Nazareno letter from a father

Dear son:

Sorry to write this letter you never read, although I'm tempted to send it to Burgos to publish it in the box, because I believe in Seville many other parents feel joy and sadness I feel right now. He has finished and television, you've gone to bed, not tomorrow because you miss the bus to school, and your mother is still in there doing things around the house. Your sisters also sleep more girls. I feel now, son, Just as when Christ goes through that street this Palm Sunday I'll tell you what's, when we go to church for the shortest path, as stipulated rules. I feel now, son, Just like when you see the candle consumed, in the break that give us every year before entering the Campaign.

And that, son, tomorrow night will come first with me to take your ballot to pick your site and tunic, because although not have age, already you have man's body, and a man get away with your father this year Nazareno, in the same fraternity who left your grandfather in glory is. Now I confess; but I feared, son, I feared Palm Sunday not sound our name in the brotherhood, when they went to roll call of the sections. Good, no longer pass list, and they put the relations of the sections along the chancel. But there has to be our name, son. So tonight I have become sad and I've locked up here in the office, as if I had to report a sensitive case, to write you this letter I do not know if you will read.

I do tomorrow night, son, child again. I was your age. My father, your late grandfather, also came from child brotherhood. He would have been, as I was, a child who one day took to get first ballot site. He also would tell you: “First tranche of Christ, He has the body of man and, You can go on the first leg of Christ…” To me they told me, I remember perfectly. What I pride, son, when the clerk did not even ask me to write the name on the ballot site… And later, when moisture between odor, I removed from the bag with a number placed with blue ink buffer, a tunic that measured my shoulders to heels, and my father, son, proud that I look good: “It is already a man…” The, son, It was that year in the presidency of the Virgin, but me, that as I put on the first leg of the Christ the first year, and I was in Christ.

morning, son, you come with me for your ballot. I want to show you, son, the shortest way for you to find Sevilla, as I do what my father taught me. I'll give you, as he gave me, a little money, so you is you who throw it in the tray alms for flowers. Not have to ask the name, as I also had to ask me. I think, Now you get this letter, tomorrow you're not going to make older, but I go back to your same years, because I saw you tomorrow estrenarás myself illusion of Seville. Son, when you're picking up the tunic, do not look at me, because I have wet eyes, son, because I see myself picking, so illusion, tunic the first year that I left. And because I see, son, to my father, feeling this emotion I feel now.

maybe, son, never read this letter I write you. No need to read it. When I said that this year, if you let, already you had, if not age, Yes stature, You wanted to leave Nazareth… When you told me you were coming with me this year, I thought the gate of the courtyard on Palm Sunday. You do not know it, son, but at the same gate, thirty years ago, Ramos came many Sundays together two Nazarenes. We were going, We go like this year, the shortest way to get to the truth of Sevilla.

(He opened the letter and read it with tears in heart).

Antonio Burgos / Easter boxes.

Collected in the book “Sevilla hundred boxes”

www.antonioburgos.com

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