Being A Child

My first memories are on the second floor of a house with a coal stove, wallpapered walls, near the railway tracks and an open field, between Trobajo and El Crucero neighbourhood. In the outskirts of town...

Down on the street, the dog of the owners of a mechanic's workshop would come up to me some mornings, although I must admit that dogs have always scared me. With time I've discovered that I prefer cats. I've turned 3 years old.

It wouldn't be long before I moved house, to plaza del Huevo. A new ground-floor flat with a community patio that I would go around in perpetual circles on a tricycle. I only stopped to pick up strawberries that my mother had planted in some pots and put them in my mouth. I liked to observe, the games of wit and my interests in the 2 Spanish TV channels alternated between La bola de cristal, Barrio Sésamo and Pumuki. Some afternoons I went to see my cousins. They lived a few meters away, on the parallel street. They used to play next to the door with their friends and they were my reference. For a long time they were; from their role as sisters, since I am the first-born son. I also liked their house and their room, from where I remained enthralled looking at the back lot where there was an old and dilapidated truck, abandoned among the vegetation and deteriorated roofs that some felines walked around. The old half-ruined buildings, with their windows in the attics, in front of the "Bar Wiskas", also drew my attention. Observation leads me to fantasy.

My grandfather was a mechanic and had made tents; a normal one with rooms, another that served as a kitchen and "the Moor's tent", which was something like a yurt. Parents, grandparents, uncles, cousins..., what once was the family... In the summers, camping would last several weeks or months, in a kind of illegal campsite. There were swings with ropes and car wheels, toads and even snakes coming out of the fountain spout. The sensations that remain in my memory are characterized by a total purity, when I recognize that only joy and peace were within me and not pain.

Speaking of... pain. I was sick every now and then, so some quack recommended that I had a tonsil surgery. One nice morning they took me to "La Condesa" ambulatory and from the waiting room I already feared the worst. Various relatives were flattering me, and although I was still very naive, I was not stupid enough not to suspect that something bad was going to happen to me. And so it was, they sat me in a strange chair, put some pliers in my mouth and removed my damn tonsils. Afterwards they told me to spit the blood into a metal basin and go home.

Our neighbours in the flat next door were an old couple, Pedro and Josefa; or at least, they were older than my parents. The man said that I was not at all affectionate, as I never wanted to kiss him when we met or said goodbye. He tried to get me to jump through hoops by suggesting that he would give me a tip; a gesture that, far from convincing me, encouraged me to sharpen my behaviour. I never forget what he always told me: "if you were different, you would earn more..." Where is Pedro, that great visionary? How much has he earned with his ways?

It wouldn't be long before I moved to another city: Murcia. It was the first time I travelled on a night train, as we did not have a car. I also discovered what a humble hostel is, where we spent a few days until we found a furnished flat, quite dark. Among the ornaments that the owners had left, I found several little figures of Nazarenes, which I found curious. After a short period of time we changed address while our belongings remained in a storage room. A fifth floor without an elevator, but more spacious and bright. There was an empty room, where my father and his coworker played with an electric train that they had given me and that I was not very interested in. I started another new school and my mother would ask me what I wanted to take for playtime. I answered that... a carrot and that is what I took for a while.

I had not yet started EGB (primary school), so they still did not teach us to read, but I had my cousins' books at home, to get ahead.

One day that I went to the bathroom, the janitor closed the whole centre and I was imprisoned there. I think I remember that I screamed and finally someone opened it, in any case, I began to visualize and experience the first nasty tricks. I've turned 5 years old.

Another day, the children in my class were talking about a magician they had seen the night before on Un, dos, tres... It must have been Juan Tamariz. I had started watching the programme, but they sent me to bed, something I hated more and more every day. I liked to stay up late and not miss anything interesting. And at night the most intriguing things happened, from what I had been able to perceive...  I had to watch it on Saturday morning, which is when they repeated it. Some said the hat was green and others that it was red, but I couldn't check it because the television we had was black and white.

Sometimes my mother would send me down to the store to buy something. There were no garbage containers and the bags would accumulate in piles on the street, some even threw them out of the window. Some afternoons during siesta time, my father and I would make some custard in the pot. Two main brands: "El Chino Mandarín" and Flanín "El Niño". 

During spring time, a pagan festival is celebrated: The Burial of the Sardine. 

One afternoon in a park, my mother asks me if I want one of the masks they sell at a stand. I never asked for anything, even if I desired it... When offered, I replied: "Yes, I like the one with the skull". Well, no! That can't be... (another dirty trick).

I had already been to the sea, but the Cantabrian, with its wild and cold waters, although I was much more attracted by the clear and sweet water of the river. Now I would know the warm and calm mar Menor. I don't like the sand or the sun.

My grandfather would soon come to pick me up. He spends a few days in my room, in a tank top and drinking cold water with citrus juice. It's very hot. And off we go. Half the trip in a sleeper train, but he says he can't sleep. Also, there is a rumor that sometimes people steal or open the suitcases. The final journey is in a normal wagon, I don't want the sandwich, so, as soon as we approach a river, we throw it to the fish. For a few months I would be completely happy far from the heat. But there would be another move: Huelva.

The essential intention that led me to write this blog was to capture feelings, thoughts and adventures related to my Rock N' Roll spirit. The nonconformity to the established order, vehemence, passion; everything that awakened in me with great intensity in teenagehood, with an strong love for music and the search for something else in life. However, reflection and reminiscence have led me to understand that the attitude I try to express goes back to my first memory.

I have always believed that many of the contents of Spanish Television at the time were full of beautiful and wonderful messages, like the one revealed by Pippi Långstrump in one episode: "If you don't want to, you'll never grow up"... 

Words from a friend: A small return to the past, where a person with his own criteria and great universal culture, leaves his essence every day between silence and Rock N' Roll...