Hand in hand
The articles by the PÚBLICO Brasil team are written in the variant of the Portuguese language used in Brazil.
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I close my eyes and go to sleep. I feel like I'm holding hands with people who are no longer here. Dreams are sometimes a window to meet those we can no longer be with. Last Sunday was Father's Day in Brazil, and for those whose parents are no longer alive, it's a day that can be deeply missed.
Shortly before that day, a man spent the evening with his friend at her house, enjoying pleasant conversation. As the conversation continued, after much conversation and some wine, his late father came to mind. He remembered that, when his father was alive, they competed for his mother's attention. He whispered to his friend: "My father once told me: before she was your mother, she was already my wife."
The boy became aware of the male rivalry that existed between them, which, at the same time, seemed healthy in the dynamic they established. It nourished and fueled the relationship. Being his own father's rival didn't make him an enemy, but rather, it put him in competition with himself to be a better version of himself.
The yardstick for a better person was measured by one's mother, but man belonged to the world, not just his mother. It was for the world that he, since he was a boy, in some way, already knew he needed to be his best. Not for himself, but for those around him.
That night, after so many conversations, he retired to his room to sleep. To his surprise, he received an unexpected visit in his sleep. His father came to him in his dream to talk, to spend time together, to coexist. They spent the entire night awake, together. The man realized that, after so many times of bitter rivalry with his now-deceased father, the rule of being a better person would now make him very proud.
They held hands. Finally, a truce between the two was in place. The rivalry now waved its white flag, and father and son, from a distance, could love each other and contemplate the men they had been to their mother, to each other, and to the world. Their legacy had been handed down. From father to son, from one hand to the other, and, who knows, to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. For generations to come.
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