A knock on my door, Sunday afternoon Twelve-year-old kid standing there, eyes like noon “Got any work for me, señor?” Standing tall
I looked him up and down — little hands hard as a wall Calloused and worn, clothes showing their age
But clean, you know? Not dirty, just lived-in sage
Hair hadn’t seen a proper barber in a while But his eyes were clear and proud — had that determined smile I didn’t have work, so I offered him a sandwich
“Sí, señor, pero tengo que trabajar. Así es como pago” He refused the free handout
I had to find him something. Cut some brush, pull some weeds to go Asked him ‘bout school, he said “No, I must work instead My family needs me, my Pappy’s hurt, can’t get out of bed”
When I offered food to take home, he stood his ground “I must work. He said, and then I heard the sound Of his grandfather’s teaching living in his voice:
“No suplicamos, trabajamos por lo que necesitamos”
That was his choice, his life philosophy
So every week I make a plan, give Juanito work to do His honor’s worth more than any inconvenience, that much is true
He brings a light into my life I can’t explain somehow His energy is beautiful, good person to have around
Thank you, Abuelo. For raising him to stand Teaching him dignity, when the world says, just extend your hand Yeah, I gave Juanito work And he made me more of a man “I must work,” he said, and then I heard the sound Of his grandfather’s teaching living in his voice “No suplicamos, trabajamos por lo que necesitamos”