Mario Lopez

Encounters at the Border

Here goes nothing. “Have you ever considered staying here?” I asked Louis, a Honduran father who planned to cross the US border after leaving the migration help center I was serving at in Monterrey. A question mark might as well have popped over his head. “Never. My son deserves what I never had.” One more time. “Louis please, Monterrey’s a good city. It has all you need for a good life, especially for your son. At least consider it, compadre.” Seeing that I was adamant, he just sighed, gave me a small smile, and nodded. I wasn’t satisfied with the progress, but since I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, I had to be content enough with this small win.

So I went off to find Louis’ 8-year-old son, Antony, whom I had quickly connected with since we both loved wolves (even convincing him that he should tame one in Siberia like I wanna do) and we both had a chronic addiction to bread; but, this time I found him sitting alone watching all the other kids play, which immediately bothered me. Before I knew it, I was next to him giving him a tripleexplosion fist bump and started, “Heyyyy my broski

Antonyyy, wazzaaaaa-up?

You up for some futbol?” He sheepishly smiled and shook his head. I asked what he was thinking about, and everso-casually he asked, “Why don’t people want us to go to America?”

Boom. My mind goes blank. How could I even respond to that? Do I tell him that crossing the border might get him split from his dad? That they’d have to survive for more than half a year waiting to get in together? Tell him that even here in Mexico they’d be discriminated against for being non-mexican?

At the time I just told him to not worry, but after I finished serving at the migration center where I met this family, knowing it would be the last time I see them, how could I not worry? I cried as I said goodbye and as I went to sleep that night. And the thing that will forever be burned in my memory will be his nonchalant comment that he’d see me over here in America soon enough.

My high school’s mission was to convince migrants to stay in Monterrey since the border situation remains severe, and my service director later told us that a few families had decided to stay, but no names were ever disclosed.

So, I can only hope that my attempts had convinced Louis, and I always like to think I did, even if it is overly optimistic. Though, the twist to this experience was that the place I served at was fifteenish minutes away from the neighborhood where most of my family lives. Monterrey is a second home to me since I spent a lot of time there as a kid; but in the years of cherishing my time there with my family, all it took was those four days on that service trip with random people all from different countries (like Louis and Antony) that got me to truly appreciate the love and sacrifices my family has made for me throughout my life. Now that’s ironic, ladies and gents.

This service trip not only gave me the glimpse of fulfillment possible by actually seeing the fruits of one’s service, but it’s become a core source of motivation to reach the highest place possible in my life to enact lasting change in the lives of others for the better.

Corny? Basic? Yes, I know. Service leads to fulfillment, and the education I have and can have in the future allows me to aim higher, but, my goal always remains to be prepared: prepared for all the Louises and Antonys I’ll encounter from now on, prepared to make sure they stay in the city this time without fail, and prepared to help as many as I humanly can.