Cha-leo (Rosalio, "Leo") and I met the first week after our move to north Littleton. He is the father of one of the kids on the local soccer scholarship team, which I'm apprenticing to coach this fall. After practice was over, we met as our kids played on the playground. In fragmented english he explained his story of having lived in Chihuahua, Mexico and being grateful to now living in America as a welder. It's been a challenging year for his family of 6, as the construction industry remains unpredictable.
I appreciated his vulnerability with me, as a complete stranger, and his acceptance of me as someone different than himself. As we ended our conversation, he invited me to join his friends and play some soccer each Sunday at 4p in Englewood.
I took him up on the invitation and arrived 15mins early that following Sunday to warm up and stretch. I hadn't played in years. Time passed and no one arrived. Was I at the right park? Did I understand his invitation correctly? It was now an hour later, and still no sign of any soccer players. I began to walk off the field, and then I noticed a few young men approaching the pitch. The game did end up happening, but at 5p. And it didn't end (or break) for another 3 hours until the sun set over the mountains. I was exhausted, and thankful. I realized I was minutes from missing an evening that enriched my week.
I was reminded that as I'm engaging something unfamiliar, I need to be sensitive to my assumptions. Even those assumptions as basic as understanding the words of another.
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