five years ago, when he turned two, I wanted to express the wonder of your company. I took paper and pencil and tried not to betray his feelings, ie not ignore the fact some of scratching the heart to draw it into words. is seven now and my desire to go through a similar path: look in the mirror and find it, look back and realize what has been my life with her, from her because of her. The first glimpse is a paradox. The magnificent moment (That's life, a moment, a fleeting) that started giving me lessons, when provided, for such is the logic we were taught, was made because the case was reversed. That moment stretched like rubber, comes to today expands fabulous.
I am more tolerant, not because it is kinder but more complex for a reason, because I can see it, I taught myself in her, and her in me, and understand what so many times I heard what sounded to the ear as empty words in the mouths of liars, that is likely recognize in others, no, not rhetoric or demagoguery, and they can also perceive you. And seven years old, wants a cake, a piñata, wants to be, Dad tells me point blank I want to be with you. It's weird, but boy was almost convinced that children were a stage of life coming or not, cross or not. It's strange but more than that, have them blow equivalent to understand a new mechanism, a new language, a new dress, a maze of realities that grabs you by the neck until you got there, mate, until the horizon danced your certainties. Then you learn or you sink, fly like the child in the background may not be left, or you just. Tomas lessons gives you that beardless or shipwrecked, and do not want to know what you're missing. For quite
gave me the give and take involving the game of questions and answers. Working at a university, I intend to impregnate my seminars, for example, the typical cozy aroma of curiosity. Ask, answer, ask again. Ask and ask, that is. Never, ever, ever swept the floor as now, no one could swear without fear, you know the questions acribillarte fair in endless doubt, with the harsh response that debunks what you had suggested as an explanation made a second. A child of that age takes you by the horns, you wallow in pleasure, is the perfect philosopher. I've tried to learn too, to think like her, I wanted to throw me headfirst into the world of children, more genuine, full of enigmas, transparency, the best fictional world, literary, imaginative, which qualifies ultimate purpose of my job.
I have the impression that as we grow, for nothing, the conventions end up killing the promise that is every child. It is what we are fighting heavily, almost knowing that such a fight with his teeth have little guarantee of success, I think that certain things can be moved around, much of what I mean, yes, stay in my small. It is my North, my escape now, give a slap to every day with the intent to prevent it, embraced adulthood that comes slowly, come out completely with it.
Meanwhile, I will not be the same. Because if I failed in my intention, she, who is seven years, beat a long time. Somehow leads me by the hand, fits my eye to your eyes, I can focus a little in his own way, discover a second skin under things. He has won, has been a teacher of his father. Could desfreír an egg.
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