A small country becomes, in the eyes of its people, features an enormous living being . Its ten shops, the faces, comments, rituals ... all contributed to create a kind of giant organism that always seems resolute in never change (in fact, the villages are traditionally very refractory to the news). So when a member of the community leaves us suddenly the most fitting metaphor is that the living being that was suddenly cut off a finger!
A year ago was missing what I considered the historical village newsagent, the character who now identify almost as one with the counter behind which I found every day. Usually this kind of memories are always unconsciously tainted by rhetoric, with phrases that resonate forever as if they were fact when, in fact, not really at all, so I decided to share a mere detail. Something as seemingly useless, tiny, indistinguishable from the vast anecdotal that any citizen of my country could unroll talking about him getting lost in a sea of amusing anecdotes (he was monstrously ironic person, not extended to those who knew him).
I love to read. I think I love reading even before I was learning to distinguish the letters of the alphabet! Forced my mother to read at least a cartoon night before going to sleep ( Popeye all!) And more time spent in those fantastic worlds most wanted to stay there.
We all know that the withering of a flower or passion can also be determined by small factors: a comment contempt by an adult in front of the first attempt to show what we think we know how a kid can push sensitive to plant it there and no longer insist, that's for sure! One of the key factors that would have made my passion for reading during childhood would be the place to find the Commodity !
Maybe my memory is a flawed, one of those things that you will stay but who have passed through the sieve of your imagination, allowing only a few details fuorivianti has remained entangled in the net ... but I remember the shelf dedicated to my favorite comic strips positioned exactly to my height , perfectly at your fingertips! Even today, when I enter quell'edicola, I notice that the magazines I buy regularly are exposed to particularly high on a shelf and makes me recall my recollection -maybe-false-but-nice starring me while I grab the books "Horn 'of the Spider Man , soaring just inches from my nose kid.
were there, very close ... so I could retrieve them alone! I did not have to turn to an adult, asking him to stretch his arms and take because too high. I had just begun to devour comics and at that very moment, I found a place where my passion was placed right where I wanted ... just where I could take it with my own, when I wanted without having to wait for others to be delivered.
You see? It 's a silly, tiny, seemingly trivial, but a picture today, thinking this detail, I find it has its importance in the long process that brought me where I am now. Making sure that I could choose my own reading, grabbing and flipping me, that person gave me the keys to Camelot. Of course my newsagent had not ordered those books in that position for me only, but I like to think. He saw me take those shelves for almost 25 years, saw me changing tastes and priorities. As a good professional it would take little to identify what I liked and what is not so for a user obsessive as myself, go into a kiosk and be told: "Look that came out last Dylan Dog is not mad ... 'you, right? " immediately clear how the relationship established in there was very different from merely " News & Courier, please."
quell'edicola attend regularly, even now that it is no longer managed by him. I walk shelves family, I move in small circles that seemed far more devious ... I do not think I could find another place where "supplies" of readings. Every time I pay and I went toward the door, though, I feel a little sorry not to admit it: until last year I was greeted at the exit from a very loud voice that invariably greeted me with: "Hello, Robertino !! "
Only he could call me " Robertino " as only he could call Marion Fonzie " Arthur", so to speak! A clear sign, marked and unquenchable and as far as I know.
Hello Camillo.
