The Best-Laid Plans...

Hey! Got a break in the action, here – Janneke’s out doing a power walk, kids are reading. So let’s get some blog work done, shall we?

Morning: Janneke dropped the kids off, and I took off to explore and chat with folks around my new love, the Santurce market place. Met two wonderful women who work there or near it; one of them works in a “botánica”, which is basically a supply store for santería-type practitioners. I am very, very excited about that little relationship.

Back home around 11:00, where Janneke and I did a little bit of exploring around the possibility of going to the West Coast this weekend. Turns out it’s probably simplest just to pay $52 to put Clarabelle up for a couple of nights at T’s camp and stay in a regular hotel, rather than scratch and claw to find a place that takes dogs. So we found a hotel, booked it, and have tentatively booked a snorkel tour on a catamaran. Not too expensive, really, and they go out to off-shore reefs. Sounds like much better snorkeling than our kids (or possibly us) have ever seen.

While I was over at the market, I got a call from T’s camp. T was supposedly experiencing some stomach pain and wanted to be picked up. She sounded chipper, though, so I told her I’d stop by later on, and in the meantime, she should lie down and drink something cool and see if she felt better.

Called them back just before going to Q’s camp to do pick-up. The two are close to each other, so if she was really in bad shape, I’d scoop her up. Called up and asked the harried woman at reception no to call T to the phone, but to send someone to see how she was doing. If she was doing cartwheels while eating cheese pizza, I wouldn’t bother to stop by and she’d be none the wiser. “You want to know how she’s doing? Is that right?” “Yes.” “One moment.” On hold; then I hear her voice again, saying “Es tu papá”. And then it’s T – “Hola, Papi.” Grrrr…Why do people not listen?

So she insisted that she wanted to be picked up, and I told her it sounded like she wasn’t in a great deal of pain, and that the counselors said she seemed fine. “But my stomach hurts,” she said. “But it doesn’t keep you from doing anything.” “Pleeease, Papi!” So I said I’d swoop by after picking Q up.

Watched the last 20 minutes of Q’s camp, and call me crazy, but it seemed to me they weren’t doing anything. Lots of standing around, the coach on a bench joking with a couple of kids. After a few minutes some of them, Q included, started a somewhat slow-motion pick-up game. Then it was 11:54, and somebody blew a whistle, and they all trooped over the the sidelines. What the hey…?

Talked to Q. “No, we were all so tired, because it was so hot” (and it was), “so we didn’t do anything with the last few minutes.” Fine with me, I guess. Second thing he told me: “I played 100% all day, and I scored. Three times.”

See, last night, I brought up how I thought it didn’t look like he was playing very hard. I shouldn’t do that, I know. And he said, “Dad, that’s so mean!” I told him, hey, I saw what I saw, and if it wasn’t true, then he could just tell me it wasn’t. But it seemed pretty incontrovertible that this was not “100% Q “ that I saw. He still wasn’t happy with me, so later on I apologized. I talked to him about my own sporting life: “I don’t know what I was like in sports at 11. I didn’t play any. So who am I to tell you how you should be? The first time I played any organized sports was in 7th grade. I was pretty aggressive then, but I had hit puberty, and all my muscle had started to come in. It was kind of easy to be aggressive – I was stronger than almost everybody. I can’t tell you how to play now; what do I know about soccer, or about how you play? But I’ll tell you this: I used to say to myself, ‘They might beat me, but they’re going to know they were in a fight. Nobody is going to work harder than me.’ And I wound up beating a lot of people who were better than me, just because I worked harder.”

So, was Q’s increased success 100% due to me and my little pep talk? Come, now; don’t be silly. Of course it was.

I asked the coach as I signed Q out, “Qué tal está jugando?” And here’s a basic translation of what I remember:

“What I like about the kid is that he’s always thinking. There are players here with much more skill, but he beats them with soccer. He’s always thinking about what should happen, not what’s best for him. He’s not that interested in scoring goals himself; rather, what he wants is for goals to be scored, whoever it may be for his team who scores them. His team scores many more goals than if he weren’t on it, even if he doesn’t score that many. Although today, he had some great goals.”

That is exactly what I have always thought of Q as a player. Buttons popped off my chest like mad.

On to pick up T, who ran, excitedly, to be picked up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. I looked at her suspiciously when she arrived. “You look fine to me.” “She’s been OK,” said the counselor. “She rode the pony – “ she indicated a stable nearby, where a pinto pony stood. I looked sideways at T. “But my stomach DOES hurt.” “T, when you get home, if your stomach hurts now, it’s going to hurt then. The difference is this: There’s nothing to do at home.” And the counselor jumped in – “We’re making a volcano after lunch…” T’s backpack dropped to the floor. “OK,” she said. “Sorry to make you come.” “That’s OK,” I sad. “Q’s camp is close by.”

Called Janneke to confirm that Q and I were going to go to the market for an empanada, as I had promised my new friends I’d be back to introduce my son. “The US soccer game is on now,” she said. D’oh! Thought the US played at 2:30. OK, back home so Q could watch the game. And half an hour later, back out to pick up T.

So T and I would eat the empanadas. Except that now was the, worst traffic I’ve seen in San Juan, and trying to get back to the market in a car at 3:00 PM is a terrible, terrible idea. I dropped T back, desperately car-sick, at the house and walked there.

Had the empanada, talked to my new acquaintances, and back home.

Weekend plans continue apace. Got a hotel room and a snorkel tour booked; kids are showered up already, supper’s on the burners. And I need a beer.

Which is a problem I can quickly solve. Excuse me, then…