Wednesday, 24 September 2008

To my father. Who taught me not to drive.














Anarchist worker-collective tram. Plaça Espanya 1936
Arxiu Fotogràfic AHC

Today is la Merced, a holiday in Barcelona in honour of the
city's patron saint. The week-long celebrations culminate tonight
with a giant firework display over the fountains of Montjuïc, just
next to Plaça Espanya.

I normally go if I am here.

To stand below the falling coloured sky... such a strange and magical
sensation.

But not this year.

Today is also my father's birthday.

But there will be no celebrations as he died in January this year.

A good man. A gentle man. He once went to war to fight fascism.

Because they did not listen to the warning voices from Spain.


He taught me a love of books and animals.

And fireworks.

Though my sister and I only got the sparklers while he played with all the rest.

He taught me to laugh.

And he taught me not to drive.

Never instilled that unquestioned belief in the need for a car.

Belief which has had so many consequences.

And he was right.

I miss him.



The choice of graphic was indirectly inspired by Jon who
visits this blog and who works for a bus company in California.

1 comment:

Jon said...

Thank you Valerie. Your father raised you well.