Seeing our Long Island lives through the eyes of two boys from the Bronx
Abe Padilla, left, and his brother Chris. The two have been annual summer guests of Stephen and Colleen Medici of Halesite since 2010. They're seen with the Medici family dog, Mia. Credit: Colleen Medici
Six years ago, after our five children had reached their 20s and moved out of our house, my wife and I signed up for the host family program of the Fresh Air Fund. Since 1877, the fund has been giving needy kids summer experiences outside New York City.
After interviews and background checks, we were approved to host two boys from the South Bronx for a week. We learned that Chris and Abe lived with their father. Their mother was not present in their lives.
On a July day, host families gathered in the parking lot of a Target store in Commack. There were balloons and banners to welcome the kids. As youngsters got off the bus from the city, it was clear they were as nervous as were we. A volunteer brought Chris and Abe to us. Chris, then about 9, was thin and stood just shy of 4 feet tall. Abe, then 6, was stocky and shorter than his brother
Introductions were made, and my wife, Colleen, asked whether they had packed essential items. Within a few minutes, we were on our way into Target to pick up bathing suits and toothbrushes.
It was amazing for us to see our lives through their eyes, and how much we take for granted.
As we arrived at our home in Huntington, Abe said, “How many families live here?”
In his world, a four-bedroom house would be occupied by several families. Then, as we showed them their bedrooms, Chris stood at the threshold of his and said, “I’ve never had one before.” I assumed he meant his own room. He meant a bed of his own. In his entire life, he had never slept in a bed alone!
That afternoon, after their repeated assurances that both knew how to swim, we headed for our backyard pool. Being skeptical, I had both put on inflatable swimmies just to be sure. It was hot, and both stepped off the edge and sank 10 feet to the bottom as the swimmies slid off their arms. I flung my phone (but, unfortunately, not my wallet) to dry ground and plunged in after them. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the shallow end working on basic swimming skills (with life jackets on).
The rest of the week went smoothly. What the boys enjoyed most was just spending time with us — people who took an interest in them. We played kickball in the schoolyard, walked in the woods at Sunken Meadow Park, learned to ride bikes at our house and watched boats in Huntington Harbor. Shopping at King Kullen was a huge treat as they picked out cereals or other foods. At the Halesite firehouse, where I’m a volunteer, they climbed into trucks and tried on my gear.
In particular, they loved Monopoly. Every night we played the board game for hours. Once they learned the rules, their street sense showed as they tried to hustle us to trade cheaper properties for more expensive ones. If I said, let’s go shoot baskets or to Carvel, they’d always ask, “But can we still play Monopoly?”
At the end of the week, when it was time for them to get back on the bus, we didn’t want to let them go. I hoped that a week with us somehow was more than just fun for them. I hoped they learned that there’s another way to live. I hoped they understood that people cared about them.
Our car ride back to Huntington was silent. My wife and I were both thinking the same thing: We have to stay connected to these kids. And we have. Abe and Chris have come back to us each year for six summers, and will again in August. We sometimes see them at Christmas, and once, after a huge snowfall, we picked them up in the Bronx and took them sledding at a golf course in Huntington. We attended their elementary school graduations, and their dad sends us copies of their report cards.
That first week with them was one of the best of my life — and led to something so much greater: new friends and an appreciation for the things I take for granted.
Reader Stephen Medici lives in Halesite.
