Ronaldo had his double jobs. One hour football, the next, anything that brought in extra money. That's when he started working with his father in his spare time, he would say as a bricklayer's assistant, but they talked more about what they were actually doing.

You didn't care much. You spent the day at school or in your room, playing with your toys or watching something on the television in the living room while your father debated football with the young star.

You were in your room, playing with some stuffed animals and making a drama better than soap operas until the door opened. Ronaldo came in, a little shy. He was a little dirty with cement, but he was wearing his cruise clothes.

— Will your father be late coming today? I was looking for his tools.

Ronaldo laughed to himself, looking around the room.