Parenthood often presses in with big life questions, and this is something many can relate to. During pregnancy, thoughts kept circling a paradox: what if Álvaro I arrived during the interseason lull, and which membership would he receive — the recently completed 2022/23, or the upcoming 2023/24?
There exists a gray area in the rules that is hard to parse, yet when the moment arrived, the club delivered a cold, bureaucratic reply. Season tickets were not to be sold after a season ended, and that rule had to be followed. Álvaro ended up waiting a few weeks in the rough environment of the city’s social currents, caught in the uncertainty of the “non-teams.” On top of that, the reality that a new subscriber had slipped in and lost some valuable numbers would make it unlikely for him to ever become the organization’s top member. The author lives with that ache, wondering if the child will someday understand all of it and forgive him.
Perhaps there is a workaround to share with Álvaro. A plan, unlikely as it sounds, could become a last wish. On a future deathbed, the only request might be that grandchildren shield the death from the club and keep renewing the membership indefinitely. A tricky legal loophole could be exploited as the foremost associate of the beyond. The great-grandchildren might excuse the absence from tributes yet still accept the传奇, a theory that makes sense for a 146-year-old who needs rest.
The writer currently attends the stadium with his middle son, Theo. Theo recently faced a big scare: the wave. He had never seen it before, and thousands rising from their seats left him startled. He looked to his father with wide eyes, wondering if an earthquake, a giveaway, or a fire was happening.
When the wave was explained, Theo’s fear turned to amusement. He traced tiny waves with his fingers, and by the time they reached their seats, the small ripples joined the big one. A wave within a wave, a tender gesture. The narrator hadn’t made waves since childhood, yet he joined in to avoid traumatizing the boy and to keep him feeling part of the moment. The event felt like a celebration of civilization itself — a long arc of humanity where social class, politics, or age no longer matter. The wave’s power to unite seemed immense, even if it felt like Feijoo could someday become a figure of national leadership if momentum carried that possibility.
After the match, they lingered in the stands beneath a sunset that burned orange. They captured the moment with photos as keepsakes. Theo’s reaction to the wave reflected a broader truth: the writer’s work life involves multiple jobs, and visits to the stadium happen mostly during vacations or parental leave. There is a genuine love for sharing football moments together, which makes lingering after games feel worthwhile. The meaning behind all of this sits somewhere between happiness and unease. True, perfect happiness becomes elusive when aging approaches, and like the wave, joy sometimes slips away just as it arrives.
Parenthood repeatedly brings up heavy questions, and the natural inclination is to search for answers. The hypothetical scenario about Álvaro’s arrival in the interseason break and the membership card it would herald remains a storytelling thread, illustrating more about family, belonging, and the rituals surrounding sport than about any single rule. The club’s rigidity with season tickets highlights how institutions can clash with personal timelines, leaving families to navigate gaps with a mix of humor, concern, and stubborn hope. In the end, the shared experiences — the wave, the walk to the stadium, the photographs at dusk — supply a sense of connection that outlasts the administrative hurdles and reminds us that some of life’s best moments arrive when we least expect them.