I have a new friend. His name is Luigi. He’s 5 years old. He’s growing up in Sao Paulo, Brazil, speaks Portuguese and not one word of English. Well, more on that later. When we were first introduced, he tried to pronounce my name and couldn’t. “Peter.” When I said it the second time he simply burst out laughing with the surprise and wonder of such a funny name. “Peter.”

On the third attempt he got it right and then laughed again in glee at the funny sound. “Peter. Peter. Peter.” He ran around in circles of joy over the humor of such a funny name saying it over and over amid gales of 5 year old guffaws.

As if Luigi isn’t a funny name…

Actually, Luigi is a wonderful name! Luigi, Luigi, Luigi! Say it again and again. An Italian name for a Brazilian boy.

But I digress…

I played with Luigi for about an hour and a half waiting for his parents to finish a meeting. He showed me his two-wheeler bicycle and his helmet which was too small for him. It was also too small for me as I tried it on amid more gales of laughter from Luigi.

When not climbing all over me he ran – up and down the patio, back and forth, for no obvious reason, just to run. Ah, the energy of youth! Then he rode his bicycle — up and down the patio, back and forth, for no obvious reason, just to ride.

Between each journey he would come back and talk to me. At first he was a bit mystified that he could not understand my words and looked at me curiously as if I had an unfortunate deformity. That lasted about thirty seconds. Then he just got over it. He would tell me about his bicycle and I would say, “Oooh” and “Aaah” and “Wow” and “Uh huh”.  Then I would talk and he would listen and then laugh and go ride his bike again or run across the patio and back.

He told me about his new school, his new shoes and something else that I never got a word of.  We were instant pals. We played Rock, Scissors, Paper and Battling Thumbs and then I hoisted him up on my knees facing me and held on to his arms and we played One, Two Three, a game I played a thousand times with my own son, where I say, “One, two, three” as I bounce him on my knees and then suddenly drop him through my knees only to catch him just before he hits the ground.

More gales of laughter. He couldn’t get enough of this game and even the next day when he first saw me came scrambling up on my knees saying “One, two, three” – only in Portuguese. I never told him what “One, two, three” meant. He figured it out with his 5-year old mind and remembered it in his own language.

Every time I saw him over the next few days we conversed like old friends and pals. He helped me set up my recording equipment and we talked at length about my laptop computer. The entire time Luigi spoke in Portuguese, Peter in English. The most amazing part of the experience however, was not that we conversed, but that Luigi, in fact, never even knew that we were not speaking the same language. He never questioned it. He just accepted it and moved on. Lesson for the world; lesson for the ages.

In the course of our three day friendship I did teach him one word in English. “Hello.” Whenever he first saw me, he would run up and say it – and then, erupt into gales of laughter – and then say it again, just to try it out.

I’ll probably never see Luigi again. I’m off to Cape Town and he’s decided to stay here in Sao Paulo with his parents. Yesterday when we parted, it was not easy. Somehow we both knew. When he came back for a second hug as his parents waited to go, he was a bit tearful.

As we hugged goodbye amid the tears, he whispered in my ear, “hello.”

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.