September, 2010
“Run boys, faster,” Coach Harris shouts as the whole soccer team makes its way around the soccer field for the seventh time. “A few more laps.”
We’ve been practicing this whole week for today’s game. We have had two games since the season started. Coach hasn’t let me play for the past two games, but I’m hopeful that he won’t let this game pass me by.
“Hopefully coach will let me play this game,” I tell Zaine. I know I can always count on Zaine. He has been a great friend since my recovery days till today. When most of my High School teammates distanced themselves from the ‘Vanderson Virus’ as they called it because of my past and dad’s past; Zaine stuck by me like a brother and didn’t count my past sins against me. He knows me better than dad ever did, better than mom and Uncle Mike. He became my friend when Dad wasn’t around and helped me make sense of the importance of Uncle Mike’s helpful hand. And I know that I still got in him a friend I can count on, especially now that my world is shifting again.
“He’ll let you play,” Zaine says confidently. “You’re the best player here. And I can bet anything on it.”
“Anything really? You’re that confident about a half deaf player.” I whisper. Coach might not count my past or dad’s past against me but deafness in my right ear doesn’t help in convincing him that I’m still great at this sport.
“Can you stop with that? You are healthy, strong, athletic, and intelligent; plus soccer is in your blood no matter what your past, your dad’s past or any deficiency might bring to the surface.” Zaine tells me.
“I know but what if he knows about my past? And what if he’s worried I will turn out just like my dad?” I say.
Zaine gives me a weird look and shakes his head in disbelief. He can’t believe that I have asked him such a question. Zaine knows that out of everyone here, coach is most likely to know everything about me and also know about dad.
“He probably thinks that by giving me the chance to become even better than what I am today, I’ll turn out like my dad.”
I don’t always mean to bring up those questions but Zaine knows that I have always been judged by dad’s soccer career and what his life was like. I don’t mind it but it floods my mind. I do wonder what people hear about me, know about me and think of me. My memories, mostly the bad ones, have scarred the way I think of what others think of me. It wouldn’t surprise me if the way the coach thinks of me differs from the way he thinks of all the other players in the team.
“Listen, coach is a good man. I’m sure he knows about your dad, knows about you, and knows about all of us. And I’m certain that he wants to get to know the real us and wants us to be our own men by shaping us into good men…through soccer.” Zaine says.
His words resonate in my head as my mind travels back in time to my conversation with Dad on the plane ride home. Dad told me that our past might haunt us but I’m my own man in the present and I get to choose to be my own man in the future. Despite my past and what people think of the old me, I am my own man.
“Okay, I’m going to play this game and we’re going to win it.” I say as I feel this new sense of confidence invade my head, then my whole body. I immediately speed ahead of everyone and keep running faster. A few more laps and more practicing. And time just seems to fly by.
“Now that I am a parent, I realize how much impact parents can have in their children’s lives.” I say. “I want my daughter to never have to doubt her abilities and to never be looked down because of parents’ baggage.”
“Thank you Ma’ Sabine” Miradel tells her after they finish putting clean dishes away. “Thank you very much, Ma’ Sabine.” I tell her.
“See you later. God bless you.” Dieudonné says.
Ma’ Sabine leaves and Miradel sits on the chair. We continue working on the puzzle.
I’m not expecting coach to put me in the game, not yet at least, but the team definitely needs me. We’re trailing behind 0 to 2 and it’s the beginning of the second half.
I want to play and show what I’m made of and give my team a win. I’m standing at the sidelines studying my teammates and I can definitely see what’s not working on the field. If only coach could give me the chance. Studying a better strategy and play will help the team and I have the three plays that can win us this game.
I walk back to the bench, take out a paper and start drawing the three plays.“Lod, come here” coach shouts. I stop everything and run to his side.
“Do those three plays, okay?” he orders. Which plays? My plays! He is not kidding; he wants the team to try out my plays.
It takes me about two minutes in the field to put that together in my head and execute his orders. Zaine is my best ally in getting the play to the nine other players. When the idea behind the first play goes to the whole team on the field, three minutes later we get a goal.
The team and I get to working on the play for another goal. Hearing Leola and Lila scream my name from the bleachers, confirms that the second play has given my team a second goal.
There’s about fifteen minutes left for the game, we’re struggling to get and keep the ball. We need another goal and it’s imperative that we get the ball soon and do the next play.
