Turning the other cheek

I was in either the seventh or eight grade at the time back in my hometown in India. Our class had let out for P.E. That was short for physical education. It was the one hour that we looked forward to during the day, when we played whatever game took our fancy. It was a break from the monotony of another dreary day at school.

The school I went to was co-ed. Sometimes the girls and boys played a game of volleyball or dodgeball together, but mostly, the girls were on their own. The boys played either soccer or cricket and that day we chose to play a game of soccer.

I was not much of a soccer player. My ball handling skills were feeble and I'll be the first to admit that my tackling was crude, but I still played for a reason that is not clear to me now.

We divided ourselves into two teams of roughly eleven players, give or take a few and played the game with no pretense of strategy or tactics. Our passes lacked precision and often direction; our drives were seldom coordinated. We ran to where the ball was, all twenty-two of us and from the ensuing melee someone managed to emerge with the ball at his feet.

On one such foray I stole the ball with what I thought was a deft tackle. Little did I know that in the process I had managed to bruise an ego and earn the wrath of a foe.

My lackluster skills were quickly exposed and I lost the ball promptly. As the game continued, I stopped to catch my breath and in the next instant was thrown to the ground by a violent shove that catapulted me a few feet away.

The ground was bare and my fall (from grace?) wasn't cushioned by a bed of thick grass. In stead I fell on some sharp stones that grazed my hands and legs.

From that fallen repose, I looked up at the perpetrator of my crime. He stood, hands on hips, looking down at me with eyes so wide that I could feel his anger. His pose suggested he was ready for a fight, ready to parry my best salvo with a more potent response.

His was the ego I had bruised.

I stood up and brushed the dirt off myself. And then I turned and walked away.

A short while later, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"I am sorry", he said.

"I am sorry too", I replied.

We remained friends until I lost touch with him a few years later.