It Takes a Village

“It takes a village” is one of those thoroughly overused phrases that’s also entirely true.  I expect most parents experience something like the same epiphany that I did upon become a daddy: something on the order of “good lord, the sheer amount of LOVE needed to raise one single child to healthy adulthood!  Have I got enough of that stuff?  God, I hope so.”

If you’re like me, you have way more of that stuff than you ever thought possible, but the truth is that, well, it isn’t enough.  An infinite amount, inside yourself, is not enough—not enough to overcome the limitations of your own mortal frailty, your own incapacity to be everywhere at once, your own small-heartedness, brokenness, and plain old fallibility.  

As I write this, it’s nearly 8 pm in Hong Kong.  We’re all getting ready to watch the city light show.  Noah is playing with a friend, seven-year-old Amari.  College students are lined up at the railing chattering and laughing, cameras armed and ready.  A young woman approaches her friends at the rail and gives several of them long, deep hugs.  A couple big guys are kicking a soccer ball back and forth.  One of them takes a half gainer into the deck and sits back up, laughing.  His buddy comes over and gives him a hand up.  Getting the ball going again, both of them assiduously avoid bonking any of the little ones on the head or running them over.  We’re just back from a four-day trip with three or so dozen of the best young people in the world—young people who made a village for Noah, one full of laughter and hugs and play and good conversation and patient caring and general delight in life—an insistence that life is to be delightful and people, especially children, are to be cherished and cared for.  It was so wonderful, profoundly moving and beautiful in every respect.  

Herewith some evidence.

Noah with his buddies Evan and Jared in Guilin.

With Evan.

With Jared.

Playing cards on a boat on the Li River with Myra and Patty or "Patty Rosemary" as Noah dubbed her.

The Limbo with Robin and Patty.

Climbing the Long-ji rice terraces with Jared.

In Long-ji with Evan.

Walking down (steep!) Moon Mountain trail with Robin.

Playing with buddy Matt.

Incongruously, there was a wax museum next to our hotel (which is on the right of the picture).  Here are Noah, Mr. Bean, and Jahlise.

With our beloved and wonderful guide Jenny.

It really was so wonderful, delightful, moving—the ongoing blessing of Noah’s enfoldment into this village.  I returned feeling more optimistic about the world than I have in years.  What an amazing group of young people.  I need to acknowledge the spectacular privilege on display here.  Some of these kids are scholarship kids, but most flatly have the means to embark on Semester at Sea.  I know from direct and vicarious experience that privilege can create what I sometimes think of as affluenza and other times as consumption: sickness of entitlement, a terrible shrinking of the world and spirit into a tiny, materialistic world of having.  But our experience in Guilin shows that privilege can be used well, to broaden and expand the spirit.  The MV Explorer is full of privileged kids of the latter quality.  My hope comes from the fact that, for good and ill, these are the kids who will grow to inhabit the halls of power.  Sadly, that’s the way the world works.  Thank God, some of the people with power will be these kids.

Oh, and I can’t tell you how grateful my shoulders are for the shoulders of those good, good strong guys.