be losing anything I could not easily replace.

     As the persistence of this fun but exhausting ten-year-old began to wear on me and frustrate me, I tried to say goodbye and head across the long churchyard to the dining room. He wouldn’t let me go. At this point, I knew that he was enjoying messing around with me and didn’t want me to leave him; he really had accepted my offer of friendship. Though I am sure he was keeping the remote possibility of obtaining that quetzal in the back of his mind!

     I didn’t know whether or not to believe him. Maybe he would be moving, maybe it was just a ploy to snag my heart and my money. I pressed him, and his answers about where they were moving to seemed fairly earnest and not as if he was making it all up on the spot. I felt bad that we wouldn’t have a chance to get together, but what could I do besides tell him that he was breaking my heart? I certainly wasn’t going to start handing money out to kids. Besides, my one quetzal wasn’t going to buy much of a supper for either of us, never mind both of us, so we couldn'’t go out to eat tonight.

     After finding out that he would have tortillas at home, and as we moved late into the volunteers’ supper hour, I decided to go in and eat. He knew this was his last chance, and he became very, very persistent. At the back gate to the courtyard behind the dining room, I again took his face in my hands and told him, "No, no money. But you already have what is more important anyway, my friendship, and I will pray with your name in my heart."

     As I walked through and closed the gate, he feigned indignance and walked away. Then, all within no more than a minute, I discovered that there was no more food there since I was so late; I realized that if I could get money this would be a good opportunity to both share food with and spend more time with my young friend; and I borrowed five quetzales from another volunteer. The beggee became the beggar.

     I went outside to tell Hector the good news, and I found him sitting just outside the gate, looking down and looking tired. I bent down and whispered in his ear that I had money now and would love to go get some food with him. He lit up instantly, and off we went in search of supper.

     The rest of our time together went by quickly. We found a bakery still open and bought chips and rolls. He ate the chips on the spot, but he didn’t eat his bread. "To bring home," he told me. Some of the video game arcades were still set up from the Feria; we went there and watched a few kids play. He gave me the look that I knew preceded a beg, so I gave him his no before he could even ask, to which he just smiled. We slowly and quietly walked to his house, which was very close, stopping for more chips along the way. He insisted that I buy the least expensive chips in the store, regardless of his own flavor and brand preferences. This was another sign to me that he really is a great kid who just happens to have an eye out for gringos with potential.

     At his house, I wished him a good night, shook his hand, kissed the top of his head, and walked away.

     Some might say that I have done wrong with Hector, from paying for the arcade game to giving him my yo-yo to buying him and me a not-so-nutritious supper. I don’t know about that, but this I do know: I have just spent an amazing hour and a half encountering a young life so full of goodness and potential that can be so easily snuffed out by his social and economic situation, by the process of poverty. I hope that I have been able to encourage him in his personal goodness and to show him that he deserves friendship, peace, and love just by being who he is, that he should never have to beg for what is truly valuable in life.

     That would be only fair, because friendship, peace, and love are what I myself have received from this young Hector Gregorio.