Don Gonzalo was the name of the feared Spanish teacher that we got in sixth grade. He was not exactly a Spanish teacher himself, though he was definitely Spanish; I mean, from Spain. What I am trying to say is that his professional field was actually physical education, but for some reason he was going to teach us literature and grammar that year. I can hardly forget the words he dedicated to his 11-year-old audience on the first day while walking back and forth across the classroom corridor, “I don’t want to hear a fly. I don’t want a moving shadow. I don’t want a desk with more than 3 centimeters deviation. No bags in this class will ever touch the floor, and, I warn you: I won’t tolerate a single stain of olive oil in the dictation notebook. If someone has not understood the meaning of what I’ve just said, it is my duty to remind you that I acknowledge exercises that could blow a soldier out of the water.”
Yeah, that was Don Gonzalo, with his thick black hair, his scarred dark face, his wine smell, his noisy keychain, his scarce 5-foot height and the worst temper in the school, ready to make us learn and taste the wonders of our beloved tongue.
These characters of one’s childhood must be remembered, especially when their actions bring about an unexpected twist, an abrupt impact, an amazing turn that has probably changed your path and fate, (even not being sure yet whether for good or bad.) And this was the case with the ruthless Don Gonzalo who forced us to work all that year just with one book, a black-covered book that he had carefully selected to be imposed on us. What I didn’t know back then, was that his choice would change my life in a decisive way.
‘Platero y yo’, Juan Ramón Jiménez, 1914, Ediciones Cátedra. I still keep that edition on my shelf; the door to a world full of infinite beauty and comfort. My first encounter with art through the simplest and more delicate poetry I’ve ever read. The immortal story of a man and his friend. Today, I was opening the book and sending thankful waves to Don Gonzalo, his heartless manners and his heartful choice.
