Every society has a cultural expression for childhood fear. In the United States of America, a land of abundance, vast homes, and suburban distance, the isolation manifests itself in the form of monsters. These monster do not lurk in the woods, the roof, or the basement. Rather, these insidious fiends dwell in the vacant spaces that we reserve for our bloated quantity of non-essential material possessions: the closet, under the bed. At night, after you parents have left and the clouds have strangled any glimpse of light out of the moon, you can hear the creepy critters scattering about. You pull the sheet up and over your head, but to no avail. The monster can hear you breathing. And, more disturbingly, you can hear them breathing.
Like the IPCC, I may lack some peer-reviewed scientific support for my conclusions, but these monsters are the stuff of fantasy. Despite my insistence that my father inspect the empty suitcases in my closet night after night, no gremlin ever emerged. Yet the fear I felt in my childhood was real; it gripped me.
In Nicaragua, the children fear a more tangible menace. Upon the rat-a-tat of a snare drum, shrieks feel the streets as toddlers run indoor to cower inside locked bathrooms. The drumming reaches a frenetic beat, and then the monster presents him or herself. Adorned in an elaborate mask and 18th century colonial attire, accompanied by a wide headed and body-less monster playing the snare, the dreaded gigantona steps into view.
I fear only for the fear of Junito. And how this fear may affect his career at Real Madrid.
Junito’s response to the gigantona has varied in many respects. When he was around a year old and could only crawl, he would cry upon seeing it. Then, when he learned to walk, he would run and hide under the bed upon hearing the rat-a-tat snare. Now, at age three, Junito can effectively communicate his preoccupation. However, he has showed some bravado. Once, he boasted proudly that he no longer feared the gigantona. But, once the first hit of a snare drum echoed in his ear drums, he scampered to the bathroom and safely out of sight. Fear permeated his being.
The gigantona, in reality, is but a costumed person based in on the gueguense. The gueguense tradition dates back to way-the-fuck back, when the local indigenous peoples found manners to cleverly and subtly mock the fair skinned conquistadores. The modern day reality is a mini-marching group, with two to three people that parade down the street and collect a donation. But they fool no one – the donations are meager. They do it for the fear. And the fear is what bothers me.
Football is no sport for the feint of heart. What if Junito steps up to take a penalty kick, and the rat-a-tat of childhood neurosis rattles his concentration?
A great man once said, “we have nothing to fear but fear itself.” I have to admit – fear gives me the creeps. I flash back to my fleeting high school hockey team, when, between periods in a sudden death overtime playoff game, I felt my stomach churn and could taste spit-up. Granted, Junito has tasted plenty of spit-up in his three years on this planet, but not that kind, the kind that comes from anxiety and nerves, not an age inappropriate formula.
Yet fear is learned. At the age of two, Junito had not yet learned to fear the dark. He would sometimes wake up and bob around the house with the lights turned off, bumping into furniture but utterly impervious to the monsters that taunted my childhood. I hope such confidence can help him to overcome the weight of a million eyes watching him kick a ball.
And fear can be focused for a positive end. Fear can motivate. Junito can channel his insecurities on future arch-nemesis Daniel Maldini. Of course, after Junito is through with him, the Italian defender will be known as Danny “Fall-dini.” I just hope the AC Milan medical staff will have enough bandages to wrap his twisted ankles.
So the rat-a-tat taunts Junito with the coming specter of uncertainty, yet I hope to carve his bravado into courage when facing adversity. The clock is ticking – at age three, Junito is only four years away from his first pre-pre-pre contract. Not that I’m counting on any kickback payments, but. Well. Messi’s family seems to do well for themselves. In the meantime….
-”No tengo miedo Papy Elliott.”
-[Rat-a-tat-tat]
-”Si tengo miedo Papy Elliott!”
No related posts.
