The bicentennial gift brought me a couple of memories. Impossible to forget. But they were somewhere in memory, as in a last drawer. And the fatherland party, I saw her on TV, because it worked, did me recall small home parties. And he woke up flipping those dormant memories.
In a time where he didn’t know that celebrations, chiquitos, home and personal were also valid. Because in the May 25 of each year, greeted everyone, friends, popular, neighbors, relatives, with the greeting: Viva la patria. And my father added: Viva la patria carajo! But made me blush outburst. Today that I grew up in age, and the time was passing, I, also, add the greeting without qualms, outburst. Because now that I understand I think relevant, from the bottom of my heart then vibrates a: viva la patria Carajo!. Because I know what it means. Homeland, so big that needed to be writing it means living with capitalization, despite everything he did him and even sometimes in their name.
In more than one speech I have heard: for the fatherland! or the classic: if not were God and the fatherland demand me it not always God and the homeland were able or let them sue. Better, they cried to viva Teardrop. The empty memory, when they exterminated an entire generation, which sometimes appears to be missing more than neck. Nor demand that their duties and assets are stained with an absurd war. And I victoreo the homeland, because the country, this country, which is also mine and that of my children, as it was once my parents, my uncles and friends that are no longer, despite their bleeding wounds that still fester and remain in the collective memory is still alive. But in the Middle, its inhabitants, the Patriots today, try to heal these wounds, promoting joy and defending it in spite of everything and against everything.