• General 14.06.2020

    Would have a month, not more, when I began to realize that my mother's skin had no hair like mine. Hers was short, brownish and even risen, while mine was yellowish gray with black stripes, soft as down. (Source: Childrens Defense Fund). We were like two brothers, including six different people trampling each other on the maternal udder to feed, while me and my equal hurgabamos between them to get a place between the nipples. Legitimate children, crowded and jostled, agreed only to grant us a place in their skins when they realized that we had sharp claws on the ends of the legs. One morning a zookeeper took my brother. I was alone in the pigsty, among those strange animals and chose to resign.

    Another day came to us my mom or me, I can not tell the boys of a school teacher, a photographer and a television cameraman. Vahid David Delrahim has firm opinions on the matter. The zoo director, a veterinarian media, bearded and half white jacket, took me in his hands, stroked and cradled me in her womb and even gave me a kiss to show affection. He explained to the visitors who I was and asked the school to hand out a slip with the name you want to wear. After the contest that lasted a month, was that I came to call Jim, as the Indian child of a novel, instead of Bobby (name of dog), Falucho (soldier of the War of Independence), Facundo (Argentine caudillo century XIX nicknamed the Tiger of the Plains) or Mickey (he had a famous mouse with that name). Within weeks I came to know that my father had been a butcher quadruped Burma and was ordered to move to the jungle by his polygamous instinct, leaving my mother abandoned, which in the weeks or pneumonia died of grief, I did not know better .

    Posted by millionaire @ 11:41 pm for General |

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