Clothes were becoming a big deal for me as a sixth grader at St. Scholastica on Detroit’s northwest side in the early 1980s. Our school had gone from mostly white to mostly black over the previous two years, and I was doing my best to keep pace. I let go of my Gordon Lightfoot and Foreigner albums for Prince and Sugar Hill, but my wardrobe was a different matter.

We were required to wear dark blue pants, a light blue button-down shirt, and a dark blue tie, so it wouldn’t seem like there was much you could do to stand out—but the cool kids made a way. They wore baggy pants and skinny ties with a tie clip that made them look like Wall Street bankers. I looked like I was stuck in the 70s while wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs.

The one chance I had for upping my game came when my mom took me to JC Penney to get a new pair of “good shoes” for the year. No more Thom McAn’s for me! The cool kids were all wearing Stacy Adams, which cost like $80 then, and I was able to find an amazing pair of knock-offs that made me feel like a million bucks when I strode into school that September.

Turns out, they call them knock-offs for a reason. Because the more I wore those shoes, the more their shiny brown fake-leather covering wore off, revealing an orange layer underneath. By the time spring rolled around, my shoes were orange plastic in the front and brown pleather in the back. I hated looking at my feet in school and always kept them hidden under the desk in front of me.

One Friday morning, our class was walking across the parking lot to church for the weekly school Mass, and we had to stop to wait for the classes ahead of us. Our teacher turned around to make small talk, and complimented one of my friends on his new pair of shoes. Then she made similar comments about the shoes of the other two people standing in our circle until I was the only one left. They all looked at my shoes and just went silent. 

I never talked about that day for like 20 years until it came up one night when I was talking with my wife shortly after we got married. I was surprised to find tears flooding my eyes as I felt the sting of shame from that day, and was more surprised to see Maritza crying with me. When I got home from work the next night, she had two brand-new pairs of real Stacy Adams waiting for me. I wore those shoes for years, and remain grateful to this day for the difference her gift made.

The Samaritan Scholars you support face challenges that are way worse than anything I have experienced, but your help makes sure that they don’t carry shame into school because of where they live. Over the last few weeks, kids in Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua began a new school year, and our teams took hundreds of Samaritan Scholars shopping for new shoes, uniforms, or backpacks as needed.

This is just a small part of what you make possible, but please know how much it means to them!

International Samaritan is a Christ-centered organization built on Catholic Social Teaching. Our mission is to walk hand-in-hand with people who live and work in the garbage dumps of developing nations to help them break out of poverty.

We provide holistic scholarships for students from kindergarten through college, and we’re currently supporting nearly 1,000 scholars in Central America, the Caribbean, and East Africa.

Would your church or school group like to partner and travel with us? Learn about our Learn, Serve, Grow program.

Empower our scholars to change their lives. Become a monthly supporter.

We do not receive funding from USAID or the government. We rely on people like you to make a difference in the lives of some of the most vulnerable and resilient people in the world—and they are struggling right now across all eight communities in which we work. Maritza and I love this mission so much that we are doubling our monthly gift this year. Would you join us as a monthly donor? 

Mike Tenbusch, President

Mike joined International Samaritan in 2018 after two decades of leading social change in his hometown of Detroit, Michigan. He’s a University of Michigan Law grad and author of The Jonathan Effect: Helping Kids and Schools Win the Battle Against Poverty. He and his wife, Maritza, have three children who keep them young.