Americans are lazy. We want our food prepared and brought out to us. We want to come back to a spotless hotel room. We expect people to speak English to us and give us what we want.

A stranger invited us into his home yesterday.

“You don’t speak Spanish? What’s wrong with you!?” he asked loudly, mostly joking (I think).

But then he welcomed us into his home, and told us his home was now our home.

We sat awkwardly on his couch as he asked us what our thoughts were on Donald Trump. We leaned in as his wife flipped through photos of the orphanage they ran when they were first married.

We stared at photos of one of their children who passed away from cancer just a few years ago.

And we listened as Dr. Ricardo Castillejos struggled to form sentences in English for us. We sat there, listening, nodding, and expecting him to make sense to us in English while we were the ones visiting his country and his home without knowing his native language.

Americans are lazy.

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