Renaissance Man - Part 1

Scene 26 _ Fourth Soccer Practice

Scene 26 Rev A

Scene 26 “Fourth Soccer Practice”

Torey Campbell – Protagonist
Addo Okoro – Torey’s best friend
Willem Dreyer – Rutherford High School soccer coach, coach of the feeder team
Nessie Campbell — Torey’s mother
Brodey Campbell — Torey’s father
Porter Lanouette — Delivery truck driver
Several players
(Mentioned) Lars Claussen — Owner and CEO of Flywheel Machining, Brodey Campbell’s boss, team sponsor

         Wednesday was soccer practice day. In just one week, Torey had come to love the Monday, Wednesday, Friday routine. Now he rushed home from school to grab his cleats and transform his backpack from book bag to makeshift soccer bag.
         “Hey, Mom, do we have any water bottles?”
         “Water bottles. What do you mean?”
         “You know, plastic bottles for carrying drinking water,” Torey explained.
         “No. All I have are a couple thermos jugs from your dad's old lunch pails.”
         Torey thought a moment, then asked, “Can I use one?”
         On her knees, Nessie rummaged under the kitchen sink, removing a dish draining rack, a trash can, and assorted cleaning supplies. From the far reaches of this kitchen treasure cave, she pulled forth a black, dome-topped workman’s lunch pail and extracted a black quart thermos; it’s dented steel cup cap bearing witness to years of hard use.
         “Will this do?” she asked.
         “That'll work. Thanks.”
         “You're welcome,” she replied, struggling to get to her feet, her hair hanging over her face.
         Torey filled the thermos with tap water, dumped his school books on the kitchen table, grabbed a dishtowel off the counter, stuffed the towel, thermos, and soccer cleats into the backpack, and threw it over his shoulder.
         “Love you, Mom. Be back in time for dinner.”
         “Ride carefully,” she called after him.
         Out the kitchen door, Torey unlocked his bike, stuffed the lock and chain in his backpack, bounced his wheels down the three steps, and sped off to Runestone Park.
         The routine of practice was becoming familiar and comfortable to Torey. Today at break time, he pulled the dish towel and thermos from his backpack and joined his teammates. He didn’t notice the nudges and snickers — or ignored them — as he enjoyed the pleasure of their company.
         Dreyer ended the break and began the second half. “Let's have a good scrimmage today. Put it all out there.”
         As the scrimmage progressed, a large delivery truck pulled to a stop behind the bleachers. The driver got out and approached Dreyer.
         “Can I help you?” the coach asked, eying the man suspiciously.
         “Hope so,” the driver said, “I'm looking for Willem Dreyer.”
         “That's me.”
         “I'm Porter Lanouette with the soccer league, delivering team uniforms,” replied Lanouette.
         Dreyer’s expression brightened. “Great! Can you dump them right here by the bleachers?”
          “I'm gonna need some help,” said Lanouette.
         “Why?” asked Dreyer.
         “I don't know who your sponsor is, but they are giving you a whole lot of stuff.”
         Dreyer was confused. “What do you mean?”
         “For every other team, it’s been three boxes — one shirts, one shorts, one socks.”
         “Okay?”
         “For you, I have eight boxes.”
         “Eight boxes? Good grief! What's in them?”
         “Yeah. I have no idea. You’ll have to open them to find out,” said Lanouette.
         Perplexed, Coach quickly whistled an end to the scrimmage and called the players in. “Everybody, help Mr. Lanouette unload the truck.” Dreyer looked on as Lanouette passed boxes from the truck, and the boys carried them to the bleachers.
         Delivery completed, Porter Lanouette smiled and waved, “Okay. I gotta go. Still got four more teams to deliver. Hope you have a good season.”
         “Thanks. Any more deliveries like this?” Dreyer asked.
         “Nope. You're the only one getting a stack like that.”
         The boys watched in anticipation as Dreyer used his pocket knife to slit open each of eight boxes. Then they all joined in.
         Jimmy Tillis was the first to speak up. “This box has white shirts with green letters and numbers.”
         “Who is our sponsor?” Dreyer asked, anxiously.
         Karel Hlavacek opened another box. “Socks, green and white stripes,” he called out.
         Addo answered Coach’s question. “Flywheel Machining,” he said, pulling a shirt from the first box.
         “Water bottles. This is like Christmas morning,” Emiliano Vizza exclaimed, holding up a white water bottle with ‘Flywheel Machining’ in green lettering and a green cap from another box.
         Torey stopped cold, his mouth hanging open in complete shock. “My father works there,” he finally blurted out.
         Joey Wilson interrupted, “More shirts. These are green with white letters and numbers.”
         Dreyer’s excitement grew with every revelation. “Geez, different shirts for home and away games. I’ve never had that before.”
         Addo instantly realized the magnitude of this. “No way. Two shirts. Wow!”
         Vizza had another discovery. “Soccer bags,” he shouted, “green bags with white letters and the company logo.”
         Torey’s remark suddenly registered with Dreyer. “Torey, are you serious?” he asked, stopping and looking squarely at Torey.
