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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I woke up this morning with a new family. Babies crying, five year olds running up and down the aisles, moms breast feeding, people sprawled all over the “house” in general disarray – some still sleeping, some just waking up, some already into their morning prayers, some stretching what they could where they could.

I’m on a flight from NYC to Sao Paulo, Brazil and when I went to sleep five hours ago, I was in a flying movie theater; now I wake up to this bustling family of man waking up to another day at 32,000 feet.  The sun pours through the few opened windows as we ride atop a rich layer of frothy white clouds.  There must be an ocean down there somewhere, but if it is, it’s hiding for the moment.

Last night I went to sleep among strangers; this morning we are surprisingly family. Well, after all, we did sleep together. We rode across the sky together.  Few things changed, but now we’re talking to one another – some in English, some in Portuguese – we’re playing with each other’s babies, whereas last night their crying was just a nuisance to us all.

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