each class, generally will remain etched faces more than others ... the first I remember was a boy of Colli al Volturno, where I taught in '72 ... I came from Naples every day and did 98 km to go and the same in return ... the bus left me at the crossroads and then walk uphill few miles to get to the country ... one morning I had a donkey that walked up to me, shitting all the time.
The school was located in the old prison in the south of the country ... I hardly ever taught in schools ... schools to be born former homes, former prisons, civilian homes ...
The boys were all from villages close ... had hooves for feet, c 'desks were still those blacks with the inclined plane and the hole for the' ink, and the teachers' room was a kitchen with fireplace on the first floor ... Instead classrooms in the basement is flooded when it rained ....
The girls were generally more civilized of men ... spoke a mix of Italian and Molise ... c 'was the daughter of the butcher, well-off, offering me hospitality when I had to restrain myself until the evening for the advice, invited me to lunch and I gorge on meat ... I do not like meat at night ... I slept with her older sister of my students: it was called the Goddess, had a serious malformation heart and breathing with difficulty breathing at night ... I was afraid he was hurt. The small
Livio, which was not small because repeating several times, was at 'last step of a class of desperate .. The parents were alcoholics
peasants, he was disinterested in everything ... he had the resignation and vented into a thousand spiteful, had few clothes and torn ... I think he had not seen a coat and 'winter was cold ... everything, but poverty, in boys, I'm not the 'I have never tolerated with ... my first paycheck, I invented a contest, a raffle, and I do not remember what I bought a lot of stuff ... shirts, pants, sweaters ... the 'I did too in' last year when I taught .. . I have a picture in black and white to me, girl, so young and slim and he, a small, emaciated, with one eye closed a little more of the 'other, but finally smiling, with a' decent air, almost fair.
few months I have taught at that school and, culturally, I gave him a little ... for life, then I have always fought as a boy desperate to convince any culture that could get him out, even if only mentally, by a morass of nothing ... I just gave the 'soul to this ... and often there are successful and when we are not the 'I did it failed ... I've always felt with him there was no time, I could give him some new cloth el' illusion that someone, for a while, he cared. .. I've often thought ... he was 15 years, now, if it exists somewhere, it has more than 50 ... he had no chance, but sometimes I remember him and I will not anger he could have done more ...
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