Hope of my childhood
I remember that by April 1 Sangil meets girl twenty years.
I can not begin to be moving what it means for me this girl in San Gil. I go back to the year eighty. I have eight years at that time. They are my first memories of her, memories of Holy Thursday evening, tunics prepared. Hope I remember my grandmother putting the finishing touches to the layer ironing my father’s legacy velvet coat and walking following morning after early bird, I recall the buckles on the perfect manoletinas never met, I remember that medal now hangs on the headboard my bed, I remember my father out in the darkness of the night, remember not to let my tears accompany him, I remember my mother with the San Jacinto Semillería candy, remember that cod with tomato recipe inherited, I remember the rice with milk and cinnamon fritters of, I remember my neighbor Roger and without keys that night, I remember my rod and my robe, robe me my parents did when in just one year dressed for the first time that my children have worn in these years, I remember that waking sleep and exciting in the morning of Good Friday, I remember my mother in the rush and the nerves, I remember the time to fulfill the ritual Macareno Ojediano and merino wool, I remember my brother unwittingly awakening I remember the arrival in San Juan de la Palma and Street Fair and bustle and the crowds, I remember the breakfast of chocolate con churros in Montensión I remember toast in the market town of Omnium Santorum, I remember that large group of Nazarenes cup of cognac in the green cross, I remember my uncle, Eladio, I remember Luis Alfonso memory, a childhood friend of my father that night was nicknamed “La Esmeralda”, I remember the “Bald” I remember those Nazarenes ranks high, I remember my Father’s hand, remember the year he left his promise penitent, I remember the family reunion Friday, at noon when everything came to an end in the walls of the Pastora, beer imposing I remember jokes, jokes and hugs, candles to remember the whole year, I remember wax balls of large diameter, I remember my uncle and my aunt Diego Fair Pili in close, I remember those great pens, I remember a sentence in Parras, remember noise in broom, I remember the midday sun in Resolana, I remember a kid in the Roman columns of the court, remember bolt from the fraternity house, two memory hungry in the afternoon, I remember Maria Luisa Park gates, I remember the scenes of a majestic canopy to the tune of Coronation, but I remember above all else, the face, the face of San Gil girl who say that by April he turned twenty.
Hope forever from my childhood.
NHD Mario Valverde Moran