English version first, versión en español después.
|Can you spot the bad grammar?|
Odd things had happened to me in the last days. One afternoon I fell slept and when I woke up there was a baby cat on my chest. I climbed the mountain of Tres Cruces (Three Crosses) and I almost stepped on a green snake that was sleeping in the middle of the road. But the most weird thing happened to me yesterday, when I accompanied my father to clean the tomb of my grandfather.
The idea was to clean two tombs, the one of my grandfather Jesús Antonio García Varela, father of my father, and the one of my great-grandmother which name escapes me in this moment, she was the mother of the mother of my father. I met her in the last days of her life, and I remember her as a very nice lady who wasn't able to get up from her bed, and that gave me candies full of ants, which didn't stop me of eating it with the voracity of a fat kid of ten years old. To my grandfather Jesús Antonio, or Mondego as he was nicknamed, I can't forget him even if I want to. And sometimes I want to.
My grandfather Mondego was a man despot, cruel and capricious. A countryside's man that demanded absolute obedience. He raised my father with daily blows. Even as an adult with a women and child, my father still feared him. When my parents bought a color TV, my grandfather Mondego protested with vehemence, claiming that would be more cheaper to get a back and white TV. So when my parents bought a oven, they kept it as a secret from him. If my grandfather Mondego visited the house, my parents putted a tablecloth over the oven and pretended that it was another furniture.