There's Always Soccer At Lunchtime

By Ed Top.

Colonel James Walker would have been proud once again – though you wouldn’t know it from his stern portrait in the hallway. For the past 9 decades, hundreds of Inglewood children have marched (or been marched) into the building which boasts his name. An annual ritual. This year, it’s our turn.

Michelle and I walk down the dusty back alley with five-year-old Jonathan, four-year-old Rachel and baby Avery in tow. Colonel Walker School looms in the distance. Jonathan is equipped with new shoes and backpack; a well-fitted shirt and clean socks; even Spiderman underwear – a family secret. Turning into the playground, Jonathan grips Michelle’s hand. He anticipates a turn of events, a coming-of-age. (The day before he had insisted on white milk instead of chocolate milk, saying brown milk was for kids now. Even Rachel rolled her eyes.)

He’s a little tentative and reminds us again that he doesn’t know how to read. I tell him they have great teachers... again. Looking ahead, we see parents and kids, gathering around Principal James. There’s excitement in the air. Jonathan’s friend, Neven comes running and gives him a hug. Soon he sees Benjamin and Sophia. Then he meets Freddie.

I take in every single moment, almost like snapping pictures in my mind. I remember. It’s a day for memories. I can even recall what it smelled like in kindergarten in 1963 (You don’t want to know.) Time is a funny thing. And I want this moment to endure. We’re paraded into the gym and every child sits, waiting to hear his/her name. Filing into the gym, Jonathan looks at my face and quickly assures me that we can play a game of soccer at lunch, when he gets home. I’m comforted.
“Thanks, buddy.”

First the big kids, grade six and then grade five leave for their classrooms, until it’s only the 14 five-year-olds left on the gym floor. I catch Jonathan’s eye and we give each other a big thumbs up. Tt’s like he’s at the starting line of a great race. His attention is back on the teacher who’s calling out names. Then it happens. “Jonathan.”

She calls out his name like she has called out all the other names.
But it’s not the same at all. Even now, as I write this, I hear how she called out his name.
And suddenly I know. Sometimes life gives you these refining, defining moments of clarity. Crystal clear moments. This moment has been played out before. I now know how my grandfather (Opa) felt when my dad ‘stood up’ 72 years ago.

As Jonathan sheepishly takes his place in line, I know how my dad felt when I took the first stroll to the line in 1963.A barrage of their memories fills my head. I guess I might have chosen to ‘look away’, not to concentrate on the moment. But I go there. I feel myself choking up but I want to absorb every moment of this... lucidity or whatever. I want every piece of insight --- images of both deceased men fly through my mind --- tears rolled down my face and it feels good. It’s like welcoming my dad and my opa back.