         “Yeah, my dad’s a machinist there,” Torey said as he looked closely at a soccer bag, confirming the name and logo.
         Hlavacek opened another box. “Here’s the shorts. I thought we were gonna have to play in our jockstraps. They’re green,” he called out.
         Jimmy Tillis opened another box. “More soccer bags,” he said.
         Coach Dreyer stood speechless in happy surprise.
         Joey Wilson spoke up as he opened the last box. “Towels. White, green letters, logo,” he exclaimed.
         Dreyer regained his voice. “Never before,” he said, “have I had a sponsor be this generous. Usually, it’s just one cheap shirt, shorts, and if we were lucky, socks. That’s all. I can’t believe all this.”
         “This is awesome,” said Addo, “that must be some company your dad works for.”
         “How did this happen? I don’t understand,” Torey asked, completely perplexed.
         Dreyer could see Torey’s confusion and concern, wondering if his father had something to do with this. He explained that the soccer league solicited contributions from businesses to run the program in exchange for having their company name on the kid’s soccer shirts. It showed the community that the company is a good citizen, and hopes that parents will reciprocate by patronizing their business.
         Torey nodded his understanding, but he really didn’t. “Coach, I’m sure my dad had nothing to do with this. He doesn’t know what team I play for. He probably can’t spell soccer, and he cares even less.” Dreyer patted Torey on the back to acknowledge his distress, then turned his attention to the task at hand.
         The coach organized the boxes, had the team line up, then distributed the shirts, visually selecting a size for each player, then assuring that the player got two shirts of the same size, with the same number. Addo managed the next two boxes, handing out shorts and socks. Each player then picked up a bag, water bottle, and towel. In the end, three complete sets remained.
         “I have to thank them,” Dreyer said. “That is so generous. The roster I gave the league showed 15 players. They donated gear for 18. Everybody got shirts that fit.”
         Having a sponsor and a uniform moved the team identity up a level. They weren’t just a cluster of kids engaged in supervised chaos; they were becoming a team, a new experience for boys this age. Now a flood of new concerns rose to the surface and spilled out in questions not previously asked.
         “What are our positions?” asked Aaron Jones.
         “Who is going to start?” questioned Kanaka Minhas.
         “Coach, do we have a team name?” asked Gabriel Hruby, sheepishly.
         Dreyer ignored the first two questions but did address the issue of a team name. “You will pick the team name. Bring ideas on Friday; then, you will choose. You know our sponsor’s name. It is polite, but not necessary to build his name into the team name. That’s up to you. However, we will have a name by the end of practice on Friday.”
         Addo looked at Torey and grinned.
         “Sound familiar?” asked Torey.
         “Yep. Just like science class.” Addo replied.
         Dreyer consolidated the three remaining sets of gear into one box, while Addo flattened the remaining boxes and took them to the recycle bin.
         Torey’s bike ride home was awkward. Backpack on, soccer bag filled with goodies, suspended by its handles from the handlebars, smacking against his leg. A couple times, he almost lost his balance swerving in traffic. He bounced through the kitchen door, unable to contain his excitement.
         “Mom, Dad, you won't believe what happened today,” he called out as he entered.
         Brodey and Nessie were sitting at the kitchen table, set for dinner, waiting for him. Torey plopped his new soccer bag on the counter and tossed his backpack to the floor in the corner.
         “Wash up for dinner, Torey,” Brodey said, unimpressed.
         “Dad, your company is sponsoring my soccer team.”
         “What does that mean, Torey?” asked Nessie.
         “They bought all our gear,” he said. “See, here is their name and logo.”
         Brodey immediately recognized the logo. “Didn't know businesses did that. Wonder where Claussen gets money to throw around like that,” he said with disdain.
         “Coach was pleased. Said your company is very generous,” Torey continued. “Most sponsors just pay for one shirt, shorts, and maybe socks — just enough to get their logo out there. Advertising, you know.”
         Now curious, “What did Claussen buy?” Brodey asked.
         “Man, he bought us everything,” said Torey, unpacking the soccer bag as he spoke. Out came Brodey's thermos, along with the dishtowel, then his new soccer gear item by item.
         “Oh my! Look at all the stuff!” exclaimed Nessie.
         Torey began to explain. “Two shirts, one for home games, one for away games, shorts, a water bottle …”
         “Oh, that's what you meant by a water bottle,” Nessie said, reaching out to examine the water bottle.
         Torey continued. “Yeah, socks, a towel, and the bag.”
         Brodey growled. “What are you doing with my Thermos?”
         Nessie jumped to defend Torey and intercept Brodey’s anger. “I gave it to him.”
