The day my father left

I was about six years old, and I still lived at the house on 70th Street. I was in Grade 1 at the German School (its real name was "Humboldt Institute") and I was doing quite well.

Evidently, things between my Mom and my Dad weren't going well, but I was completely unaware of it; even more, I don't even remember having seen them fight, so either the fights weren't big or they wouldn't fight in front of us (or I have erased them from my head). Life was normal to me; I was living in my own world, taking care of my homework and creating all the havoc I could, both at home and at school.

One evening, I found my Dad and my brother Guillermo talking in the living room. Dad was sitting in the recliner, and had my brother sitting on his lap. They were talking, and the tone of the conversation didn't look promising. Even more, I thought Guillermo was crying. Intrigued (and being as nosey as I was), I wanted to know more about it: chances were my brother had gotten himself in trouble, so I had to milk the opportunity; for once, I wasn't in the 'eye of the hurricane'.

But I was wrong. Dad was also crying, and that worried me a lot. I got closer and demanded he picked me up too. I asked Dad what was going on and he said that he was going to leave home the following day; things with Mom were pretty bad, and he thought they had stopped loving each other. Thinking that he would have to stop living with us was breaking his heart, but he felt it was better to live in separate houses but well, than together and without love. He said he was going to miss us terribly, but he hoped we could see each other as much as possible. Martín was only two years old, so he was completely oblivious to the situation.

Guillermo wouldn't stop crying, but for some reason I thought it was just a big fat joke. I said something like "OK, Dad, sure. Like I'm going to believe that..." and I went out to play as if nothing was going on, leaving my father and my brother crying in the living room.

I did cry -and how!- the following day, when I got up and went straight to my parents' room, only to find half of the bed was empty!

Yo tendría seis años, y aún vivía en la casa de la calle 70. Iba a primer grado en el colegio Alemán (que en realidad se llama “Instituto Humboldt”) y me iba bastante bien.

Evidentemente, las cosas entre mi Mamá y mi Papá no andaban bien, pero yo ni enterado estaba; es más, no recuerdo haberlos visto pelear, así que o las peleas no eran grandes o no lo hacían en frente de los chicos (o yo las borré de mi cabeza). Para mí, todo estaba normal; yo seguía en mi mundo, ocupándome de mis deberes y haciendo todo el lío posible tanto en casa como en el colegio.

Una noche, me los encontré a Papá y mi hermano Guillermo hablando en el living. Papá estaba sentado en la silla mecedora y lo tenía a mi hermano sobre su falda. Hablaban y el tono no parecía nada prometedor. Es más, me pareció que Guillermo lloraba. Intrigado (y también demasiado 'metido'), quise saber de qué se trataba: seguramente mi hermano se había metido en problemas y había que aprovechar que por una vez yo no estaba en el centro de la tormenta.

Pero estaba equivocado. Papá también lloraba, y eso me preocupó. Me acerqué y demandé que me levantara a mí también. Le pregunté qué pasaba y mi padre me contestó que se iría de la casa al día siguiente; que las cosas con mi mamá estaban muy mal y les parecía que habían dejado de quererse. A mi papá le dolía en el alma dejar de vivir con nosotros pero pensaba que era mejor vivir separados y bien, que juntos y sin amor. Nos iba a extrañar muchísimo, pero esperaba que nos pudiéramos ver la mayor cantidad de tiempo posible. Martín apenas tenía dos años, así que él ni enterado estaba de lo que pasaba.

Guillermo no paraba de llorar, pero por algún motivo yo pensé que era todo una broma. Dije algo así como “Sí, seguro, Papá. Mirá si me voy a creer que te vas…” y me fui a jugar tranquilamente, dejando a mi papá y mi hermano mayor llorando en el living.

Al otro día sí que lloré, cuando me levanté y me fui derechito a la pieza de mis padres, sólo para encontrarme con la mitad de la cama vacía!

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