Preparing Tomorrow's Leaders (and Followers)

"We're all grand at 17."

Katherine Hepburn's character says that in Holiday, and it is what comes to mind when I think or hear about the vitality of you youth. I don't look back at that age necessarily fondly, and I would never will myself that age again. Every year continues to improve, and I only...mostly look forward to ageing. But there is something special, something vital, powerful, and dangerous about that age. At seventeen, we wrap ourselves in a cloak of invincibility, which is surprizingly-easily pierced by daggers of vulnerability. But we are willing to fight for what's right, what's wrong; to just do something to prove this world we live in is real and that we have some influence in it.

To that end, it has been both the most challenging and the most rewarding to work with this age group. Watching this vitality and energy with no outlet led me to organize a career fair at my local high school. A few weeks after a 16-year-old student died while racing his moto, the event took place, in attendance, my local students and the neighboring high school's students. Representatives from a nearby university came to explain programs of study and to give aptitude tests to the seniors. For the rest, I organized round-robin sessions, in which I quickly taught the local teachers how to lead. Activities included writing and sharing personal goals, mentors, and influences, making collages, reading an inspirational story, and playing team-building games. And, miraculously (because it rains at every event I plan), the rain held off until we were leaving. I know that for most students, the career fair was nothing more than a change of pace for the day, but I hope that it inspired a few to look further.

And then youth get old...


I cannot say that I am not shocked and confused beyond belief that so many Paraguayans live for so long. One of my host dads turns 100 in March, and he is still very much alive, and I just went to a 97-year-old birthday party. The other day, I went for a jog, and ten minutes in, I crossed paths with an 88-year-old woman on her way home from selling chipa at the soccer game. She stopped me and explained that she had one more chipa left in her basket and wanted to give it to me. She proceeded to dig through her basket, where she found her dentures, and then, further down, the remaining chipa. I continued my jog carrying the questionable snack, every appreciative of my unexpected encounters.