I think the first memory I have of my father, or at least one of the first well, clear as a movie, is being alone together once in a restaurant called with no hint of humility "The King of Fish Fry" place where the specialty of the house were the last two words of its name.
The place was decorated with handmade fishing nets, stuffed crabs, sea stars, empty shells and sea horses ... and there I was with my three sweet tooth, sitting in front of a nice, fresh, steaming fish with white rice bright red tomatoes and worthy of Neruda ... at that stage and opened inspirational hit the senses as the best world-du maconha my dad spoke to me.
I spoke so deep seas where no sunlight coming, dark seas and the very plain on moonless nights abysmal seas inhabited by animals with their own light, able to illuminate their own path.
imaginary Seas on the Moon. Mares
ancient desert salt flats of the Great North. Mares missing, sagging or frozen by the whims of the Pacha Mama.
And I think that from that day has not stopped.
from that day I have not stopped. And thank you, thank you very much for that.
Father, today on your birthday fifty-five, I give you the first memory vivid, lucid and clear that I have of you. Nothing more, nothing less, I know and you know that this is not what I owe you, all over I'm saving it for when you reach your twenties again ...
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