Displaying a photo of my paternal grandparents, Felix and Julia, come to my head a lot of ideas, thoughts, feelings, sadness, everything is complicated details. I remember a lot of them and fortunately each day can bring many memories, but today is a day of tribute in this blog, it will come, I hope much later.
Today is the day to pay tribute to that grandfather who never knew and what better tribute in this world, to leave written testimony of a person? Not making a complete tour of the life of the average German that he had more than brave and a fighter that lucky, who knew both poverty and hunger as the love of a family that loved him. The words we survive, the writing is immortal, no one can erase the words because the transmission of knowledge is a faithful steward of what deserves to be remembered. Therefore, with these words I remember that I could not know, but I find it as familiar as if it had always been at his side, as if he had shared with visits to castles and had led me to the river, the table ... Luckily I had someone who made me all those things. Today I remember my grandfather Quico.
must have been hard years, was the decade of the twenties, Alfonso XIII reigned contemporary monarch's hand, not much, but remembering that include Canovist perspective, there is no nation without a king. For those rainy and gray streets safe, inviting you to enter a "winch" to drink a culín and warm to the fireside, ran about a boy who had escaped from a dirty hospice in which he was held. He was sentenced to wander through this life without parents, tough life for a child in Spain at the beginning of the century. I know very well all the details, sometimes have asked, but it's all confusing, your children and perhaps soon lost could not ask everything they wanted. I know he worked in a drugstore, delivery boy surely, there must know people, was sociable, attended the bars when you probably already pruned entries. Surely there on those cobbled streets of the northern industrial city, perhaps along the Texera, or fend for the port or Versailles, knew that Asturias was a socialist republic, sure that on 5 October, the sun shone strength. After repression was the first he met, for the same genocidal star the a few years later. Was mobilized and fought in Extremadura, perhaps a strange foreshadowing of how important it would be brown earth that the rest of his days. After this long service, once the blood shed and attached shots from Madrid decided to release him when he dedicated himself to venture to swim offshore to pick up junk that came with the tide result of World War II. In those years must have known that person, Baldomera, fondly called Meri. Fleeing poverty, Extremadura reflection of a society driven from their land, expelled by the brake of the "gentlemen" authoritarian fascists those wages divided by peseta and exploded with the law of repression and fear in his hand. Sons of bitches. How many lives destroyed by greed, the intolerance, ignorance, the cowardice, the sentence imposed by a reactionary right who could not stand to lose their power, only anxious to keep their privileges but that life and reap the knees at those who had longed for a better life. But they could not, like these words that no one can erase, those cowards failed to end all. In fact, this woman found a greater treasure than any farm, my grandfather Quico. And indeed, had the audacity to go forward, buy a house, of course, in a working class neighborhood, next to what was a tile factory. Could go to market, could eat, and became a bloody Asturias Extremadura who never forgot his roots.
asturianín But back to that bald man with glasses and something I remember as a child being reminded Rompetechos, but then I found out that one day he rescued a girl from a fire, which was a firefighter. That day I admitted with pride that my grandfather was a hero. What a great satisfaction, certainly at that time or maybe a little later, down in a Renault 4L, English-style, from the, at that time, remote Avilés, until, at the time, Hernán-Pérez remote. Arraga would go through and remember the toilets last year, at the time, had to summer in that river a certain Felix with a donkey and a basket full of soft drinks. We had snack in a hut. Sure you have ever taken something with him, but do not know, because actually know if there ever agreed.
There were some kids who ran to greet him upon arrival, he sat and engaged in making blood vessels, with a bull horn, are still at my house with the flags "tattooed" Sticker football teams. It was an innovative type, more experienced than read, but you know, learn, walk or read, anything goes if that is good.
Politically, I know but I guess he thought he knew misery Franco did not want that repeated.
I would have liked to meet you today and would be more to go argue with him, but it sure would sit in the sun with another veteran, talks certainly share with Uncle Genaro ancient events, the sun, in front of Loli, seeing her clothesline, and then return to my house kiss that daughter who suffered so much loss, one would certainly have a bottle of cider and a plate of beans, was a good Spaniard and costs lose morals. But I did not know, sometimes life is pure pain, and even those who had flattered him time to con him. He died in a traffic accident in Puerto de Perales, a truck mowed mowing that life and almost my entire family of Asturias. But something made just outside him, something made the rest remain alive to tell me that my grandfather was a good man Quico. So these words, so this memory, the grandfather I never knew.
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