(2005)
was a Wednesday and every Wednesday, dressed teacher waiting for the bus to go to my job as professor of Human Rights and Citizenship.
terms, if repetitive constitute learning tools and I got used then to use them.
With students, educational authorities (especially) with my children, my friends. The air was
perfume of jasmine.
looked while the cobblestone streets, leafy green lime, plum in the house of my neighbor moving his limbs with the seasonal wind, the newspaper vendor on his bicycle.
Adrogué In spring explodes in different fragrances (rose, jasmine, freesia ...).
I started smoking a cigarette to shorten the waiting (Puta vicious.)
The voice of "Dummy" in my ears, like so many years in the cell.
I laughed.
pleasure I always laugh whenever I smoke a cigarette.
Transgression, survival, the opportunity to avenge the "Dummy" in the simple act of smoking a cigarette.
"Pacifier" was not the last cigarette, you were wrong.
"Pacifier" miserable bastard
torturer (My thoughts at seven o'clock waiting for the bondi). That came as
always used to come at that time.
Spot.
With teachers sleeping in the seats and teachers with white aprons and the porters with their blue shirts or blue.
Finally, sitting in the local group, I began the journey to school for the paltry sum of $ 0.75
And if times were 0, $ 75 and machine Ticket vending was not working or locked
The usual route through the streets of Burzaco.
The station, the chip vendor, step level with the smell of dead animals and decaying.
always had a dog or a cat lying between pastures. And always
school start spotting after turning the corner and walk the trails eaten away by time and the shade of the poplars that lined the streets had been paved.
had reached the school gate
The lattice could be seen the wasteland full of freshly cut grass is carried by the wind spreading.
pretended pass between a large number of adolescents who were piled outside the door of the school building.
A shove out of nowhere I was almost knocked to the ground.
I held, as I instinctively on the arm of a student and then I saw it.
On the ground, shot, protecting your head with your hands, a student avoiding the aggression that was the subject.
His companions watched, the adults who happen to spend close to the scene, were quietly (look the other way)
How can a student is being licked and no adult tries to intervene? (I wondered inwardly).
Then I got up, and I cried interposed or not, the question is that suddenly the boy was shielded with my body and while trying to take off the twigs and leaves that had stuck in the body and head with him I was introduced inside the building
Then the scattering of students, then the cries of the teachers, authorities then turn it being aware that none had done something to prevent what could have termindo as fights often end runaway youth. And
incredible.
That I was an alarm, which was just rough play of the "boys."
That day the episode occurred at the entrance of the school had led to a very special class that day so I started remembering
making a few years earlier had happened to Cris who had come to life at school and she had destroyed the ventral aorta and died.
It had all started with a fight between classmates and ended in tragedy.
And so the issue of social violence was the topic of discussion was around from the desks at my desk and from my desktop to the desks.
And so the day's events had led to research on youth violence that day my students took the task to their homes. Look for tomorrow
information related to school violence occurred in the district in which school.
Then from the back of the room a voice calling my attention,
Professor, do you remember Pan sad?
The flag of Argentina flew from the mast of the school. For the window
guessed the train passing by moving the rails behind the "blue bells" that climbed into the dividing wire.
Meanwhile, my students worked to the beat of the music of Leon Gieco.
I watched quietly planning their future work.
(I fucked 'Pacifier, survive and continue singing with the voices of the dead.)
memory
A aims to kill the people who are silent and do not let
fly Free as the wind.
Leon Gieco's voice as the smoke of a smudge on filtering through the windows of the school and the flag flew on the mast, as in 76, as in 2005.
taught to fly ... but not fly your plane.
"Dummy", a torturer, the son of a bitch, I'm teaching to fly (my thoughts)
Pallottines Remind parents who left their blood in the mud and they are our neighbors Turdera.
discuss in the next class and discuss the metaphor that Pallottines parents died.
See you next Wednesday
onward to victory
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