breaking free from the past

It had been a longish day as I trotted out. Not terribly different from the standard fair with an early morn start, downing hot java whilst I pour myself into a number of new pieces I am working on but still the mid-summer doldrums were wearing on my thin. Of late I had gotten in the habit of breaking-up my early evening with a quick run on a local pitch, a little kick-around that I suppose provided me a morsel of relaxation. However as these situations are so often, when you least expect it life reinforces a great lesson and in this case it was akin to a runaway train.

As a backdrop I have often been asked of my passion for sports, in particular the 'boarding world and of-course Football that I write of incessantly. While many are fans of the game in support of "their team" or even the sport itself, I think it is best to say I am a fan of the beauty in the "beautiful game". Oh, I don't want to deflect the joy of watching the game played at the highest level and of late I'm as happy as rosy-cheeked school-boy watching my corner kicks find the netting but the real beauty of the beautiful game is how it brings people from across the world together. It's the majesty of the simple round ball, in all its quirky bounces that it tears down walls, helps us understand our fellow man and in the most magical of ways, makes us a better people.

And so it is with that rather wandering introduction that I return to my trot down to a little pitch. There were a few families on the outskirts of the track as I made my way out, juggling the ball from end to end the best that I could, forgetting about time or these graying temples. As I was making my way down to the other side, a young man appeared and though I couldn't understand the language spoke he motioned to me with a smile to kick the ball around. He was an early teen, not much more than 1.5m, who quickly opened up with smiles and laughter kicking the ball around. Once again the barriers of language were torn down with the joy and magic of the simple round ball.

I suppose if this was the end of the tale it would fine but it is not as the next week I once again I trotted out to that little pitch and once again the same young man approached to kick the ball around. After twenty minutes or so his father and brother came out and joined-in making us quite the motley crew but all the while enjoying the late summer sun. Moments before they left the young mans father came up to thank me because his son, who he adopted recently, has only been able to open up via Football. A victim of child slavery the young man had been rescued and given a fresh start by this extraordinary family. I can't imagine the path to recovery will be easy one for him but within the support and love of his family, the smile that I saw on the pitch will envelope his life and break him free from the past.