Beckham and Hyde or Egyptian Exodus

The following somehow all took place in just under 24 hours..
“C’mon Ref!..that was a ‘hand ball!’” they screamed incessantly over and over. “Call both sides!!” they spat out as their eyes rolled from frustration. This was less of an introduction or baptism into the world of officiating sports, and more of a dropping from the local bridge into parent infested waters. It was all smiles and “oh we’ll be patient with you,” at the beginning of the longest 48 minutes of my life, but somehow quickly this fierce need for victory and the taste of blood rose up in parents and coaches around the perimeter of the field. The other coach, other than myself, for the YMCA soccer teams age 10-12, who has told me how easy this would be because of the children’s age, was also coaching these 8-10 year olds. He told me, "don’t worry about offsides or accidental hand balls," but then something in him snapped after I blew my whistle to begin the game. He began to scream at the children as if they were his own and they had disrespected their mother or colored with crayons all over the walls. He invented new rules to the game and actually charged the field to plead his case that a goal should be reversed. It was wild to watch the demeanor of the children on his team turn with his rising temper. One cherub faced chubby boy even screamed at me after I did finally call a hand ball that he had swatted at..”I DIDN’T DO THAT!” I retreated into that place in my brain that I often go at work when monotony seems too difficult to bear. I numbed myself and watched in dismay as seconds ticked away at the pace of hours. Finally, time was up. I don’t know who won. I didn’t care. I didn’t congratulate anyone, I just walked off the field. After all, I had to coach my game in less than five minutes. That story is far less interesting and much more gratifying. I have a fairly disciplined group of mainly boys who worked hard and nearly beat the hot-headed coaches team. We lost 6-4, but my little guys made some genius passes and displayed impressive ball control. We’ll get ‘em next time..oh..and that was the first and last time I will ever don the black and white stripes of a part time referee.
Shortly after the morning excitement of cleats and clamor, it was time to drive with Rebecca to the Nashville “Lost Boys Foundation.” She is currently writing a paper on “culture and adjusting to a new life in the United States.” She was assigned to pick an individual who has recently moved to the States and interview them on the ups and downs of their adjustment period. She had just finished reading "What is the What" by Dave Eggers and we had also recently watched several movies about the atrocities in Sudan and had good friends spend several months as medical missionaries there. We were both very anxious to meet Gabriel and listen about his journey and life. We pulled up to the center which is more of an art gallery and studio than meeting place. The boys, now men, works were displayed. There was an abundance of tribal masks and clay cows. He proudly and humbly showed us the artwork that he had crafted. We made small talk and then made our way back to the back of the studio. Rebecca and I sat on a dirty couch and he pulled up a fold-out chair. It didn’t take but a few questions, before he pulled us into his story of escaping from “the enemy.” He was 9 years old and on the run for months and ultimately years, starving and sleep deprived. He was focused only on survival and looking for the next fruit tree that would provide him with a little more life. He mentioned that he was sad at the fact, but he didn’t pray during this time. He said maybe his elders did, but that the only thing you can think about is “how to continue surviving.” It was amazing, a moment that makes you want to rearrange everything in your own life...a moment where the plight of people and the reality of faith and God come crashing together in front of your eyes. Towards the end of our conversation he suggested we try going by a local Egyptian market where he enjoys doing his grocery shopping. He said the food was similar to what he might find at home in Sudan. After we thanked him for his time, we promptly went down the road to this market. At first it was a great time, looking at the different kinds of baked breads and notating prices for Rebecca’s paper. Then suddenly, I suppose we stood out for what we were...tourists in a place we didn’t belong. The store owner came over and asked us if we needed any help. We commented that we were just browsing. He told us he knew why we were there and it was for competition. He laughed a demeaning and disapproving laugh, similar to Jafar (sorry for the random Disney reference...I’m quick to admit I have very little experience with middle eastern culture, where maybe I could sound much more educated in my analogy). Rebecca told him that we were there because she was writing a paper and he dropped the issue after several more frustrating comments. He never kicked us out exactly, but it was obvious we weren’t welcome. With that, we fled from little Egypt and drove back to a side of town we were much more comfortable and welcomed in.
This odd day would only lastly be made odder by a true “cherry on top.” Rebecca and I had decided that it was such a beautiful and mild night out that it would be a great time to open our windows and let a little bit of the sound of nature into our bedroom. We had been in bed for a few hours when at 3:37am I was startled awake by the sound of a screaming woman running down our street, yelling “Nooooo..Nooooo.NOOOO!!!” Then it happened “BANG, BANG, BANG!!” By this time Rebecca and I were staring into each other’s eyes. “Was that..?” she said. “Yeah! Someone definitely just got shot.” I whispered back. “Do you want to close the window?” she suggested. “No way! I’m too scared.” I admitted. So together we laid in bed, too afraid to go to the window to observe the events that might have happened just after. I’d like to tell myself that some kids were playing with fireworks and chasing each other around the block at 3am last night, but I’m afraid it sounded much more like an Ice Cube video than that. With that, we forced ourselves back to sleep and I woke up early to play guitar in the praise band at church. I had a lot to praise God for..namely life away from: crazed parents, fierce lions and starvation, and gang bangers with pistols. Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day..