Five minutes later, we get the opportunity for a third play and score. And this time I hear Mom, Uncle Mike, Aunty Defie, Cindy and Cristian join Lila and Leola in a cheering tune.
A few more plays. No goals. The whistle ends the game. I still can’t believe I actually played this game. And most of all, my mind is busy processing what kind of miracle it was for each of these plays to actually give us a win. Zaine hug snaps me back to reality.
“You played and we won.” Zaine confirms. I smile and let out a shout of victory. I high five my teammates and wait to hear what coach has to say to us.
“Great job!” Coach whispers as he pats me on the back.
“Thank you, thank you for believing in me” I say humbled by his faith in me.“ You were the man for the job, good work.” he tells me.
I’m my own man, the man for the job, I whisper to myself as I lay on my bed with Dad’s book on my chest. The thought of Dad and his desire for me to be my own man makes me happy. But most of all I’m glad to be my own man while reflecting the many talents of my old man. Great memories of Dad flood my head. Our father-son soccer games. Our nights watching soccer with family and friends. Enjoying a World cup experience with him.
I close my eyes and relive our last soccer expedition in South Africa. Memories after memories that I don’t ever want to forget. I fall asleep, remembering.
The sun shines behind a group of boys and girls coming up the hill. They’re walking to the center of the town. Four of the boys are holding big stones.
My first reaction is to walk inside the house, but I can’t seem to want to move. Wimbi and Fabrice join me and sit by me as we watch the boys. The rest of the town gathers into a large circle.
Two boys , holding stones, walk to the right of the circle and two other boys, also holding tones, walk to the left of the circle. One of the boys places the stone on the ground, then counts ten close steps, and where he stops his count the other boy places the other stone. The boys on the other side do exactly the same thing. One boy stands between the two stones on the right side of the field, while in the left side, the other boy stands between two stones.
I look across and see a woman wrapping strings around a ball made out of the same strings. The strings are tightly and meticulously rolled that it would be almost impossible to find the right way to untangle them. Then the woman reaches for a black big sock, stretches it and stuffs the ball in it. The woman cuts the rest of sock and hands the ball to the guy wearing a turquoise referee jersey. Patrice, Fabrice’s younger brother, is the referee.
“Girls,” Sabine shouts as she makes her way to the pile of flowers. The queen, Tamama, is sitting by the flowers. The girls of the town walk to Cynthia one by one and she places in their hands a handful of flowers. I stand
and walk to Cynthia. She fills my arms with two handfuls of flowers. The first girl draws a straight line on the sand with the flowers. Then the next girl continues the same way with the same straight line. When it’s my turn, I make a line with the flowers I was given. The same pattern goes on till the last girl places the last flowers completing the rectangular shaped soccer field.
“Beautiful. Let’s start” Patrice says.
A homemade soccer ball in the center of the soccer field. The boys take their positions, goalies take their places. And the game begins. The team wearing yellow shirts on the right and the other team wearing red shirts on the left. The whistle signals the beginning of the game.
The first three plays of the game are perfect replicas of the plays I used at my first college soccer game. They can do them too and more. The rest of the game is a showdown of great skills. Excellent foot tricks that I would love to be able to do and show off to Zaine and the rest of the team. Some of their tricks are brand new to me and others are familiar. YouTube videos. The young boys play like talented professionals. They dribble from every angle and every side. Their dribbles seem as natural to them as breathing is to anyone. They’re so good at the sport that there are so many nice passes but no goal finishes.
Despite the 0-0 score, singing and cheering for both teams keep the game very much alive. Drums join in the celebration. Another great party and great town gathering. When half time comes around, food and beverages are served by the women of the town.
Twenty minutes later the game starts over with two great plays that give each team a goal. By the end of the game, I have drawn four exciting moments of the game. The two beautiful goals, a backflip goal and a straight long shot goal. And two awesome saves made by each goalies.
“After that game, soccer became my life as it was a life to my father. If I wasn’t in class, eating, sleeping, or at home; I was on the soccer field with Zaine.” I say.
“Many young kids around here do feel the same way.” Dieudonné says.
“I completely immersed myself in the sport. My father’s soccer fever was starting to show feverish signs in my own life. I was contaminated by his passion, skills and drive.” I express as we continue solving the puzzle.