A TALE OF MEMORIES

A tale of memory that remains by Antonio Orna

Sometimes I see on the streets these pale children and I am not referring to the colour of their skin or their appearance but the poor colour of their soul that is reflected in their glassy eyes since they are Internet  and video game console addicts.

I remember well, I was always too dumb to be bad and too punk to be good when I was a kid,  and I was called  "half" because  I was "half blond", "half tall", "half good" and " half evil".  My name is pronounced..., my name was pronounced... every time something is or was broken, is or was lost or is or was ... something like that.

 Now I long for all those years, running through the streets, and when we played soccer or went to town or when we played with the lambs and when we drank straight from the cow secretly with my cousins and when we, all the grandchildren, were showered by my grandmother in the backyard with a hose from which, of course, we drank.  Also I remember we had always elbow and knee injuries and how we feared more the alcohol to cure them than the own wounds but...WE HAVE SURVIVED.

So, if you have ever played with  soil and mud or have drank from a hose.  If you were playing and then your mother called you not with an sms but saying COME HOME JUST NOW and it was heard throughout the neighborhood, you will feel identified, won't you?
 
Maybe it's a bit nostalgic, but for me it is not nostalgia what we had before.

 P.S.: Finally I put this video. And I want to thank all the good I've been with you and how well I've improved in the course, and I wish you the best, YOU ARE THE BEST.