let me tell you

On the day my only daughter, Carla, was born, at El Ángel Hospital in Malaga I started writing a diary that I hadn’t finished yet (not a diary in the strict sense, because I don’t write every day). Some days I didn’t write anything because there was nothing noteworthy to review, I was traveling or I had urgent business, and some days I wrote two or three times because there was something remarkable or I couldn’t do it during the day. it was. Experience is now 17 and a half years old. I left a record today, which this morning when I told him to be very concerned with the interior, not the appearance, he told me “the interior is perfect”.

I was happy many times over that I started this diary the day my daughter was born. And most importantly, to have never let go. I’m going for skin X. Exactly 1472 pages. And I don’t know when to end this. I told Carla that I planned to close when she was 18, and she looked at me strangely as she asked the question: why only by that date?

One of the reasons I was happy to write this story is that I discovered it long after I took the initiative. Memory does not store everything. And many times I had to go to the newspaper to remember dates, phrases, names and events. The diary is a family memoir written and interpreted from the heart of one of its members.

The texts are written in a direct style, in conversation with my daughter, so the title of each volume is the same: “Let me tell you” (Volume I, Volume II, Volume III…).

I always write by hand. And I must say that I saw how my writing gradually became more unstable, less intelligible. He is growing and I am shrinking.

With a few exceptions, I dedicate a page to each case studied, and sometimes I include a photo, a movie ticket, a plane ticket, a vacation hotel bracelet that adds a graphic presence and breaks the monotony of the letter.

As the years go by, I think this diary will be of value when I’m gone, trying to reclaim the years of childhood and adolescence through which his father’s narrative filtered. There you will see the incredible evolution of language, travels, minor illnesses, birthday celebrations, ingenious answers, the shortest and most lasting friendships, school experiences… In short, life.

I am writing the diary on a broken foot, in a style that I published in one of my first books, “I train you, you train me” (translated into Portuguese with the title “Uma pedagogía da libertaçao. Crónica emotional da uma experiencia”). . Many times I have been asked (and wondered) why this literary style exists. And I was only able (and able to answer myself) in these two cases that the writing flowed and flowed like this.

I take the initiative in what I want to record, although sometimes Lourdes, her mother, and Carla herself tell me:

– You should write this in the diary.

In these cases, I always gladly accept the suggestion.

When I retired, the Faculty held a tribute and farewell ceremony, which he naturally attended. And he wrote what he wanted to say without accepting any intervention. In his speech, he referred to his diary:

• I am proud of all the books my father wrote, but the one he wrote for me the most.

The “blank” books I have written and obtained from bookstores and airports around the world are valuable with their hard covers and original covers. Although they are the same size, they are all different. I think it will be a beautiful emotional legacy for him.

From the first page she was a newborn baby, the girl has grown into a teenager with her own criteria, two quarters ahead of me. How was this miracle possible? He recently made a shocking offer to me, I don’t know if I can refuse or accept:

• Dad, I want you to write me a volume for when you’re not around.

Day one, day two, day three… I have to admit, I haven’t had the courage until now.

All his relatives, some teachers, some friends and some girlfriends have passed through the newspaper. Death also occurred when he fired his maternal grandfather and recently his cousin in his youth.

I recently reread an anecdote about language more than seven years ago. I went to the conservatory with him. I was driving the car and he was having a snack next to me. After eating his ham sandwich, he drank some orange juice and gasped. I said:

– What are you doing, Carla?

The response was quick and surprising:

– Dad, these are the gases of commerce.

I have been traveling to Latin American countries (Argentina, Chile, Mexico, Bolivia, Colombia, Uruguay, Paraguay…) for many years. The duration of these trips is at least six days. When Carla was seven, I told her I was going to take a trip to Chile.

• “How many days, Dad?” he asked me.

• Eight days.

• Traveling or not?

• Counting trips.

He was thoughtful and said to me:

– Dad, your trips are going to ruin my life.

I traveled. At a luncheon with the teachers where an intervention was proposed to me in the weeks that followed, I told them about Carla’s request to justify my refusal. I am back home. Weeks later, a beautiful letter arrived from Chile addressed to Carla, where a group of teachers asked her to let them share her father’s wisdom and heart, because “your father, they said, is coming to scatter dust on us teachers.” lost and we have to teach the classes”. It was a long and emotional letter.

Carla read the letter. I asked him if he wanted to answer. And of course she told me. I prepared the post for him. And I left because I had work to do. I searched my computer at night. He didn’t know if he was answering and therefore what he was saying. I found the following text: “Dear Chilean teachers. I saw that my father is very important to you, but he is more important to me, so next time he will go for two days, not eight”. He was also generous and selfish.

Francesco Tonucci dedicated two short stories in his books, taken from two anecdotes in the newspaper. I will describe one of them because it does not give more space. One day I was taking her to school and the traffic was so jammed, I regretted that we would be late.

• There must have been an accident, look how much traffic there is, we will be late.

I looked nervous and worried. To put me at ease, he said:

– Dad, don’t worry about being late because we’re going to Cole’s. The bad thing about being late was that we went to her birthday as I was going to miss the cake, the magician and the pinata.

In 2016, I was asked to give a lecture at the Congress of Narratives in Mahón (Menorca). The organizers knew I was writing this diary for my daughter. And they added an unusual request. My daughter Carla had to attend the conference. I told him.

• Carla, I’ve been asked to give a lecture.

• how cool is it?

• It’s in a city called Mahón and that’s in the Balearic Islands.

The second question he asked me was:

• Dad, will they give me money?

• “Half for you,” I replied.

And it added one more concern.

• Will they give me the VIP treatment?

• Just as I was teaching the lesson, I told him in the headline.

We are preparing the conference. We share tasks. We’re rehearsing. We completed the time given to us before 300 teachers. Then there were the questions. I have had many important people with me at roundtables and conferences around the world. He was never as important as that day.