Kids are a different breed here in Kosovo. The absolute first thing I noticed when I got on the road from Pristina to Camp Bondsteel the day I got here was the children. They are adorable, bold, vivacious, insane, well dressed, and completely receptive to any and all influences. Every kid who saw our convoy waved and smiled. They love us for some reason. Even in the most "hostile" areas, the kids are the most likely to give us positive recognition. When we pass by on the street, many of them giggle as they try out their English skills.
These kids live in a different world than the one in the States. In many areas, there is no such thing as a sidewalk. Our vehicles pass within inches of small children who roam along the roadway. It kills me to see how preschool age children walk independently on these crazy streets with no parent in sight. Some of them have backpacks half their size. They live in continual danger, but no one seems to blink an eye about it. But the great thing about the children here is that they are still kids, no matter what kind of lifestyle they live.
Like typical Europeans, Kosovar kids LOVE football (the European kind i.e. soccer). When my team went out on a recon this afternoon, we found a group of boys who were playing around with a little soccer ball near the church we were visiting. I have been dying to play, so started passing the ball to one of the kids. A couple of Soldiers joined in the circle, then a few kids joined. I was reminded that my primary mission was the see the Church of the Black Madonna, where Mothere Teresa received her calling, so I hopped in there and took a look around. It was awe inspiring, but I kept thinking about the kids. I walked out and saw that what started as kicking the ball around became a full-fledged game. Kids against Soldiers. I quickly hopped into the game, M4 still slung behind my back. After a couple of minutes, the priest who was overseeing the game motioned for me to put my weapon down beside him. I couldn't exactly do that, but one of my comrades volunteered to hold it for me. I took the first few minutes of the game lightly. I didn't want to hurt anybody, and I've always been taught to let the kids win. It builds their self-esteem. But after awhile, I realized my butt was being kicked by a bunch of 7 to 12-year-olds, and they were laughing about it. The game was on!
I let out my aggression on this boy in pink (note picture above) who had outsmarted me too many times. I was jogging to the ball when it went out into the boonies when I noticed he was right next to me. I eyballed him, and he eyeballed me. I knew it would be a race. We sprinted, with several kids behind us cheering him on. It was a tie, but I let him have the ball so I wouldn't have to trample him.
In the end, Father Chris introduced us to all of the kids. Some were refugees from Macedonia. Some were Albanians. Others were Serbs. I had never been in situation with kids from so many places and backgrounds. This is not common in Kosovo, where people are influenced by ethnic tension on every level. Cities are divided. Kids go to separate schools. They even speak different languages. This football game was truly special.
These kids live in a different world than the one in the States. In many areas, there is no such thing as a sidewalk. Our vehicles pass within inches of small children who roam along the roadway. It kills me to see how preschool age children walk independently on these crazy streets with no parent in sight. Some of them have backpacks half their size. They live in continual danger, but no one seems to blink an eye about it. But the great thing about the children here is that they are still kids, no matter what kind of lifestyle they live.
Like typical Europeans, Kosovar kids LOVE football (the European kind i.e. soccer). When my team went out on a recon this afternoon, we found a group of boys who were playing around with a little soccer ball near the church we were visiting. I have been dying to play, so started passing the ball to one of the kids. A couple of Soldiers joined in the circle, then a few kids joined. I was reminded that my primary mission was the see the Church of the Black Madonna, where Mothere Teresa received her calling, so I hopped in there and took a look around. It was awe inspiring, but I kept thinking about the kids. I walked out and saw that what started as kicking the ball around became a full-fledged game. Kids against Soldiers. I quickly hopped into the game, M4 still slung behind my back. After a couple of minutes, the priest who was overseeing the game motioned for me to put my weapon down beside him. I couldn't exactly do that, but one of my comrades volunteered to hold it for me. I took the first few minutes of the game lightly. I didn't want to hurt anybody, and I've always been taught to let the kids win. It builds their self-esteem. But after awhile, I realized my butt was being kicked by a bunch of 7 to 12-year-olds, and they were laughing about it. The game was on!
I let out my aggression on this boy in pink (note picture above) who had outsmarted me too many times. I was jogging to the ball when it went out into the boonies when I noticed he was right next to me. I eyballed him, and he eyeballed me. I knew it would be a race. We sprinted, with several kids behind us cheering him on. It was a tie, but I let him have the ball so I wouldn't have to trample him.
In the end, Father Chris introduced us to all of the kids. Some were refugees from Macedonia. Some were Albanians. Others were Serbs. I had never been in situation with kids from so many places and backgrounds. This is not common in Kosovo, where people are influenced by ethnic tension on every level. Cities are divided. Kids go to separate schools. They even speak different languages. This football game was truly special.
