I think I cry on the 4th of July and Memorial Day more often than I cry at weddings and sappy movies! When “America the Beautiful”, “God Bless America” or “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” are played I swell with gratefulness and patriotism.
When I consider the soldiers separated from their families, enduring great hardship in hostile lands, and fighting for our freedom, my eyes well up with tears.
I am infected. I got the infection in Ecuador. I caught it from a nine-year-old boy named Martin. He lives in a one room house in Quito with his two sisters. Their mother died three years ago and shortly after her death, their father left and hasn’t been seen since.
They live alone.
Martin, his two sisters and his little cousin in their home in Quito, Ecuador.