Still echoes in my ears the voice of the Parrot: Juanito, La Leche!, Juanito, La Leche! All morning in that House on the side of a Catholic school. That today I see converted into police station community of the future, in that sector, which is known as the presidio Hill. Because there were killed many Apristas who wanted to seize power after an armed revolution. They resisted to death, but they did not know of the betrayal of their maximum leader Victor Raul Haya De la Torre. Even now give anyone aware of this betrayal. Or plug it for convenience.
It was the House more beautiful that we have had, in a part of the corral of animals we had to the roosters of peles and my Alpaca dear where every October is towards the still so my grandmother Herlinda I knit my sweater, as also some of the times my father also. In the bleachers overlooking the alley that led us to another Street my father sat with his guitar; He played many songs and I sitting on your side I transported to another world in my young years. The songs I heard most was the partisan and popolo rossa, Italian songs. For years not realized the because he sang those songs; What was its meaning. When it I understood and loved much more to my father and my grandmother. The two had the most beautiful voices. They filled all the places where his singing is heard.
They bought me a small bicycle who took to the street to boast to other children, as he enjoyed it. My only father I contemplated, then would come the lesson. I broke the rudder in one of these times due to my inexperience, I panicked and I did not know that done before this incident, but looked quizzical gaze d my classmates from that neighborhood of the future game.