The general definition of value is that something is only worth what people agree that it is. And when person after person throws it away, it seems rather invaluable.
What happens when that "thing" is a person? A child? I won't lie. There are children at the orphanage that initially were off putting. Love hungry eyes following me. Bony fingers stroking my arms and grasping at my hands. Asking in Russian for treats. Any acknowledgment. Wearing the only shirt that they will get for the year. Pointing with pride at the little, old, black dog with a jaunty plume of a tail that looks an awful lot like the little black dog I had when I was a little girl. Wanting me to pet it. Wanting to share what they can.
Andrew. Peter. Igor. Sasha...
Names. Lives. Hopes. Dreams.
Children of Ukraine.
Children of God.
Our children.
Two blocks over children are walking out of a convenience store with treats in hand and parents with them. Their hair lovingly styled and clothes clean. They skip past the Lenin statue in the square under the scythe and hammer, while their parents watch.
On the other side of the world my homegrown children are spending this week with their aunt, going swimming, going to a baseball game. Eating cinnamon rolls.
Here in Ukraine my blue eyed son dances when he looks at the picture book we made. Grandparents. A five year old mini van. A bottom bunk with Spider-Man sheets. A brother and sisters.
Watching the video his brother made him and grinning ear to ear to hear a five year old little American boy with brown eyes and curly hair say, "I love you." Playing it over and over. And over.
Calling the American boy "most precious brother" in Russian. Petting our faces with his sweaty little hands.
Saying "Dasvadanya" and bravely blinking back tears as we tell him we will be leaving and will see him in a few weeks.
He waits for us. Sleeping in the only pair of underwear he will get for six months. On a toddler sized bed. Where the stars are hung upside down, half a world away.
People blow money on closets full of clothing that will still have the tags on them years from now.
What gives something value?
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