Sparks from the Fire

I have a new friend. His name is Luigi. He’s 5 years old. He’s growing up in Sao Paulo, Brazil, speaks Portuguese and not one word of English. Well, more on that later. When we were first introduced, he tried to pronounce my name and couldn’t. “Peter.” When I said it the second time he simply burst out laughing with the surprise and wonder of such a funny name. “Peter.”

On the third attempt he got it right and then laughed again in glee at the funny sound. “Peter. Peter. Peter.” He ran around in circles of joy over the humor of such a funny name saying it over and over amid gales of 5 year old guffaws.

As if Luigi isn’t a funny name…

Actually, Luigi is a wonderful name! Luigi, Luigi, Luigi! Say it again and again. An Italian name for a Brazilian boy.

But I digress…

I played with Luigi for about an hour and a half waiting for his parents to finish a meeting. He showed me his two-wheeler bicycle and his helmet which was too small for him. It was also too small for me as I tried it on amid more gales of laughter from Luigi.

When not climbing all over me he ran – up and down the patio, back and forth, for no obvious reason, just to run. Ah, the energy of youth! Then he rode his bicycle — up and down the patio, back and forth, for no obvious reason, just to ride.

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We came around the corner of the mountain range flying in at about 6000 feet. I pressed my forehead to the window as the pilot announced our landing. Suddenly there was Sao Paulo sprawling before me – city of red clay roofs, city of skyscrapers, city of poverty, city of joy. Here was a city like none other.

Flying into most American cities looks and feels about the same. The similarities speak to man’s tendencies to copy one another. Most of them lay out pretty much the same – some bigger, some smaller. Then there’s Rome. Now there’s Sao Paulo.

People, people, people. All of whom I do not know, have never met, will never meet – living down here in South America – a place I seldom consider. I am, once again, struck with the smallness of my life, the largess of the world around us. I have lived all these years; this place has been here all that time, yet we never knew one another. A new window opens to my life and my heart rushes in the excitement of it.

I spent the rest of the day in the hustle and bustle, the hassle and the traffic. Oh my god, the traffic — worse than L.A. Crawling across this sprawling city I am most taken with the creativity of the graffiti. Modern street art thrown up on ancient walls. Colorful, Latin, bold, fascinating. Wish I could stop and study it.  Wish I could meet the artists…

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