2023-09-24 04:36:00
April 1982. On the 2nd of that month the Malvinas War broke out. Yeah. It exploded. One morning a drunk soldier announced that Argentine soldiers had landed on the Islands occupied exclusively by the English. The daily routine of the previous day ceased to exist.
While society celebrated and others felt sorry for those without experience who had to go load a rifle, we, between 11 and 12 years old, experienced the feeling of war in our bodies.
Fear. Not knowing if a bomb would fall in our beds or in the classroom. Anything might happen. It was war. At 12 years old, one is already certain of the seriousness of some events.
“We” yes, a class of 40 pre-adolescents. After decades that have passed, I understand that our seventh grade was a laboratory for life.
I have the feeling that school stopped in those months. As if his soul had been paralyzed. I might describe it as ice.
María Ester was our math teacher. She arrived one day with the news that her son had been called. She implied that she might go to Malvinas or some nearby destination. Without a cell phone or agile means of communication, her anguish of course invaded her. Stoica went to school the same way; Of course, tears interrupted class at any moment. We, her students, had no way to console her. We knitted. We took out our wool and needles and learned to knit scarves for the soldiers. We wrote letters so they wouldn’t feel alone. We sent them rosaries and rosettes to strangers. Without knowing, we wove our support networks. Our little treasures.
Girls, they told us, before or following playing robber cop at recess. Those kids who are there are very young. They might be your partners tomorrow. They seemed grown up to us, they were already of age. But they were only born 6 years before us.
Between statements regarding downed planes and communications that made your skin crawl, someone announced in the huge school yard that they had received a letter from a soldier. Complete silence throughout the school to hear those words that wanted to convey hope.
Among those letters came the response to our colleague, Gabriela Coluccio. The letters were treasures. In fact, we didn’t know if when we were reading it, the sender was still alive.
The war finished. Time passes and the open wounds begin to heal. The memories and learnings remain. Every April 2 now, the grown women who suffered that war, we hug each other tightly through the WhatsApp group. We record as mothers, what our teacher and so many other mothers who were not as lucky as María Ester must have gone through, who once once more met her 18-year-old child.
We also recorded how good it was to have each other, play, fight and make friends. Be accomplices and help with scarves and letters, writing and weaving our story. And among all these memories, September 11, 2023. After more than 4 decades of that war, a birthday greeting to Gabriela, who deserves to transcend our loving chat group.
Marcelo Kajfes is our soldier, hero. Through a colleague, Ariel Encina, he shared the following words…
“Very happy birthday Gabriela Verónica Coluccio.
In 1982 Gabriela was a girl who sent us letters and different gifts to the soldiers who were defending the Homeland. On behalf of all of us who in 1982 formed the 9th Tank Cavalry Regiment, Puerto Deseado. Santa Cruz…We wish you a very happy birthday and we thank you for all the love we received from the Argentine students.
Thank you for the strength, faith and pride we feel when receiving your letters
In your person we take the opportunity to greet all those children, (today men and women) who in 1982 wrote us a little letter so that we would not feel so alone.
Thank you so much”
We do not know the power of our small actions. Our girls heal their wounded souls a little with these words, knowing that we are all part of that war.
Lic. Laura Collavini
1695535747
#Malvinas #eyes #child