Editorial February 16, 1998 Issue

To three boys in São Paulo ...

Metzer Trammell

I'll never forget you. The three of you crouched at the entrance of the Praca da Republica—giggling. One of you sat on the sidewalk, winding your fingers around your toes. The others huddled under a huge tree. You could have been my own children.

I wanted so much to talk with you. But I don't know Portuguese. Besides, they say the "street children" of Brazil don't really want to talk to strangers.

You really surprised me, though. Not thirty minutes after I first saw you, my Brazilian friend and I came back to where you were.

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