Three days ago, the World Cup was played at the schoolyard by my apartment.
At least, that's what it seemed like: players running up and down the plastic grass, bumping into each other and careening off to the side, diving to save the ball, and lobbing it back into play.
But what really made it important is the spectators lining almost the entire field. "Go, go, go-go-go!" yells one man. "Bueno, bueno, bueno!" cries another.
You would think they had put money down on the outcome.
And it made all those "Soccer Mom" stereotypes come to mind.
Because really, it wasn't the world cup. It was a game between 11-year-old girls.
But you'd have thought it was the World Cup.
Yesterday on the ride home from work I stood near four kids: two boys, two girls. Probably about 10 or 11. I'm assuming a parent or two were nearby (possibly enjoying being on the other side of the aisle). Each child had a cell phone.
You can tell that the parents had a part to play in which phone the children got. There was the nearly indestructable one for the boy who probably breaks everything. The "cheap" phone for the boy who probably leaves his phone "somewhere" once a month. And the super cute phones for the girls, because of course it's all about how you look on the outside (but that's another post).
What I found so charming, however, was not the fact that they each had their very own copy of technology that didn't exist when I was 11, but that they were weilding their phones like swords, holding them up in salute to each other, and then taking photos or videos, trying to get the silliest picture.
And then when they had taken a round of photos, they all held their phones into the center and compared the pictures.
There was something very endearing about this simple game they were playing.
And it kinda made me really, really jealous.
I mean, dude, they each had their own phone! :)
Randomly Existing & Sewing
14 hours ago