acknowledge that my vocation for the interpretation comes from far away. "What I can do?" , I thought. I lay on the floor, I focused my attention on listening to it and waited. Now playing possum ... Shortly after my sister found her back, motionless. I moved with force, but did not respond. Scared, climbed up a shelf full of books and toys to the top. He shuffled as he could looking for something, and when given with what he wanted, he returned to the ground from a jump. I held my breath as I could. I was dying of laughter inside as he felt he had been worried:
- I count to three to get up or else you'll see! - confused.
- One Two ... Three! - Silence.
- Do you wake up or not? - asked in vain.
Seconds later tried to revive me with all his might hit me in the mouth with a military baton. I broke the upper lip and left me a bit of a tooth. I was screaming bloody mouth, looking for my mother
- That what you get for wanting to scare me! - she claimed.
Until it was disappearing, the roughness of the tooth preventing me from moving the tongue too, and it was a nuisance. Slowly I got used and did not give any importance to the new situation. The broken tooth became a sign of identity. As time passed, I was receiving comments and views of all kinds:
- makes you different, special - a family member.
- I like it because it reflects your opposition, your default - among friends.
- I've noticed just that ... - the pickups.
- Do not even get by, eh! - coworkers.
- How did you? How cool! - when he knew people.
- What ever you do not have picked for a role for that? - others.
Sixteen years later, I decided to make the aesthetic enhancement of the tooth. And I want to dedicate this episode with all my love to my little sister, Carmen, author of the clearest trace of my childhood and adolescence.
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