T ime of celebration. After two days of the date of my mom today is the birthday of my dad. For some time I decided to take a few wrote to my family. What better opportunity than that of a birthday, and I can certainly more difficult to talk about my father and not because I do not have a good relationship with him. I could use a few adjectives to begin to define it: hermetic, reserved, practical, sometimes shadowy and thoughtful. I always wondered how he and my mother were able to find a reason to get married. Them, so incredibly different. Opposites attract? I find it a of the many clichés. I would say that opposites have a good chance to meet given the uniqueness of each one of us. In fact we will never find our clone but someone to be appointed to the closest to our feeling, thinking, being. This does not mean that then you go along. In short, they are different. The strength of my father has always been his common sense and the proverbial calm that made him one of the few living things in the world not be a victim of stress. He does not love and never loved the company of people. He likes to live his world of (now retired) television, reading, and playing some football. A man, therefore, that, despite the work it has always placed in contact with others, preferred to live their lives without necessarily having to share it with someone who was not his mother. The board, pull down the days all the same and make the most intolerant people. Him? E 'immune to everything. His words ring out again: "Enzo, you have to have patience everyone near her placed." And he has had a lot of patience. Hard work, the power in the hands that get dirty grease. The evenings spent mulling over how he could solve this or that problem. My father started working very young, like many of his generation. From Puglia to Germany, then Genoa and finally Alexandria. And me, jokingly every day I make him weigh the final selection, "Why Genoa is not, and this dismal place?". Seriously. I see it clear now. Now that I've lightened the burden of the last for which he could not find peace. This birthday will be different for him. Does not say, not say it. Why, for someone like him, some phrases you can not get them out. I'll say with a smug look, or with the silence which usually responds to the positive coming from the outside. My father just laughs. He smiles, if ever. And my mother can give to his tone of voice when a heavy tone, clash for every trifle. So different but so alike. Couple of other times. Well, good birthday to you too, Dad. Ah, I told his mother: "Keep it up."
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