Kites Over Itaquera X

To many in Sao Paulo, I am famous, not for what I did but for how my name translates into Portuguese. Peter is Pedro and similar derivatives in every Romance language. Lenz in German is a poetic name for spring, as autumn is for fall and in Portuguese, Primavera. Together, I am Pedro Primavera–such a ring to it.

Unfortunately, Brad East finds out. He might seem like all business at church, but he is all cutup in Brazil. Brad knows how to keep a group loose. He also knows how to go overboard. When I am playing soccer, I hear my name being called, more like chanted. He has a group of kids around him, many of whom I was throwing the football with earlier and they chant “Pedro, Pedro, Pedro…” He also holds up a testimony sheet with my picture. I’m struggling not to embarrass myself with some of the Brazilian players and now I have Brad calling me to a higher level. I dare not disappoint. Later, he devises a theme song and now all the kids are watching.

Then it happens: I get a return pass and I am one-on-one with the goalie. I put the ball in the net inside the near post. The crowd literally erupts and now I hear PEEEEEEEEDROOOO PRIIIIIIMAAAVAAARA! Taking my cue from international soccer, I play it up for all its worth. I run a flamboyant victory lap and gladhand as many as I can.

Some ask me to play in Brazil and a handful ask for my autograph. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I do not have a pen. Nobody other than creditors have asked me for an autograph. Outside of my own mind, I am not famous. They think I am a star and for a moment I think so, too.

Later in the game, I had the ball and John Johnson open on the far post. Unfortunately, I got selfish and chose to shoot. Both missionaries have the same fire I have and John Johnson hates for an instant. Pedro does not share his glory well.

Dozens of kids went home that day with a story to tell about Pedro Primavera, whoever he was. Little did I know that Brad also told them I was in movies, failing to mention they were home movies.

But it doesn’t stop there. Every chance Brad has, he touts the personage of Pedro Primavera. Even on the streets, he announces me in his booming voice. With a football in my hand, the attraction to me grows, especially among the kids. It was a little embarrassing at first, but I see the kids love it and I get used to it–the high cost of fame.

I must confess it was fun. It’s a long way from Pete Lenz who sits next to Lou on the back pew to Pedro Primavera of Itaquera fame.

I wish I could say it stopped there but it didn’t. On the last day, we go to the mall, a different mall more upscale. I am the only blond there again and again they look. This time, the whole group starts touting the name of Pedro Primavera and this time I play the flamboyance to excess. Benito Mussolini looked more like Wally Cox next to me.

At one of the shoe stores, a salesman goes to see what the fuss is all about. The others tell him about Pedro Primavera and he approaches me. He excitedly shakes hands with me and gives me his card. I tell him to keep it down since I’m trying to relax while I’m here–not too much attention. He agrees and shakes my hand.

Two more salesmen join him and the introduce themselves. One struggles with his English to say he saw me in “War…of the Stars.” I didn’t say it was me in the movie, but I also didn’t say it wasn’t, just rolling my eyes. I have no idea what I have gotten myself into, but whatever it is, I like it.

When I come back to Sao Paulo, Pedro will make his triumphal return. Please, if you happen to run into me, call me Pedro. And don’t forget to genuflect when you do.