kissimmee-child health

Abbie Bouse and Kristin Otteblips

Coming to you from the land where calling burnt pasta-roni out of one pot for ten people at 11pm dinner is not even questioned. To begin to describe the past week in words would not even come close to doing it justice. Give Kids the World is a place like nothing else in the entire universe. Give Kids the World is a place where kids, no matter what their life story, are given the opportunity to soak up every moment of their childhood, and for this one week, live in a world that is not reality. Give Kids the World is a place that is only imaginable in dreams, and for this one week, every child that walks through the doors is given the opportunity to have all of their dreams come true. To have been given the opportunity to be a part of these children's week is something for which I will be eternally grateful.

As the Gingerbread House opened Wednesday evening, and the families started coming to eat after a long day at the parks, I noticed a young woman walk in with a small boy with physical and mental disabilities in a wheel chair. As she made it through the line, she got two plates of food, one for herself, and one for the boy. After filling both of the plates, the woman asked if the boy's plate could be blended together. A little while into the evening, as I went to clean off a table, I noticed that same woman, sitting in the back room, feeding the small boy. She sat there patiently, with a smile on her face, feeding the boy bite by bite talking to him the entire time not expecting any conversation or anything in return. At about 7:30, as I went again to start cleaning the chairs and tables in the back room, I noticed that the woman was still sitting with the child, but had now moved on to eating herself. She had sat with this child for an hour and a half, as her full plate got cold, before even thinking about herself. This is just one of the many small moments that I will always remember from this week.

This week has been more than I ever could've imagined, and like many other spring breakers out there, I can't help but wish it wouldn't end. Knowing that this morning was the last time that I will ever see the families that I have begun to recognize these past four days is heartbreaking. Thinking about this past week, and knowing that I will probably never again be given the opportunity to hear "sleep well" from one of the cutest volunteers ever, Annabelle, as we leave the village for the night is sad. But thinking about the little girls face after I painted her nails this morning, or the boy's grin when he saw his new airbrush tattoo I attempted to perfect, are things that I wouldn't trade for anything. Before this week, I would not have thought that the simple act of carrying someone's dinner tray to their seat would completely make their evening. With the beginning of each volunteer shift, whether it was to carrying trays at the Gingerbread House, helping write letters to Santa at Winter Wonderland, or painting nails at the La-Ti-Da Spa, we were reminded that there is no day but today. Today is the day, so everything, whether it be that "good morning" at 7a.m. when you've barely been awake for thirty minutes, that wave while walking past a stranger, or simply a smiling face, really do matter.  So coming to you, from the land where it's Christmas every Thursday, from the land where ten people who barely knew each other spent a week making memories that will last forever, a land where kids are literally given the world is an extremely happy and grateful ASBer.