For the Love of Soccer

By Mima Sanchez-Parsons

This is the story of Juan Carlos Chavez, who found comfort from the pain of isolation, prejudice and his parents absence in his love for and dedication for soccer. Living on a ranch on the slopes of the San Vicente Volcano or in an inner-city barrio was at times difficult. Playing soccer became a way of surviving loneliness and internal unexpressed anger for him.

This is the odyssey that he lived in order to cross the border to the United States. He helped to bring his two sisters and brother across the border and, in so doing, he discovered how much he loved his siblings. He came of age, and recognized the deep sense of responsibility he had for his brother's and sisters safety.

It was at this dangerous and perilous time that He made a strong commitment to return to his native country. He felt the strong tug that the land had on his life. He knew the only way for him to feel whole was to work on the ranch beside his beloved grandmother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496911773

Mima Sanchez-Parsons

I’m a retired middle school teacher. I was born in El Salvador, Central America. I came to The United States as a teenager. I graduated from San Francisco State University with a Master in Psychology and Education. I taught for thirty years in various schools in Southern and Northern California. I also studied in China for a year at the X’ian Normal University. While in China I taught English Literature at the Engineering University in X’ian China to a group of Chinese Engineers. During the time I was a student at San Francisco State University I volunteered in the Mission Coalition Organization in San Francisco and was trained as a Community Organizer by Saul Alinsky.

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MIMA SÀNCHEZ-PARSONS

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© 2014 Mima Sànchez-Parsons. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/09/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1178-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1176-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1177-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014908776

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Soccer Historical Background

Chapter 1 The Ranch

Chapter 2 My Parents Left for California

Chapter 3 Playing Soccer in the Capital

Chapter 4 Life For My Parents in California

Chapter 5 Life on the Ranch

Chapter 6 The Guerrilla Attack

Chapter 7 My Father’s Arrival

Chapter 8 Our Trip to the Border

Chapter 9 Meeting Henry

Chapter 10 The Midnight Walk

Chapter 11 A New House and a New School

Chapter 12 The Fight

Chapter 13 The Investigation is Over

Chapter 14 Home Again

Chapter 15 Looking Back

INTRODUCTION

Juan Carlos Chavez found comfort from the pain of isolation, prejudice and his parent’s absence in his love for, and dedication to the game of soccer. Living on a ranch on the slopes of the San Vicente Volcano or in an inner-city barrio was at times difficult. Playing soccer became a way of surviving loneliness and internal unexpressed anger for Juan Carlos.

This is the odyssey Juan Carlos lived in order to cross the border to the United States. Juan Carlos helped to bring his two sisters and brother across the border and, in so doing; he discovered how much he loved his siblings. He came of age, and recognized the deep sense of responsibility he had for his brother’s and sisters’ safety.

It was at this dangerous and perilous time that Juan Carlos made a strong commitment to return to his native country. He felt the strong tug that the land had on his life. He knew the only way for him to feel whole was to work on the ranch beside his beloved grandmother.

SOCCER HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

Through virtually its entire history soccer has had world popularity among the masses. The sport sprung from the early crude recreation of peasants and townsmen in medieval England. For a short while, just long enough for them to draw up a set of rules in 1863, the game was taken over by the upper classes, but it was not long before the working man had reclaimed his sport.

When professionalism came in the 1880s, the first pros came from industrial areas. They were hard, severe men who, every Saturday afternoon, brought a sturdy artistry to the game of soccer. The people who paid their pennies to watch the new professional entertainment were people not at all different from the performers. They grew up together; they lived side by side many of them even worked side by side in the same factory; for soccer was not yet in a position to pay anyone a living wage. The closest of relationships grew up between the fans and the players, and by extension, between fans and the sport.

Soccer seemed to have some innate power that reached out to the allegiance of the people. When it was taken abroad in the late 19th century, it started life in many countries as the exclusive possession of a group of English settlers, who often went to some lengths to ensure that no foreigners should join their club. In Brazil, it was the sons of the upper classes who first took to the sport, and they made quite sure that none of the lower classes played on their teams. Yet soccer’s appeal was too universal, too basic, to be confined by class distinctions, everywhere, it became the sport that everyone played.

It is also believed that the Mayas, Aztecs and Incas also played a game much similar to the present day soccer.

