Chapter 3… The Chinandegan magpies
Sometimes Grandfather and I would talk about his childhood in Chinandega. He always remembered those days as happy moments of his life. There, he had studied most of his grammar school. In between the week, besides going to school, those warm and sunny mornings, he’d help out at the farm during the long afternoon hours, where he worked, side by side, with his father and uncles. The weekends (when his mom was busiest at the restaurant), he’d go to Corinto and help at the restaurant. On Saturdays and Sundays, before the break of dawn, he was up and about and out on his bike, enjoying the ride to the port. He would arrive to buy the fresh fish and fresh seafood from the fishermen. After he had swapped a few jokes, enquired about the weather, satisfied himself with the conditions of their health, of their families, and had a good time, he was ready to rush to the restaurant and help his mother with the chores.
“When I was a child, I learned an important lesson, and I believe it’s helpful still. I discovered that we all need our own personal space, to be alone with our thoughts, our feelings, and with ourselves. The bicycle ride, to the port, in the mornings was my personal space. It was a moment for reflection, I could go through the things in my mind, look back at all that was happening and sort them out. When I arrived to the wharfs, I had found my balance and my inner peace. By then the fishermen were returning from the sea and the day’s catch. The waves gently tossing the boats to and fro, those crazy seagulls flying around, excited and filling the air with their calls and shouting, and we would catch sight of each other. They would be out in their boats, tired and hungry; and I sitting on my bike and standing on the pier. Our lives were so different, yet there we were, all together, present and accounted for, ready to talk, to laugh, to joke, and to smile a big, warm smile, at the beginning of a brand new day…”