During Saturday afternoon, Jesus and I headed to the outskirts of San Pedro Sula for a soccer match. The match was held next to a center called “Feed the Children,” where a lot of street kids are receiving help. When we arrived, the younger kids were already playing on the oddly shaped field, dotted with water-filled potholes. Most of the locals were playing without shoes, while the visiting team had orange uniforms and nice soccer cleats. We sat under the shade with a nice breeze to cool our faces. Suddenly, out of nowhere, appeared a 10-year old kid with bright eyes that said “Hello, how are jou” (In Honduras, “y” is pronounced as a “j,” so many people learning English have trouble with pronunciation). Little Misiel and I conversed for a bit and I later learned that he had been a street kid as well and had no idea who his mother was. I can only imagine that this child has gone through more than his fair share of tragedy and yet he is so young.
After the young kids finished their game, I got to play with the older group. I am certainly no expert, but I played reasonably well against these players who have been football fans since they were three or four. Our team won 4-1.