Cuando somos niños no tenemos mucha noción de los códigos de los adultos que por lo general te dicen u ordenan que hagas unas cosas o te comportes de tal forma mientras ellos no suelen aplicar lo que pregonan. Que si: "hijo di la verdad", "hijo pórtate bien siempre mira que Dios castiga a quienes se portan mal" me solían decir todo el tiempo, una situación que se amplificaba por el hecho de estudiar en una escuela católica.
Mi padre me educaba de la misma forma como lo cieron con él: correazo y manotazo en la nuca, a mis 6 años podía jurar que la mano de mi padre era del mismo tamaño de un racimo de plátanos por lo que contrariarlo implicaba recibir su 'caricia' en la parte posterior de la cabeza. En esa época se pensaba que los niños debía ser educados con mano firme, una correa de cuero o una chancleta bien flexible pero que pegue duro.
Por lo general mi papá era quien iba solo a la ferretería a comprar materiales para su trabajo pero hubo una oportunidad en que me pidió que le acompañara. Tomamos una cesta y colocamos en su interior algunas cosas de construcción que ocuparon toda la capacidad de esta, paralelamente observo que mi padre muy disimuladamente introduce una pequeña bolsa de tornillos en su bolsillo, una acción que pensé hizo porque al estar la cesta llena no tendría espacio para esos elementos que guardó en sus pantalones.
Nos dirigimos a la caja registradora para realizar el pago de los materiales, uno a uno fueron facturados hasta que la cajera anuncia el pago total a la vez que mi padre va contando los billetes lamiendo el dedo pulgar; no sé por qué la señora de la caja le pregunta a mi padre si desea comprar algo más a lo que responde con un gesto de negación con la cabeza. Inmediatamente pasó por mi mente que se le había olvidado lo que llevaba en el bolsillo por lo que en seguida me dirigí a él y le dije en voz alta y señalando el lado de su prenda donde ocultó el objeto: "Papá los tornillos que tienes guardados en el pantalón no se te olvide pagarlos".
Resulta curiosa la forma como mi viejo se puso colorado apenas terminé de hablar, a lo que metió la mano en bolsillo, sacó la bolsita con los tornillos agregó un par de billetes y se fue rápidamente, de hecho fui yo quien tomó la factura de lo raudo que salió mi padre del local. En la salida me esperaba el señor, sudando la rabia (y la vergüenza supongo) y sin decir nada el manotazo más duro que haya sentido en mi vida me lo estampó ese día mi papá, quien posteriormente me dijo "es la última vez que compro contigo". Ese día supe que los adultos son confusos, que esperan que hagas lo que dicen pero no lo que hacen.
English version
When we are children we don't have much notion of the codes of the adults that usually tell you or order you to do some things or behave in such a way while they usually don't apply what they preach. What if: "son, tell the truth", "son, always behave well, see that God punishes those who misbehave" they used to tell me all the time, a situation that was amplified by the fact that I studied in a Catholic school.
My father educated me in the same way as they did with him: scolding and slapping me on the back of the neck, at 6 years old I could swear that my father's hand was the same size as a bunch of bananas, so that to contradict him meant receiving his 'caress' on the back of the head. At that time it was thought that children should be educated with a firm hand, a leather strap or a very flexible but hard hitting flip-flop.
Usually my dad was the one who went alone to the hardware store to buy materials for his work but there was one occasion when he asked me to go with him. We took a basket and placed inside it some construction things that occupied all the capacity of this one, at the same time I observed that my father very slyly introduced a small bag of screws in his pocket, an action that I thought he did because the basket was full he would not have room for those items that he kept in his pants.
We went to the cash register to pay for the materials, one by one they were billed until the cashier announced the total payment while my father was counting the bills licking his thumb; I don't know why the lady at the cash register asked my father if he wanted to buy something else to which he responded with a nod of his head. Immediately it crossed my mind that he had forgotten what he had in his pocket so I immediately turned to him and said out loud and pointing to the side of his garment where he hid the object: "Dad, don't forget to pay for the screws you have in your pants".
It is curious how my old man blushed as soon as I finished speaking, so he reached into his pocket, took out the bag with the screws, added a couple of bills and left quickly, in fact it was me who took the bill of how quickly my father left the store. At the exit the man was waiting for me, sweating with rage (and shame I guess) and without saying anything the hardest slap I have ever felt in my life was stamped on me that day by my dad, who later told me "this is the last time I shop with you". That day I learned that adults are confusing, that they expect you to do what they say but not what they do.
