A father in Tandil

When my father left us, there were four sisters; a few months later, our brother Gnazio was born. My mother said that since he didn't have a father, he shouldn't have the letter "i" in his name. It was a joke we never quite understood, but it always amused her.

I don't think I've ever missed my old man, but I did harbor some resentment towards the paternal idea. Maybe a bit of envy towards those who did have one, I don't know. Gnazio was the only one in the family who never knew him, so he had no grudges or bad memories.

I lived with the hope of seeing him again someday, whether to scold him or give him a hug, I don't know. I'm too old now, and he's probably dead.

Yesterday, in a moment of lethargy, I remembered a lady from Tandil who was in the same situation. —Your dad wasn't very smart to abandon us; I think he simply got lost— she used to say daily.