Fiorela reading

A few days ago I visited the community of Huarrago, in the province of Cutervo, to visit the children that the Community Program for children with projected capacities accompanies in this place.

In Huarrago we attend two girls, Aldana and Fiorela, with infantile cerebral palsy. They can attend the inclusive school in the community thanks to the help of friends in Germany, who take on the expenses for a person who helps the girls to go to the bathroom or the dining room and then to return home.

Both girls, with much effort and the constant and careful dedication of their parents, have learned to walk with walkers, sticks or the support of a person.

Fiorela, at school, learns fast, and this time she told me she wanted to read something for me. The text that she had chosen for this reading moved me a lot: I had written it in 2007 for the presentation of the first edition of Los ojos de Gabi, by Alfredo Mires. The text tells of an experience that I lived as a child with my dad. When Fiorela read it, the irrepressible emotion was not small.

Here I share this text with you:

It was a summer Sunday, one of those days for enjoying the sun. I was six or seven years old and I was with a cousin, my dad and some friends. We went for a walk.

We had already played in the stream, we had eaten the snack that my mother had packed and we had also shared laughs, conversations and anecdotes. We were all happy and tired; It was time to return home.

My cousin and I were the smallest and we still had the strength to keep jumping and playing for a while, so we took my dad, each with one hand, and started running down the slope. It was not a flat place, there were holes, stones and shrubs like anywhere in the countryside. We ran in a hurry, pulling my father running with us ... and we reached the lowest part with a flushed face and a happy heart.

At home, excited, we told my mom how much we had enjoyed the day and especially this moment of running with my dad on that slope. Until now I can remember the amazement and worry on my mother's face: my dad was blind.

Rita Mocker

Responsible for the Community Program