         “I won't need it anymore,” Torey said quickly and dismissively. “I have my own water bottle now.”
         “Why do you think you can just walk off with my lunch thermos?” Brodey challenged as he stood up.
         Nessie barked back, “Brodey! He didn't just walk off with it. He asked me. It's old, beat up, and you haven't used it for years, so I let him use it.”
         Brodey gave his usual grunt to end a discussion that he had lost, sitting back down.
         “And look, all this stuff matches my soccer cleats,” Torey said, laying his cleats atop the pile of goodies.
         “I'm sure you will be the team’s best-dressed player,” offered Nessie with a smile.
         Torey scoffed. “Mom, we will all be dressed the same.”
         “Does everybody's shoes match their uniform?”
         “No.”
          “So there, you will be the best dressed,” she said firmly.
         “I guess so,” he said, acknowledging that she might be right.
         “Claussen should be spending that money on higher wages for his employees, not outfitting kids to play a stupid game,” came the negativity from the usual source.
         “Wash up for supper,” Nessie said, ignoring him.
         “Yeah. I'm hungry,” Brodey replied, not quite so angry.
         During dinner, Torey raised the subject of the first soccer game on Saturday.
         “Saturday is my first game,” Torey said to Nessie. “I’d like it if you and Dad would come.”
         Nessie did not answer.
         “Lots of parents will be there,” he continued, not knowing if that was true.
         Nessie hesitated then said, “I think we are doing grocery shopping on Saturday.”
         Torey knew they never did grocery shopping on Saturday but tried to encourage her. “You could meet my coach. He’s a neat guy.”
         “Saturday is the only day I can work on the car,” said Brodey.
         Torey continued to persuade. “You can meet my friend Addo Okoro.”
         “Torey, I have a list of chores to do on Saturday. I can’t take time off to watch a kid’s soccer game,” Brodey replied, his voice elevated and irritated.
         Torey’s voice cracked. “It’s not just any kids, Dad. I’m your son.”
         Brodey looked at his plate. “I told you, I can’t make it.”
         Nessie was silent, looking back and forth between the two.
         They don’t give a damn, Torey thought. He recognized the excuses for what they were and dropped the subject.
         Brodey’s temper was always subdued after a good meal. He turned to his newspaper. Torey silently gave thanks that his mother was a good cook, helping her clean up and do the dishes. He wondered what evenings would be like if she were a bad cook. Kitchen chores completed, Torey gathered his belongings and went to his room.
         After a bath, Torey easily finished his school work in fifteen minutes. At Butler-Cowan Middle School, the bar was very low. ‘Show up and shut up’ gets you a ‘B’. Turn in one homework assignment makes it an ‘A’.
         Tonight, he would spend time reading the library book he had checked out on Monday. He surveyed the cover image of the naked man outstretched in a circle and square and read the title aloud: “Our World Moves Forward: Renaissance Men Who Made History by Gersham Yoelsen.”
         How should he read? Cover to cover or random selection? Tonight, he picked two — one a name he recognized, one he did not. The Table of Contents showed 27 biographies. Twenty-seven stories of great minds that shaped human history. He could get lost in this book. Running his finger down the page, he paused at Leonardo da Vinci — an excellent place to start.
         Da Vinci is widely considered one of the most diversely talented individuals ever to have lived. He is renowned primarily as a painter but also revered for his technological ingenuity. He conceptualized flying machines, a type of armored fighting vehicle, concentrated solar power, an adding machine, and the double hull.
         “Wow. There’s the cover picture. It’s called ‘The Vitruvian Man.’ Leonardo drew this,” Torey murmured in awe.
         The picture’s caption read 'The proportions of the human body according to Vitruvius.’
         He read on. “The drawing, which is in ink on paper, depicts a man in two superimposed positions with his arms and legs apart and inscribed in a circle and square. The drawing represents the ideal human body proportions. Its inscription in a square and a circle comes from a description by the ancient Roman architect Vitruvius. Leonardo did not represent Vitruvius's proportions of the limbs but rather included those he found himself after measuring male models in Milan.” This drawing has become the universal symbol for the concept of the Renaissance Man, but Torey did not yet grasp its meaning.
         After Da Vinci, Torey randomly picked Leon Battista Alberti, an Italian Renaissance humanist author, artist, architect, poet, priest, linguist, philosopher, and cryptographer. Alberti epitomized the Renaissance Man. Somewhere in that story, the book fell closed. Its discoveries had to wait for another night. Torey was asleep.

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Word Count: 2,417
Readability Consensus (based on seven readability formulas):
         Grade Level: 5
         Reading Level: fairly easy to read.
         Reader's Age: 8-9 years old (Fourth and Fifth graders)