Diz a lenda que, lá pelos meus dois anos de idade, um dia, eu pedi paca. Minha mãe, como todo adulto lidando com criança pequena, pediu pra eu repetir a palavra uma centena de vezes e me ofereceu tudo que ela podia imaginar eu estava querendo: chupeta, mamadeira, boneca, banana, música (sim, eu era louca pelo radinho de pilha!), colo, rua... nada!
Eu até me distraía por um tempo e logo voltava querendo paca! Essa história, aparentemente, continuou por dias até que caí febril e dodói, pedindo por paca.
Foi quando minha mãe ficou realmente preocupada e determinada a descobrir o que era a droga de paca eu repetia a cada vez que ela vinha checar a temperatura.
Me contaram que minha vó trouxe uma chupeta nova (eu também era louca pelas minhas chupetas. Tinha várias. Carregava todas comigo o tempo todo e chupei até os sete anos de idade!). Parece que ganhei brinquedos novos também. A família estava empenhada em descobrir o meu objeto de desejo. Acho que isso gerou até um certo clima de competição pra ver quem iria desvendar o mistério primeiro!
Bom, um dia, minha vó me levou à feira com ela. Como de costume, eu fui andando pela fila de barracas, olhando as frutas, "conversando" com as pessoas até que estaquei em frente a uma barraca, apontei e gritei: PAAACA!
Minha vó não podia acreditar que o meu tão investigado e detestado sonho de consumo era aquela frutinha pequena e vermelha: MORANGO! Isso mesmo, na língua fernandiana, a tradução para a palavra morango é paca!
O terror da família acabou, eu ganhei uma caixa de morangos frescos, me empanturrei, acho que a febre passou também e todos foram felizes para sempre! :-)
PS: até hoje, a família se refere àquela frutinha como paca!! Gosto de pensar que o fazem em minha homenagem! :-D
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There's this legend in my family that tells that when I was about two years old, one day, I asked for paca. My mother, like any adult dealing with a toddler, made me repeat the word a hundred times and offered me all she could imagine I was wanting: dummy, milk bottle, my doll, banana, music (yes, I was crazy about her little battery radio!), a cuddle, a stroll outside ... nothing!
I would get distracted with something else for a while and then, eventually, would come back wanting paca! The story apparently went on for days until I fell feverish and sick, but still asking for paca.
It was when my mother got really worried and determined to find out what was the damned paca I would repeat every time she came to check my temperature.
They told me that my grandmother bought me a new dummy (I was crazy about my dummies. Used to have many. And used to carrying them all with me all the time. I used dummies till the age of seven!). It seems like I was given new toys too. The family was committed to unveal the object of my desire. I think this led to a certain sense of competition to see who would solve the mystery first!
Well, one day, my grandmother took me to the markets with her. As usual, I went walking down the lane of stalls, looking at the fruit, "talking" to the people until I froze in front of a stand, pointed and shouted: PAAACA!
My grandmother could not believe that my so investigated and worrying dream of consumption was that small, red little fruit: STRAWBERRY! That's right, in Fernandian language, the translation for the word strawberry is paca!
The terror in the family was over, I was given a box of fresh strawberries, stuffed myself up with them, I think the fever had gone too and everyone lived happily ever after! :-)
PS: until today, my family refers to that red little fruit as paca!! I like to think they do it in my honor! :-D
I would get distracted with something else for a while and then, eventually, would come back wanting paca! The story apparently went on for days until I fell feverish and sick, but still asking for paca.
It was when my mother got really worried and determined to find out what was the damned paca I would repeat every time she came to check my temperature.
They told me that my grandmother bought me a new dummy (I was crazy about my dummies. Used to have many. And used to carrying them all with me all the time. I used dummies till the age of seven!). It seems like I was given new toys too. The family was committed to unveal the object of my desire. I think this led to a certain sense of competition to see who would solve the mystery first!
Well, one day, my grandmother took me to the markets with her. As usual, I went walking down the lane of stalls, looking at the fruit, "talking" to the people until I froze in front of a stand, pointed and shouted: PAAACA!
My grandmother could not believe that my so investigated and worrying dream of consumption was that small, red little fruit: STRAWBERRY! That's right, in Fernandian language, the translation for the word strawberry is paca!
The terror in the family was over, I was given a box of fresh strawberries, stuffed myself up with them, I think the fever had gone too and everyone lived happily ever after! :-)
PS: until today, my family refers to that red little fruit as paca!! I like to think they do it in my honor! :-D
No comments:
Post a Comment