Beside the freeway bus stop
the boys play soccer
with a piece of trash
(today it’s a tossed-aside
one liter water bottle).
The bigger one kicks off his
shoes, towards his mother
who is selling fruit to the commuters,
because the sneakers’ sole
to the hole-y canvas upper
making it hard to beat his brother
at trash soccer.
“Put on your shoes,” sighs mom
as she takes a few cents for a
watermelon slice, all the time knowing
with purses, backpacks and briefcases
(and slices of fruit),
climb the stairs of the pedestrian bridge
that spans the freeway.
Which side will they come down on?
The last time I watched a baseball game was… never. The last time I went to a Major League Baseball game was in 1986- a road trip to Wrigley Field in Chicago with Chris, Pete, Baz and Jim. Tonight I am glued to the TV here in Lima watching the Cubs take game 7 of the World Series.
This has nothing to do with baseball. This is all about being connected. After a challenging few months, energy flows strong and I am reconnecting. Reconnecting with culture and language, life and spirit, hope and future. And part of that, oddly enough, is baseball.
Part of being bilingual and bicultural is occasionally missing the other language and culture. If I were in Minnesota I would not be watching the game. I would wait until morning and find someone like Mr. Sports, Mr. Action, Mr. Jim Ed Poole who “knows all and tells only some.” Someone who would let me know who won. That’s all. But that is not tonight.
Tonight I root for language and culture. I root for connectedness and feeling at home wherever you are. I root for hope and life and spirit.