Texys Morris is serving in the Peace Corps in Lesotho, a country within South Africa. She has found a pen pal for William named Katleho. Katleho is 12 and an orphan. I am unsure about the cause of his parents' deaths, but I have felt without asking that it was from the scourge of AIDS.
Happy birthday, Katleho, from a kid in America who has so much
By Renee Hand Morris
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Renee Hand Morris
COMMUNITY COLUMNIST
While I could make a long list of mistakes I have made as a parent, uppermost in my mind is The Birthday Party. Somehow, I have let it get out of hand.
I think it began when I resumed my teaching career and son William, now 10, turned 5 years old. Before then, birthday parties took the form of an Easter egg hunt with friends. William quite conveniently was born in the proximity of Easter.
When a teaching position became open at Gainesville Middle School in January 2000, I jumped at the opportunity to enter this school system, even eight months before I had intended to begin teaching again. William had transition problems, to say the least.
By his end-of-March birthday, I was looking for ways to redeem myself. And thus the mega-party was born.
It began as an extravaganza at the now defunct Bumpers and Bogeys: lots of video games, running around, and utter chaos for 20 of his nearest and dearest friends. This idea lasted for two or three years. Then we hit the idea of the mega spend-the-night party. When we scaled it down this year, I was almost suffocated by the fallout.
In the past 10 years of friends' birthday parties, I have witnessed jumpers, clowns, magic shows, pony rides and more mega spend-the-night parties. I have found it impossible to convince William that some people, including myself, had maybe one major birthday party in a lifetime.
I was told I had a large party when I turned 2, and I have old family movies as proof (with no sound; I am not sure if they really were singing "Happy Birthday.")
William is not buying it. He already has started planning for next year. Then we received a letter that affected me deeply. I have a feeling it will change William, too.
William's sister, Texys, is serving in the Peace Corps in Lesotho, a country within South Africa. She has found a pen pal for William named Katleho. Katleho is 12 and an orphan. I am unsure about the cause of his parents' deaths, but I have felt without asking that it was from the scourge of AIDS.
William has written one letter to Katleho so far, including with it several Pokemon cards and paperback books. In an infrequent phone call with Texys, we discovered that the gifts were in no way as precious to Katleho as the letter from William.
William's letter was simple enough. He introduced himself and asked a few innocuous questions of his new friend. Since the letter was written close to the time of the scaled-down birthday party, William had birthday presents on his mind and asked for Katleho's birth date.
Yesterday, William received his second letter from Katleho. It brimmed with excitement and called William "my new friend." He gave his birth date as July 23. Texys, too, had enclosed a letter. In it came information that was disquieting for both William and me.
When Katleho received William's first letter, asking for a birth date, Katleho was at a loss. He did not know his birth date. It had never been important. He went to his church to research records, discovering his date of birth to send to a new friend many miles away.
What do you do with that kind of realization? All kinds of things run through my mind. Does this small child deserve any less than one of our children of privilege? When I tell William I am spoiling him, his rejoinder is that every child in America is spoiled. I think he may be closer to the truth than either of us realized.
I have heard of some children here who do not know their date of birth, and I realize that some cultures do not celebrate birthdays. But I keep getting a picture in my mind. The picture is of a little boy walking to his church and asking to see records so that he can answer a question his new pen pal in America has asked. He did not even ask for himself.
In her letter, Texys also said that Katleho lives with his only sibling, an older brother, and his sister-in-law. The brother works in South Africa and comes home only at Christmas.
Texys, having just discovered that Katleho never has had a birthday party, plans to have one for him this year. William already is thinking of what he can send. I know his idea will be big. I had to hold him back from sending a GameBoy last time. After all, those require electricity or batteries, both of which are limited in Lesotho. Generosity can get complicated.
For 10 years I have wondered what to give to the boy who has everything. Now, I cannot help but ponder what to give to a boy who has nothing.
Yet Katleho has so much. Texys has long stated that children in Lesotho are happy. The children's books sent by William did not trap Katleho. He wants letters. And he wants to give.
In his country, boys make something called wire cars. I do not know what they are, only that they are such that Texys is trying to figure out how to mail one once Katleho finishes building it for William.
With all the mistakes I have made as a parent, one thing I have to hold onto is William's highest compliment that he offers: that someone has a good heart. When July 23 rolls around, I am quite certain that William's good heart will have remembered Katleho.
And I have a feeling both William and I will remember Katleho when next Easter and birthday season in this home rolls around. I do not think we will miss the mega-party quite as much then.
Renee Hand Morris is a teacher and director of the humanities program at Gainesville Middle School. She resides with her family in Maysville; e-mail, rhmorris@msn.com.
Originally published Monday, May 2, 2005
