There are actions that require trust. Rather than getting on a plane and fly over the ocean, rather than surrender to the bank savings of a lifetime, perhaps even more than get in the doctor and be examined. One of these actions is to entrust their children to kindergarten, especially the eldest, even when we do not know how these things work and we are oppressed by a sense of guilt for a separation that we feel premature. Who is the father or mother will understand on the fly, you must trust the other: it is.
When it is time we take a day off and go in two, mom and dad, making us courage, private day nursery in the suburbs, the one with the name and reassuring our small colored windows where it also would welcome right away. The door has a teacher smiling with a baby, but we are already there with anxious eyes to make sure everything is in order: no sharp edges, nothing dangerous toys, toxic paints and anything else we've read the manual of the perfect parent. Then ask where is the kitchen and show us a door down there, but do not make it to see reason, they say, health and hygiene. Finally we want to go out and look on the fly: not here, not even knowing why.
Public kindergarten, where they call us after three months, flying over the odor in the hallway because we feel - we console - it can happen in a place to change diapers two hundred a day. So we put our son in the arms of a stranger, so hoping that this kind woman does not become a harpy when we closed the door behind us not look back lest we succumb to the cries of the baby. We trust that when you blow your nose drips, which cleans the baby's bottom before it turns red, that the entries with patience and consoled him when he cries. Day by day we study it with suspicion, but loving him fast asleep, the morning kindergarten runs, on Sundays we sing his first song and we although we relax this bump on my forehead, how many stories, the children are all so innocent, unable to report the violence, who never would dare to mistreat them? Until one day the news of the 13:30 movie surprises us with a fork in the air: from Pistoia on television there is a hysterical woman who leads the face, and pulls the hair of a little girl that the parents believed in good hands. We would not watch and instead we're stuck there, if only to understand that this is a crazy and exhausted - after all - a bit 'insane consoles us because unlike the evil in this world is an exception. That
VIDEO already circulating on the Internet would be an attack on trust, a detonator anxiety for every parent who entrusts his son to the next if there were - thankfully - more stories to tell. Stories like that of a first son, always the same, now in kindergarten that meets one of his old master in the street. Not any one teacher, but the teacher, because even if the classroom is rotated in three or four (otherwise they too would become exhausted) there is only one of a teacher. He walks to the hand of her father and she is across the bridge over which the encounters along the sidewalk. Although ports thick glasses he sees from a distance and smiles. When the baby reaches the firing him up, hugs, kisses him and says: Hello Emily, how are you? But he is not responding, those sticks two fingers in his mouth and sucks like a desperate pull out without a word. Eventually we move towards the opposite ends of the bridge and I I investigate, but figures that make me do? Do not you remember more than the teacher Mariella? And he in a faint voice, said: "Papo, I hurt my neck," because I still do not know how to say the throat, one of the "rump" that will take a long time when you meet a person you you were very fond.
PS Thanks to all those who in these months of inactivity I have written or came here to see if there was fuoridalpalazzo some news ... this blog takes up the broadcasts!
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