His passion has always been the ball. As a young boy, could hardly going to play football. With friends, at school, with the team. His dream was to be a footballer. Like many kids, but with as a precedent, that of his father. "He played in Palermo Spring. He also did two games in Serie A. "David is proud. And he was fourteen he started making prints for large nurseries that train budding players: those magnificent buildings of dreams for young people, from which emerges a player in Serie A every hundred selected. The others, when they feel small demigods, kissed by the god of football on their kids' heads, and certain wild, illuminated by the aura of success, already small celebrity family, neighborhood, school, fall by the wayside or play in smaller teams. David, fourteen years ago, a trial with the Lodi, one of Italy's most famous nurseries. "It went very well," he says, his voice still happy. He made another with Milan. He went to Milan to hope. Everything went smooth. But ... "But my mother said no. The ball does not guarantee life. He said. If all goes well earn up to thirty years, and then what? "So David's mother decided that the ball was not his way.
Today David has thirty-two. For about a year he was hired by Nissan, and thanks to this stability is already thinking of buying a house and raise a family. His story, told in a precarious and content, from which I took the text, hit me perché ha lui è stato negato un sogno da una madre che pensava di fare il suo bene.
Fin da piccola adoravo starmene seduta sul divano a leggere qualsiasi opuscolo, volantino, pubblicità, trovassi nel mobiletto porta-telefono. Poi un giorno in garage scovai in uno scatolone tanti numeri di Cronaca Vera, rivista settimanale specializzata in costume e cronaca nera. Mia madre li aveva avuti dalla sorella per usarli come carta straccia per accendere la caldaia a legna dei termosifoni. Prima che finissero divorati dalle fiamme, io, me ne appropriai tutta contenta da buon lettore in erba. Avevo soltanto quattro anni, ma sapevo anche già scrivere e far di conto. Ben presto ebbi modo di spulciare perfino Famiglia Cristiana sottraendola, tra un cliente e l’altro, a mia zia. Passavo spesso pomeriggi interi nel suo negozio, poiché giocavamo proprio nel marciapiede di rimpetto. Un altro mio appuntamento fisso erano i tg. In questo, diciamo, sono tutta mio padre. Come dire… Per Hegel la lettura del giornale era la preghiera mattutina dell’uomo moderno. Per noi la visione dei tg quella del mezzogiorno e della sera. Accadeva così che, a differenza del resto della famiglia, io ero l’unica a parlare sempre in italiano anziché in dialetto. Chi mi ascoltava, sorrideva. Immaginate voi un pidocchietto di bimba, leggermente paffutella, con dei riccioli informi tenuti a bada da qualche acconciatura con fermaglio di turno, piazzarsi davanti a voi, mani ai fianchi, e dirvi perfect Italian in what passes in that moment for the little head, although no one speaks that way.
Adorable!
For you, I guess. Simply
passionate instead.
The sound of all those words have on me power, I would venture, hypnotic. I get sick, and I gladly gave in to their effect.
Up in elementary I had the opportunity to read any books for children. Then, at first, I was told that some of the stories contained in the subsidiary could find in my library. That same afternoon I asked my mother to go, and that was how I read the Little Prince by Oscar Wilde (or it was someone else? Irrelevant anyway). The next time my attention was attracted a shelf with books by the cover completely yellow. I discovered the world of Agatha Christie. His stories piqued my curiosity. His talent in building characters doing all doubt motivated my reading. Later, driven by teachers who, on seeing the ardor with which I devoured whole pages in a short time, felt I had to focus on gender in their view of the highest level, I stretch my horizon of interest.
passionate instead.
The sound of all those words have on me power, I would venture, hypnotic. I get sick, and I gladly gave in to their effect.
Up in elementary I had the opportunity to read any books for children. Then, at first, I was told that some of the stories contained in the subsidiary could find in my library. That same afternoon I asked my mother to go, and that was how I read the Little Prince by Oscar Wilde (or it was someone else? Irrelevant anyway). The next time my attention was attracted a shelf with books by the cover completely yellow. I discovered the world of Agatha Christie. His stories piqued my curiosity. His talent in building characters doing all doubt motivated my reading. Later, driven by teachers who, on seeing the ardor with which I devoured whole pages in a short time, felt I had to focus on gender in their view of the highest level, I stretch my horizon of interest.
must be said that I am not only dedicated to reading. Everything I read was appropriately summarized and commented on, analyzed. I practiced so well in writing.
already had a clear idea what job I would be great: any would allow me to continue to live my passions!
(more. ..)
