Ovarian Cyst And Aching Legs

A street for my father

Tomorrow Friday will put a scarf on the street in my father's name.

guess in this one can never be objective, that the pride worthy of any child not be analyzed to see the subject of any otherwise than with admiration and excitement that is presupposed to any good son.

I also suppose that the son is one of the things that one is necessarily with the rest in life. One can be a teacher or lawyer, and may be traveling or cooperating. It may even be political, worse over all and on the whole, is a son. And sometimes, no choice but to speak as a child.

My father, Rafael, was for thirty-four years (34) director Parish School of the scarf. arrived there with just twenty, in his first assignment as national master. He continued here until the day of his retirement. Y that engage more than anything, is that the parish school of the scarf has always been a magical place.

was a school uniform, that is, children lived in each classroom for all educational levels. There were only three classes: toddlers, boys and girls. For over thirty years was well. With classes of more than fifty children between the second and fifth basic. But school was not just school.

When my father arrived in the neighborhood scarf was just an illegal settlement. Self-arranged housing in any way. There were no sidewalks or asphalt, or sewage. The streets were dirt, but mostly mud. The scarf is in the river Guadalquivir and is almost permanently flooded land. At that time the only person who began to fight for the neighborhood was the parish priest, Miguel Mejia (morning also inaugurate the new ambulance in the neighborhood, which we have named Don Miguel). The pastor decided to set up a school and there was my father. And together, the teacher and the priest snuggles to push through the neighborhood. Achieved first of all to be built "the wall", an earth embankment that prevented the constant flooding. After supported and promoted the association of neighborhood residents. The school was the only equipment and the hub of the lively neighborhood seventies. He even formed a union it is still illegal. The first year the neighborhood association hosted a parade of kings, my father was the black king.

Over time another school was built, and even got some local social, but there continued to Rafael, the new pastor after Don Miguel's death, give you hit. Lots of children, mostly very low class, were able to study thanks to the school. A school where values \u200b\u200bwere passed workgroup and made weekly assemblies. Now, my father, retired super-duper Caritas runs the local parish in his old school. Still spends unloading food trucks Monday and Tuesday by spreading.

One does not write only as a child. I was lucky to go a few years the parish school. My earliest childhood memories, when I should not have more than four years, are walking in my wellies in the mud of the scarf, with my suitcase in hand plastic. In the nursery class and learned to read until I had my first child medionovia. Memory network that filled the school boards, each course had its own, and the explanations we had to take turns on benches placed around the teacher's desk. The success rate of school after leaving school was quite high. By mid-morning, at recess, came a milk truck (bottles stuffed in metal cages) to be distributed to all children.

not really just the story of my father, but many more people. Teachers, priests, neighbors. Mostly overlooked, were all pulling together neighborhood marginalization. But my father and I spent dedicated to the scarf every day of his life, at all times. Safe bet that throughout his life has spent many more hours in the school at home. And tomorrow will put their name to a street in the scarf.

See also: a report on the subject in ABC