Day-Day

by Cronk, LN

  “You don’t like the programs?” she asked.

  “They’re fine, I guess. It just kinda gets boring after a while.”

  It was a good thing that I was sitting across from her because if I’d been sitting beside her I may not have noticed that her eyes were filling up with tears.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, looking at her, shocked.

  “You think it’s boring?”

  “Laci . . . quit crying. This is nothing to cry about.”

  “You think it’s boring!”

  “Well so what! Who cares what I think? I’m not a little kid. They probably need repetition or something.”

  “No,” she said, starting to cry harder. “You’re right . . . it’s boring. It’s just the same thing week after week. It’s awful!”

  I got out of my seat and slipped in next to her, putting my arm around her shoulder. The waiter came by with our menus. He took one look at Laci, set the menus quietly on the table and went away.

  “It’s not awful, Laci. You’re overreacting.”

  I didn’t know it at the time, but this is not the thing to say to a pregnant woman.

  “I’m not overacting!” she cried. “I’m doing a terrible job. I bet the only reason Aaron hasn’t fired me yet is because I’m working for free!”

  “You’re not doing a terrible job! You’re doing a fantastic job, Laci!”

  “I want to do better,” she sniffed. “I want to make the programs as good as I can, but I don’t have any time to find new stuff to teach them! I can barely get everything done as it is . . .”

  “You don’t have to come up with new stuff . . . let the youth groups do it.”

  “They don’t know Spanish,” she argued. “They can’t just think up stuff on Sunday and do it the next day!”

  “Well most of them know that they’re coming down here months in advance. Let them know ahead of time and they can get prepared. All you’d have to do on Sunday night is preview what they’ve got lined up and make sure it’s okay.”

  “How do I let them know ahead of time?” she asked. She was a lot calmer now (which was good) and I could see she was really thinking about what I’d just said.

  “It’s called the Internet, Laci. You just email them and give them some ideas and stuff. I bet they’ll come up with all sorts of good things . . . songs, plays, puppet shows, games . . .”

  “Email them?”

  “Yes. Email them. You can send an attachment out with sample ideas and good links for them to go to and stuff. They could bring small instruments with them like harmonicas and flutes and stuff and they could check out books from their libraries . . . or they could even make books to read to the kids and then they could donate them to the orphanage . . . just give them a bunch of ideas and let them come up with their own stuff.”

  “What if a group didn’t want to come up with their own stuff?”

  “Well, then you just put a statement in your email saying that this is optional and that you’ll train them on Sunday if they don’t want to prepare anything in advance.”

  She was looking happy now.

  “Do you think any of them would do it?”

  “I bet almost all of ’em would.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, Laci. Remember when we were in youth group? Imagine if Mr. White had told us we had three months to come up with some program ideas to bring down here with us. What would we have done?”

  “We would have had a blast!” she said, smiling.

  “Well, you would have,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And then you would’ve had the rest of us spending three months making sock puppets or something.”

  “Can you imagine what Greg would have come up with?” she asked, laughing.

  “I don’t think I want to,” I smiled. “The point is, everyone’ll come up with something different . . . and each week’d be something new. I bet you’d get some great stuff. Just make up some real specific guidelines . . . like make sure they understand that they need to communicate the message of Jesus Christ to these kids and that it needs to be appropriate for all ages, and that it needs to be fun. It’ll kind of be like they’re planning a vacation Bible school or something.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Help you what?”

  “You know . . . with the emails and the attachments and the links. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff.”

  “You know, Laci,” I sighed, “the computer doesn’t bite. One of these days you’re going to have to join the rest of us in the twenty-first century.”

  “Nos reuniremos en el siglo veintiuno tan pronto aprendes hablar español.”

  “Very funny, Laci.”

  “You don’t even have a clue what I said.”

  “I know enough to know that it was some smart-mouthed remark . . .”

  “Are you going to help me?”

  “Are you going to start crying again if I say no?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I’ll help you,” I said, trying not to smile as she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me.

  Sitting beside her wasn’t so bad.

  It took me about a week to get a good email together, but I was able to send it out by the middle of July. By the time I was done I had no doubt that we were going to see some awesome stuff from the youth groups that received it. I got the email list from Aaron and sent it to everyone who would be arriving anytime between the middle of August and the following July.

  The first group was going to have over a month to get ready and I was really looking forward to seeing what they would come up with, but two days before they were scheduled to arrive there was an earthquake near Los Angeles and I had to fly out just before they flew in.

  It was my first site visit and really I was just there to learn – a senior engineer from our company was going to be showing me the ropes. Our job was to go to areas that were minimally affected and verify if the structures needed to be condemned or not.

  Laci called me that evening.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “Wake me up?”

  “Yeah. Isn’t it midnight there?”

