Don Emilio

A few days ago I was awoken by the sound of digging outside my door. I went out to find an old man, he must have been in his mid 70s, breaking up hard, dried chucks of dirt into smaller pieces, then shoveling them into a wheelbarrow. His task was to move an unwanted pile of dirt from our patio to an empty lot a few blocks away. It took him two full days, and at least 100 trips. As I sat out in our patio and read my book in the sun, I was humbled and a bit ashamed of the difference in fortune that life had granted us. Why do I have so much more? Surely it isn´t because I have worked any harder. I chose to live in this poor, dusty little town. Perhaps he loves it here as much as I am growing to love it. The difference between Don Emilio and I is that I have the option of leaving and going anywhere that I want to, in particular to the richest nation in the world.

Now, the pile of dirt is gone, along with another pile of unwanted broken bricks, and the grill for Martín's birthday party sits in the now-empty spot. And Don Emilio seeks work elsewhere.