I'm sitting in a coffee shop and a boy around the age of seven approaches my table with a box of chicles (gum). I ask him how much, and he says "diez pesos".
"Holy cow, that is expensive for a small pack of gum!" I say.
When you come to Mexico you have to be prepared to face beggars of all ages. Hardly any restaurants in Izucar are off limits to peddlers and beggars. They sell typical Mexican candy or gelatino (a thick jello-type of treat), or play traditional Mexican songs on their old guitars; some just stand at your table and look at you with pleading eyes. My favorite is one little girl who comes into the coffee shop about once a week, and sings (shouts) at the top of her lungs, and then walks around accepting tips for her wonderful entertainment.
My rule is a few pesos to ancianos (the elderly) and to the musicians if they are really good, but for children, it's a little different. Sometimes, parents here send their kids out to beg for money. Knowing the money most likely won't be spent on the children, I tend to avoid giving pesos to kids. Instead, I usually invite the child to a muffin or a hot chocolate. At least I know where my money is going.
Fabian, the seven-year-old gum entrepreneur responds to my shock with "es que necesito nuevos zapatos para la escuela." He points to his dirty, worn-out chuckies that are obviously hand-me-downs from a much older and bigger sibling - He needs new shoes for school. I nod and reach into my change purse. I invite him to have a hot chocolate with me.
I get up and order the hot chocolate, about two feet from my table. I sit down again and instinctively reach for my change purse. It is not in my front pocket where it should be.
But the boy is still sitting across the table from me. I frantically look in my bag; I have about 300 pesos in my purse, less than $30 dollars. The boy notices and says, your cell phone is right here, pointing at the table. Why would he steal my purse, when he could have pocketed my $200 cellphone just as easily? I dig around in another pocket of my bookbag, and there is my purse. I silently yell at myself for being so careless, and at the same time for being so paranoid - I hope the boy didn't realize I was thinking he was a thief for those 30 seconds of panic.
I ask the boy if he likes school - Sí, he responds, especially math. He shouts out, "cinco divido por dos?" I'm shocked he's learning division at the age of 7, and not the easy-perfect-round-number kind either - he's testing me with tricky decimals!
"Dos y cincuenta," he shouts before I can answer. Two-fifty, he says, obviously translating the math problem into a money transaction. When I ask him what he likes to do for fun, he says, "Vender chicles." Selling gum.
I learn he also likes to read, knows a few words in English and, like every little boy in Mexico, loves fútbol (soccer). He wants to be a doctor when he grows up, or a teacher. I test his division skills one more time and say "2 divido por 4"; he replies, "Cincuenta centavos" with a big smile. Fifty cents.
He finishes his hot chocolate and looks at his gum. "Tienes que trabajar?" I ask. You have to get back to work?
"Sí." He thanks me and moves on to the next table.