  “No, Laci. It’s eight o’clock. I’m two hours behind you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Is the damage bad? I’ve hardly seen anything on the news about it.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s not bad at all and we’re right at the epicenter. I mean . . . there’ll definitely be some insurance claims and everything, but it’s not bad.”

  “Oh, good,” she said. “Thank you for the teddy bear.”

  (I’d nestled it between our pillows under the bedspread.)

  “It’s not for you,” I said. “It’s for the baby.”

  “Well, I’m going to sleep with it until you get back.”

  “Okay.”

  “Guess what?!”

  “What?”

  “The group from North Dakota’s here!”

  “I know. Did they have anything prepared?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it, David! You just wouldn’t believe it! They’ve come up with the greatest stuff! I can’t wait until they show it to the kids tomorrow . . .”

  “That’s great, Laci. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” she said, barely pausing to breathe. “They’ve got this portable karaoke machine and they’re going to let the kids come up and sing into the microphone and then they’re going to record it and play it back for them.”

  “I love you, Laci.”

  “I love you, too. And guess what? They brought a video camera and they’re going to videotape the kids and then they’re going to project it onto the wall so that they can see themselves singing and dancing. Don’t you think they’re going to love it?”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  “Doroteo was asking for you tonight,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. He kept saying, ‘¿Donde esta Day-Day? ¿Donde esta Day-Day?’ over and over.”r />
  I didn’t say anything and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes at me.

  “It means ‘Where’s Day-Day?’” she explained.

  “I know what it means.”

  “Liar,” she said. “Anyway, I can tell he really misses you.”

  “Well,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be back in about three days . . .”

  “Okay.”

  “David?”

  “What?”

  “I really do love you,” she said. “And I really, really do miss you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said, smiling.

  “I hate being alone.”

  “You’re not alone,” I said. “At least you’ve got the baby. I’m the one who’s alone . . .”

  “How often are you going to have to go out of town like this?” she asked.

  “I guess it all depends on how many earthquakes there are.”

  “I hate earthquakes,” she sighed.

  “Me too.”

  “I mean I really, really hate them. This teddy bear’s not gonna to cut it.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I got back just in time to see what the North Dakota youth group had come up with. The kids definitely enjoyed it, but the best part was that a weight seemed to have been lifted from Laci. She was three months pregnant now and finally admitting that she was feeling a whole lot more tired than she’d expected.

  My first night back at the orphanage, Dorito turbo crawled over to me as soon as he saw me come in the door. I squatted down next to him.

  “Hi!” I said.

  “Day-Day!” he smiled. Then he reached his hand up on my knee and pulled himself up.

  “Well, look what you can do!” I said, smiling back. I let him wrap his hands around my fingers and I tried to get him to take a few steps because I was thinking that it was about time for him to learn how to walk. That’s when I really noticed how bowed his legs were. They were absolutely not right. I don’t know what it was, but something about seeing him standing on them at that moment made it completely obvious.

  Not only did I abruptly realize that his legs weren’t normal, but it actually looked so painful that I suddenly couldn’t stand seeing him trying to walk on those legs.

  I scooped him up and carried him over to the changing table, singing to him the whole way.

  ~ ~ ~

  WHAT ARE YOU looking at?” Laci asked that evening. The computer screen was full of photos of toddlers with bowed legs.

  “I was just trying to figure out what’s wrong with Dorito,” I said.

  “You mean Doroteo?” Laci asked.

  “Whatever . . .”

  “What’d you find?”

  “I think he has Blount’s Disease,” I said.

  “What’s Blount’s Disease?” Laci asked, looking concerned.

  “It affects the upper portion of the tibia and it gets worse as they grow older if it’s not treated . . .”

  “But it can be treated?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “If it’s discovered early enough they can use leg braces but if it keeps getting worse they have to do surgery . . .”

  “Oh . . .”

  “I think he needs to go see a doctor.”

  “You know they don’t have the money for something like that . . .”

  “We’ll pay for it.”

  “We can’t do that . . .” Laci said.

  “Why not?”

  “David,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Every day I see kids that I want to do more for . . . kids that I want to give something extra to or really help in some other way, but I can’t. You aren’t going to be able to get involved with every kid you come across that needs your help . . . you just can’t.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “Just Dorito.”

  “Doroteo . . .”

  “Whatever.”

  I made arrangements with Inez to let me take Dorito to the doctor. Laci went with me so that she could translate. They took x-rays and ran all kinds of tests on him and he was a real little trooper, only crying when they pricked his finger to draw blood.

  “Don’t cry, Dorito,” I told him. “They’re going to help make your legs work better.”

  “He doesn’t understand anything you’re saying because you refuse to learn Spanish,” Laci said.

  “He will. If I only speak English to him he’ll learn it and then he’ll be bilingual . . . that’ll really be an advantage to him when he’s older.”