FOR THE LOVE OF SOCCER

CHAPTER 1

THE RANCH

Sunday, 5 a.m. I know that I will soon hear my Grandmother calling, Juan Carlos, are you awake?

She will follow her question by saying, You have to get up; Snowflake needs to be milked.

It is as if we follow a script.

It is always the same. I will always say, Yes I know it. I know it.

Doesn’t she know that Sunday is a day of rest?

My Grandmother says, According to the Good Book no work should be done on Sunday

I guess the Good Book excludes Snowflake and me, as we both have to work on Sunday. There is no honoring the Sabbath for us.

I can hear Snowflake bellowing, calling me to alleviate the pain in her udder. I quickly get dressed on my old faded bluejeans, grab the bucket and out the door I go to milk our cow. My sisters Emily and Rose get to sleep late and so does my brother Robert. I can understand why Robert sleeps late, as he is only a six year old.

Why does it have to be me the only one who milks the cow? I was only six years old when my grandpa taught me how to milk a cow. I used to help him with the milking along with Don Francisco, my grandfather’s helper. My sisters are now old enough to learn. Snowflake doesn’t particularly care whether the hands that milk her belong to a boy or a girl. Oh, what’s the use! I have to do the milking; I may as well accept it.

A luminous glow of promise emanated from the skyline this morning. I have to admit it, I like getting up early because I can hear the birds arguing and singing. The roosters are calling and everything smells so fresh. All at once, in one morning, it was spring. The trees burst forth, first in the most delicate leaves, then in an explosion of fragrant pink and white flowers. Flocks of little birds suddenly appear, chattering and singing in the sunshine of the new day. The grass is wet with due from the night before. I stepped over fields of blue Santa Lucia flowers wet with dew; I can feel the cold sensation on my bare feet. There is no one out in the pastures to bother me, or interrupt my thinking. I am alone with my thoughts and I like that. It is just that I don’t like being the only one responsible for doing the milking all the time!

The stars are still visible and the moon is just getting ready to turn in for the day. The sun is taking over his kingdom again. Everything seems to be screaming it’s a new day! I like the feeling of being in charge and of knowing exactly what to do. It is pleasant to be up in the barn with the smell of the citrus blossoms creeping up here from the groves.

I am sitting here alone in the barn remembering seven years ago, before my brother Robert was born. This was the time when my parents, my sisters Emily, Rose and I lived on the ranch with my grandmother, whom we call Mama Tonita and my grandfather, Antonio. I practically have lived on the ranch all my life, except the one-year my parents took us to live in San Rafael, the capital. I was only seven years old when we went to San Rafael to live. My sisters and I only lived in San Rafael with my parents for a year. They brought us back to the ranch to live with my grandparents. My grandparents raised me.

Emily, Rose and I were born in San Vicente, and Robert was born in the capital. My grandmother’s real name is Petrona, but everybody calls her Doña Tonita. My father is mama Tonita’s only child. My grandfather Antonio was still living when Emily, Rose, Robert and I were born. He worked his ranch until his death three years ago.

My grandfather was a well-known and respected man in this community. When he was living he always had a carpenter, a plumber and a mason in his employ, because he was always building or repairing something around the ranch. His workers were sent out to San Vicente Catholic Church to do all the repairs, additions or remodeling at the church at his expense. Father Luis depended on my grandfather for the maintenance of the church, and for economic help for the less fortunate in the congregation. My grandfather’s death was a hard blow for the whole community. His funeral was an event attended by all the people in the community. His death was difficult for me to take. I was much closer to him than to my father.

My grandfather’s ranch has a total of one hundred acres; sixty acres are planted with oranges, lemons, grapefruits, avocados, and mangos. Corn, beans, vegetables such as lettuce, radishes, cucumbers, zucchinis, tomatoes and flowers are raised on ten acres. The house, barn, and various other buildings are built on the rest of the land.

When my parents moved to San Rafael, the Capital City, my mother sold the fruit and vegetables raised on the ranch at the big Central Market. Now after my grandfather’s death and my parents’ absence, the land is rented to the neighbors, the Rodriguez family. I wish my father could have stayed and worked the ranch instead of moving to the capital or going to California, leaving us on the ranch; my grandmother also thinks so. But nobody asked either one of us. Mama Tonita suggested it, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to