Junito: the Epilogue & a Tribute to the Morenita behind the Man

No, Junito has not announced a reversal on his all too premature retirement. He is still blissfully playing hurling, impervious to medium sized balls and nets draped over sticks. But this series ended without paying tribute to the olive-skinned and gorgeous woman behind the world’s future greatest player. And that is a tragedy which requires remedy.

First, a word on Junito’s sister. Her name is Angie. She is one year older. A few people asked – why not do a series on her? Was it male preference? Or, perhaps, there ‘sa unique bond between father & son? The only answer is painfully simplistic and practical – for the longest time, Angie showed no interest in soccer. She preferred dance. After a few soccer sessions, she would let out a loud gasp and say “No soy hombre, no tengo fuerza para esto.” I would correct her sexist assumption, but to no avail. I then realized it was an excuse to leave goals behind for plastic kitchen sets.

My own sister was and is a girlie girl, so I let it slide. But, to my delight, Angie has started to show an interest in soccer. I’m ecstatic. She has her mother’s natural two-footed grace. She also lives and breathes the Real Madrid-Barca rivalry, having remarked on a few occasions to her play friends that “Madrid is de oro, Barca es de inodoro.” Is a sequel possible? Possibly. Although Real would first need a female side.

The other lady in me and Junito’s life was also curiously absent from the series. With no good excuse.

I refer to Junito’s mother, the morenita bonita who shall not be named. Well, okay, Cristhian. Why was she absent from so many posts? I have no good reason. In a sense, Junito’s mamacita was the quintessential Makelele holding midfielder – she did all the little things so tirelessly, so effortlessly, and with such perfection that her contributions went beyond a pass here or goal there. Like air, she was all present, all important, and unjustly ignored. She was foundational. And nobody sits in a house and thinks on a daily basis – “Wow, what a great foundation which has steadily supported this structure for years” – but they should. And I should have.

And the morenita’s contributions went beyond the traditional role prescribed to women. In addition to being beautiful, a wonderful cook, a diligent cleaner, a great dancer, a load of laughs, and a practical intellectual counterweight to my flighty fits of fantasy and overdone alliteration, she’s just plain kick-ass. She is always a staunch defender of Junito, who has recently taken a liking to vigilante justice and hands-on-solutions to schoolyard bullying.

She was essential to the development of our beloved chele chulo. And not just in the giving-birth-to-him sense. Although that was also kind of a big deal. And painful, from the looks of it. So if Junito failed in a sense to attain the dizzying heights of greatest player ever in the history of soccer, that was his papy’s fault. His mom still deserves credit for having criado a wonderful and carinoso young boy. Whom we love, no matter where life takes him.

And who also likes an abrazote from time to time.

“Verdad que hurling es mejor que el futbol?”

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