Greetings, friends of the Silverblogger community. I come on this occasion to share what would be my father's favorite memory. As a way to participate in the @ericvancewalton memory initiative, at the following [link.](What is one of your favorite memories of your father? https://peakd.com/memoirmonday/@ericvancewalton/memoir-monday- week-5-48-to-414)
Remembering good times with my father is difficult since our relationship was dominated by fear, mine.
He had moments of joy, then he danced and laughed, and yes, at some point he made me laugh too, with his strange dance, moving his feet quickly, taking out one at a time, stepping with the toes, a melody that he hummed: "a to dance the carabiné, to dance with the tip of your foot"; but most of the time he was in a bad mood. Today I think I was bipolar, but back then this term was not known. This was the song.
[Video link] (https://youtube.com/@Individuo80?si=-_Jg4Y1ra97ImZoq)
Sometimes he would come happy to talk to me, but at some point during the conversation he would get angry and we would go back to the same thing, him shouting and me crying. But this post is to talk about the happy moments.
My dad read a lot and therefore he had many books. When he went to clean them he would invite me and I liked that, because he would surely give me some, and I liked reading. Those tended to be good times, although I was still apprehensive that he would question me about something that in his opinion I should already know; if he didn't answer correctly, he might get angry.
My father was Andean, very intelligent, but in the environment there is a tendency to use the pejorative term "gocho", with a derogatory meaning, of a person with less intelligence. My father used to have some eccentricities or ways of leading life that generated laughter and unfortunate comments, because he could well be an example of being a gocho.
He was given to asking insistently about procedures that were not at all complicated. He sometimes believed the unusual suggestions that they could tell him, to make a joke, but he was not one to understand jokes. Like the time he had to wear an acetate disc, because they told him that this way he could straighten it, since it had come with a factory defect, which prevented him from using it, obviously, the disc melted and became even more twisted.
Now that I think about it, I think that one of the great lessons he left me was that everyone should have a hobby. The only way to see him truly calm and peaceful was when he was focused on one of the topics that was on his mind.
He wanted to be a radio broadcaster so he took a correspondence course, every so often an envelope arrived with instructions and some parts to build a radio. I remember his joy when he made sounds while trying to tune something. Then he would get euphoric.
On one occasion he decided to solve all the mathematics exercises that were in Baldor's books. In spring notebooks he was organizing the answers to each of these exercises, proposed in the books, when he finished the arithmetic one he started with the algebra one.
One day he decided that he wanted to make a shotgun and he got all the materials, he cut, shaped and sanded the wood until he managed to make it, and then he hid it behind the refrigerator, because he couldn't do anything with it.
Today, I believe in how important it is to set goals, have achievements and recognize what that hobby is that gives us life.
Thank you for your kind reading.
My content is original.
I have used Google translator.
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