Just children.

Right now they are sweet, young kids, with beautiful eyes and dark-colored skin, whom I am privileged to teach. They laugh with me, they stare at my crazy blond curls so unfamiliar to them, and they tease one another. They are kids.

My eyes gaze at them through the lens of my camera while their precious little hands carefully draw the figure before them.

“Little artists in the making,” I think to myself, not really thinking about the fact that society would say that very thought was ludicrous due to their social status.

Today they are simply fun, precious children in my art class … but I know that soon that will all change. My eyes will open to a reality that already exists.

Their little hands sketch and draw. We even get out the charcoal, and soon after, all of us have black fingers … and some of us have black smudges on our faces.

In my mind, I understand that these sweet little children are “underprivileged,” and yet I find that my heart is unable to connect with that word. Hearing their individual stories, though, and seeing their living conditions has the potential to change everything.

“Nothing can prepare you for what you will see and hear when we visit their homes,” Vanessa tells me. “It’s just something you have to experience yourself.”

I can’t wait for the first home visit tomorrow evening … and yet, I can. I know that this will not be easy. I know that it has the potential not only to change my perspective, but my entire life.