  “Yeah,” Laci scoffed. “That’s why you’re doing it.”

  “What do you think, Dorito?” I asked him. “Don’t you want to learn English?”

  He nodded.

  “And you’ve got to stop calling him Dorito,” Laci complained.

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she said. “His name is Doroteo. You’re going to get him all confused.”

  “No I’m not. It’s a nickname. Lots of kids have nicknames.”

  “It’s not a nickname,” Laci said. “It’s a chip . . .”

  “Remember that guy that played saxophone in high school? His name was Chip . . .”

  Laci rolled her eyes at me.

  “Dorito’s a great nickname,” I went on.

  “You’re going to offend someone,” she said. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be calling him Dorito.”

  The doctor came in. He and Laci babbled back and forth to each other in Spanish. I avoided saying Dorito while they talked.

  “He doesn’t think it’s Blount’s Disease,” Laci said as the doctor pushed Dorito’s legs gently up to his chest.

  “What’s wrong with him then?”

  “He thinks it’s probably rickets, but he’ll have to wait until some of the test results come back.”

  “Rickets?”

  I hadn’t looked that one up yet. Laci nodded.

  “Find out more about it,” I said.

  Laci talked to the doctor some more while I waited impatiently.

  “It’s usually due to poor nutrition,” she said. “He needs to be on supplements . . . he needs lots of milk with vitamin D . . . he needs to go out in the sunshine every day . . .”

  “Will the bowing go away?”

  More Spanish . . .

  “He might get better just as his nutrition improves, but he might need orthotics and physical therapy.”

  “But then he’ll be alright?”

  Spanish . . .

  “He could be perfectly normal one day . . .”

  “Well,” I said, feeling happy. “That’s good!”

  “Do you know how much physical therapy and orthotics would cost?!”

  “See if he can send us to someone who speaks English.”

  “You’re going to pay for all this?”

  “Yeah,” I said, tickling Dorito’s neck and making him giggle. “And I’m going to teach him English too.”

  The orthotist made casts of Dorito’s feet and fitted him with plastic leg braces. He told me to watch for any discoloration of the skin or any signs of pain. I checked him very carefully every day because he was so happy all the time that I figured he’d have a big piece of skin rubbed raw before he’d bother to complain about it.

  The bilingual therapist that we were referred to was named Sonya. Dorito loved her. She made everything seem like a game to him and she showed me exercises to do with him on the days that we didn’t see her. Mostly it was a matter of encouraging him to put weight on his legs: trying to walk, squatting down, and standing on his tip toes.

  “Sonya said Dorito’s really doing great,” I told Laci as we were walking home one night about three weeks after Sonya had first seen him. It was a twenty minute walk from the orphanage to our house and we usually only drove if it was rainy.

  “David! You’ve got to stop calling him Dorito! You say you want to help him and give him all the advantages you can . . . but you keep calling him Dorito! Do you honestly think that’s going to be an advantage to him as
he gets older? He’s going to get teased by all the other kids!”

  “Do you know what ‘Dorito’ means in Spanish?” I asked her.

  She looked at me suspiciously and I knew that she didn’t.

  “It means ‘little pieces of gold’. It’s a great nickname.”

  “How’d you know that?” she demanded.

  “Internet . . .”

  “Do you know what ‘Doroteo’ means?” Laci asked him the next evening at dinner. She was looking at him, but the fact that she was speaking in English told me she was holding this conversation solely for my benefit.

  He looked at her blankly so she went on.

  “It means ‘gift from God’,” she said, smiling. “Isn’t that nice?”

  He nodded at her.

  “Oh, my,” I said. “I see somebody else has been hitting the Internet too . . .”

  Still smiling, she raised an eyebrow at me, but I wasn’t about to be outdone.

  “Watch this!” I told her. I turned to Dorito.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dorito!” he told me.

  “That means ‘little pieces of gold’,” I told him. “Isn’t that nice, too?”

  He smiled and nodded at me and I saw Laci rolling her eyes.

  “And do you know what you are?” I asked him.

  “A good boy!”

  “That’s right,” I said. “You’re a good boy. Who am I?”

  “Day-Day!” he said, still smiling.

  “That’s right,” I said, pointing at his plate. “Now eat your corn.”

  “Corn,” he repeated.

  “Maíz,” Laci said.

  “Corn,” Dorito and I said together.

  ~ ~ ~

  I WAS SPENDING a lot of time in medical offices. If I wasn’t taking Dorito to the doctor or to the orthotist or to physical therapy then I was taking Laci to the obstetrician. I think her doctor got big bucks every time he did an ultrasound because he wanted to do one just about every time we went, but I didn’t complain. Surprisingly, (to me) he had the latest in technology and most of the time when we went we’d get video of our baby. I didn’t waste any time loading them onto my computer and streaming them all together.