Cristiano Ronaldo: "My fairy tale"

Today, the legendary footballer Cristiano Ronaldo turns 40.

I have an unforgettable memory from when I was seven years old. It is so vivid that I can still easily recall it and it gives me a pleasant mood. This memory is connected with my family.

At that time, I had just started playing real football. Before, I would just kick a ball with my friends on the streets of Madeira. When I say street, I don't mean a deserted road, but a real street. We didn't have a goal or anything else, and we had to stop the game when cars passed. I was very happy about it, but my father worked as a person responsible for the uniforms at the Andorina football club, and he encouraged me to join the youth team. I knew that my father would be very happy with this job, so I didn't turn down the offer.

On the first day, there were many rules that I didn't understand, but I liked it there. I got used to the structure of the team and the thirst for victory. My bearded father, dressed in a workman's uniform, would watch every game from the sidelines. He would enjoy my game. But my mother and sisters were not interested in football.

So every day at dinner, my father would try to persuade them to watch me play. It's no exaggeration to say that my father was my first agent. I remember that after we came back from the games with him, he would get excited and tell my family, "Cristiano scored a goal!"

And they would say, "Wow, that's great." But they weren't excited at all, they just took it as if it were a normal thing, can you imagine?

My father would come home the next time and say, "Cristiano scored two goals!" And they still didn't show any emotion. They would just say, "Very good, Cristiano."

So what could I do? I just kept scoring. One evening my father came home and said, "Cristiano scored three goals! He played great! You should see him play!"

But still, before every game, I would look over to the sidelines and see my father standing there alone. One day (I'll never forget this moment) I was doing my cursive writing exercises and I turned around and saw my mother and sisters sitting in the bleachers. They... how can I say it? They seemed very comfortable. They were sitting close to each other, not clapping or shouting, just waving at me, as if I were in a parade. They certainly looked like people who had never been to a football match before. The important thing was that they were in the stadium. That was all I could think about.

I felt really good at that moment. It meant a lot to me. It was like something had changed inside me. I was filled with pride. We didn't have much money at that time. Life in Madeira was hard. I played in old boots that my brother had left or that my cousins ​​had given me. But when you're a kid, you don't worry about money. You live with a certain feeling. That feeling was very strong that day. I felt like a beloved hero going off to war. In Portuguese, we call it "menino querido da família."

I remember these memories fondly because that period in my life was so short. Football gave me everything, but it took me far from home before I was ready. When I was 11, I moved from the island to the Sporting academy in Lisbon, and it was the most difficult time of my life.

It makes me shudder to think about it now. As I write this, my son Cristiano Junior is a schoolboy. I can only imagine how I would feel if, in four years, I had to pack his bags and send him to Paris or London. It seemed almost impossible. I'm sure my parents knew how hard it would be to say goodbye to me.

But this separation was an opportunity for me to fulfill my dream. So they said goodbye, and I left. I cried almost every day. Even though I was in Portugal, it was like I had moved to another country. The accent was like a completely different language. The culture was different. I didn’t know anyone and I was very lonely. My family could only come to see me once every four months. I missed them so much that every day I was in agony.

Football moved me. I knew that I was doing things on the pitch that the other kids in the academy couldn’t do. I remember the first time I heard one of the kids say to another, “Did you see what he did? He’s a beast.”

I started hearing these words more and more. I even heard them from the coaches. But then someone would always say, “Yes, but unfortunately he’s too small.”

Yes, I was skinny. I had no muscles. So when I was 11, I made a decision. I knew I had a lot of talent, but I decided to work harder than anyone else. I wanted to stop playing like a kid. I wanted to stop acting like a kid. I wanted to train to the level where I could be the best in the world.

I don't know where this feeling came from, it just came from inside me. It's like a hunger that never goes away. When you lose, you feel hungry. When you win, you eat a little bit of food, and you still feel hungry. That's the only way to explain it.

I started sneaking out of my dorm room at night to practice. I could feel myself getting in shape and getting faster. Then I would go out on the field and people would whisper, "Oh, but he's so skinny." Now they looked at me like I was the last person alive.

When I was 15, I told some of my teammates during training. I remember it very well. I told them: "One day I will be the best player in the world."

They laughed at me. I wasn't even in the first team at Sporting at the time, but I believed it. I really wanted to do it.

When I started playing professional football at 17, my mother could hardly watch me play because of the stress. She would come to watch me play at the old José Alvalade stadium, and during the big games she would get so nervous that she would faint a few times. I'm serious, she fainted. The doctors started prescribing her tranquilizers just because of my performances.

"Do you remember when you weren't interested in football?" I ask my mother.

My dreams kept getting bigger. I wanted to wear the national team jersey and play in Manchester, because I always watched the Premier League on TV. The intensity of the game and the songs the fans sang fascinated me. The atmosphere in the stadium had a special effect. Becoming a member of Manchester United was a great honor for me, but it was probably even more so for my family.

At first, winning trophies was very exciting for me. When I won the Champions League for the first time in Manchester, I felt very emotional. It was the same with my first Ballon d'Or. But my dreams kept getting bigger. Isn't that what dreams are all about? I always had a crush on Madrid and wanted new challenges. I wanted to win trophies in Madrid, break all the records and become a legend of the club.

I achieved incredible things in Madrid. But to be honest, later in my career, winning trophies became a different feeling. If you don't win everything in Madrid, others will consider it a failure. It's the hope of greatness. That's my job.

But when you become a father, it becomes a completely different feeling. I can't describe it. That's why my time in Madrid was different. I was a player, yes, but I was also a father.

There is a moment with my son that I will always remember clearly. When I think about it, my heart is filled with warmth.

It was the moment after we won the Champions League final in Cardiff. That night we made history. When I stood on the pitch after the final whistle, I felt like I had said something to the whole world. But when my son came out to celebrate with me... it was like a snap of the fingers. In an instant, the whole feeling changed. He was running with Marcelo's son. We lifted the trophy together. Then we walked around the pitch holding hands.

It was a joy I didn't understand until I became a father. There were so many emotions going on at once that it's hard to put into words. I can only compare it to the feeling I had when I was training in Madeira and seeing my mother and sister leaning on each other in the stands.

When we returned to the Bernabeu to celebrate, little Cristiano and Marcelito were playing on the pitch in front of all the fans. It was very different from when I was playing in the street at his age, but I hope my son feels the same way. Menino querido da família.

From now on, winning is my ultimate goal. That's how I was born. But my feelings after winning have definitely changed. A new chapter in my life has opened. I have special words engraved on my new boots. They are on my heels and are the last words I read before I go out into the tunnel.

This is a final reminder... like a final encouragement. It says "El sueño del niño". The child's dream. Maybe you understand now.

My mission is the same as always. I want to keep breaking records. I want to win as many titles as possible. It's in my nature.

But for me, the most important part of my past, and the thing I will tell my grandchildren about when I am 95, is the feeling of walking down the field as a winner, holding hands with my son.

I hope we can do this again.

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