Feeling Protected

As I was walking in the park, I noticed that that some Police officers were doing their work and I mentioned to a friend that I felt protected walking in the park by myself in the morning rather than at the end of the day. He laughed and asked me why. The reason was because the police officers workout in the morning on some days and on other days the fire brigade does. He laughed again. He asked me if those men and women (very few) in blue shorts and white t-shirts would really be able to do anything to protect me from getting mugged. My answer was that I just thought that perhaps the criminals would avoid the park just because they knew those officers were there.

As we continued walking, the officers started jogging and as they passed I noticed that a few of them were carrying their guns on them even though they were in those short shorts. So there it was – the gun. I was right in the first place; it is safer to walk in the park in the morning.

 Once I had a friend who was a policeman. He told me that if a shooting broke out he would run and hide. When I asked him why, he told me that he didn’t make a lot of money to put his life on the line. He had a family to take care of and dying was not an option. Ironically and unfortunately, he did get shot except that it was his day off and he wasn’t in uniform.

These police officers that I see in the park do not only work out there, they also run on the streets in the neighborhood. I have spotted them from my window. They run and chant as they run. On one hand it is cool to watch, however, on the other hand, they really make a mess out of the traffic because they take up a whole lane.

 Ah, but between you and me, it sure is a sight for sore eyes! Ooh La La!

Written July 15, 2014 Todos os direitos reservados a Meire Marion.

Photo: Meire Marion ( from my bedroom window)

A Strange Language

Early morning on a Saturday, around 9am, (that is early morning for someone who went to bed at 3 am – it all depends on who is telling the story) all of a sudden you are awaken by a group of twenty-two men shouting. You know where the noise is coming from and that the shouts are made by twenty-two men because you can see the soccer field from your bedroom window.

Although you are used to the sounds that come from that field, you still cannot make out the words that are said at the top of their lungs. To be honest, the only words that you actually do understand are those that on a daytime TV show would be censored with a very loud beep.

It is funny how they do not call each other by their names but by some names that refer to their mothers or their blood hood. They usually tell each other to go do things to themselves that is usually done between two people. (Two people- I said usually).

Are they happy just kicking around the ball early in the morning? Hell, no! They also play around 10 pm at night when you are trying to fall asleep because you have to rise and shine bright and early the next morning. You toss and turn and they shout and scream, in addition to the one man dressed in black who tends to blow a whistle on and off. With each blow of the whistle, more mothers are praised.

Finally a final blow of the whistle, more grunts, cheers, shouts and a few cries of sadness, lights are turned out, you turn and glance at your clock and it reads midnight. Oh brother, only five hours of sleep.

There is nothing you can do after all it is an official soccer school and there are games played at all times of the day. The only thing that could be improved would be the language used while they play. But perhaps, without that language it wouldn’t be the same.

(Written July 26, 2014) Todos os direitos reservados a Meire Marion.

Photo by Meire Marion - from the bedroom window

Crying Non-stop

In my building there is a little girl.

This little girl must be around three.

She cries all night and day.

Her cry is loud and there is no glee.

I sometimes wonder why she cries so much.

It can be 4 am or 4 pm the screams reach my ears.

Perhaps she cannot speak;

Perhaps she is in pain;

Perhaps she is sad; or

Perhaps she is just used to it.

For whatever reason she may have,

I cannot help wondering what it may be.

Every now and then I hear her grandma scream;

For her cry is so loud that that is the only way anyone can be heard.

There are times when I feel like knocking on their door;

But then it is really not my place to be.

Hopefully one day all this will come to a stop.

Hopefully she will transform these tears into laughter.

In the meantime, I will keep my fingers crossed.

( Written July 25, 2014) Todos os direitos reservados a Meire Marion.

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And the World Cup goes to.....

Being a Brazilian, you are taught to appreciate a soccer game from the moment you are born. Parents dress their babies in the colors of their favorite teams. Nowadays it is easier to find baby clothes, sheets, blankets, curtains, rugs, bedspreads, sneakers, etc. in the team colors and symbol.

Fathers are proud when their young choose to support the same team. Sometimes hell can break loose when the child dares to support a different team than his or her father. Some youngsters only do so when they reach an adult age and cannot be punished. (not so dramatic, but I have heard of some cases)

Although I grew up in the US, my story was not any different, except for the clothes and items mentioned. I remember my dad used to listen to some games over the radio. We lived in a small city in the northeast of the US where a lot of Portuguese immigrants lived. For this reason he could listen to games via the Portuguese radio station. That is where my ability to understand the radio announcer narrating a game sprouted. That was when I also learned about Pelé and the Cosmos. But especially learned to love and support my dad’s favorite team SPFC ( São Paulo Futebol Club).

When we returned to Brazil, dad and I used to watch our team’s games on TV together. We’d curse, scream, yell at the referees, and jump up and down when a goal was scored. However, throughout the years this changed due to our health. Really. Dad has a heart condition and I was just getting to nervous. That couldn’t be good. So, we would avoid watching the games. Nonetheless, we would always be informed about the results of the game on the following day. I remember calling my dad while on my honeymoon to scream that our team had won the Brazil National Cup during that period. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?

Anyhow, not watching SPFC play these days hasn’t changed. However, when Brazil plays that is a whole different deal, especially during the World Cup Matches. For these games my family gets together dressed in our yellow or green shirts ready to support the team. It is ninety minutes of cursing, screaming, jumping, making noise and a lot of food, which can’t be good for our health either.

This year the World Cup was held here in Brazil. It was to be something else. When our country was drawn four years ago, a lot of people cheered. However, as the event got closer riots started and some people did not want the Cup to happen, a bit too late in my opinion. I often ask myself why the riots did not happen four years earlier, right after we were selected.

Nonetheless the World Cup started on June 12^th.  The country stops to watch Brazil play in a World Cup. It has been like that as far as I can remember. It wouldn’t be any different this year that the Cup was being held in Brazil. There were days that people had off; some days where only half a day off was given. Changes had to be made in Sao Paulo because of the traffic jams. People were encouraged to watch the games near their jobs instead of heading home at noon. Schools were let out on vacation sooner than usual. People started decorating their windows with the Brazilian flag and the energy in the city was flowing really well. It seemed peaceful and as if everything were running smoothly. Although the media did not show anything but the good side, we know that that was not reality.

All was going well until the semi finals when Brazil lost to 7 to 1 to Germany. What a blow that was! I remember watching the players just standing there while Germany made the goals. I looked at my dad and recall asking him why they were just standing there. He just shrugged.

After this fiasco, we still got together to watch the last game Brazil played; they got 4^th place. It did not cheer us up especially because they were not playing well at all.

If only Brazilians had the same passion for other areas of the country, it would be the best country to live in. However, perfect is an abstract word.

Nonetheless, the World Cup goes to the best team: Germany.

(Written July 15, 2014) Todos os direitos reservados a Meire Marion.

 

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