Summer evenings, forget ...
Last night I stopped to talk to my dad.
It was a long time I did not, my accomplices and its commitments.
We were out in the garden talking, party time, aided by the period, thanks to its passion sent willy-nilly to his son, we have "remembrance" in the years when I was little little.
And despite all the misunderstandings, any differences due to age and why not also to culture, I realized something important.
I grow up I want to be a parent like him.
I agree that my kids (if I get always) grow up with a grandmother who tells the stories of the summer sitting on the steps of the house, a grandfather who teaches his grandchildren to be guided on the Montello, a father who helps them put his hand on the scooter, which build them on Go-Kart and who will seek to achieve their desires ...
An uncle trucker who teaches you how to turn the streets of Italy and that tells you the years 70-80, the golden years, teaching you or gives you some tips to better survive in the street. A grandfather
farmer who tells you the cycles of the seasons and the passion it takes to grow a new plant.
I do not know where the future will bring, what work I do, where I will live.
But I no longer feel the "USMA" to go away, I'm happy where I live, people with whom I live, and I learned not to deny the past and the people with whom you have lived, because in this case it means denying a bit 'yourself.
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