All the time that I look at my scar I remember my grandfather. He was a farmer and a carpenter. He began to work when he was still a child and he never studied.
He did not learn how to read or write but he was a great man whose caring and respect for animals and nature were an eternal source of inspiration.
I was 9 years old and I wanted to build a boat. My grandfather instead was building me a bed for my dolls that I rarely played with. His carpenter tools were in everywhere on the floor and he told me several times to not use his tools. However, I wanted a boat and I wanted to build it at any cost. Without he realized I took a very sharp chisel from the mix of tools that were lying on the floor.
I was just about to do the hull of the boat, but suddenly the tool slid from my right hand and my left hand was caught at the front. The blood spread everywhere but I did not feel pain.
I ran to my mother and asked her for a plaster when my finger was literally falling off. She was cleaning fish for the lunch that we did not have. She screamed at my father to take the car from the garage and we left to the hospital. I was not allow to cry or speak. My mother was punish me for my wish of building a boat. The next day we flew to the United States of America on family holidays where it was 40 degrees and I could not have water on my stitches. Therefore I could not swim either. The summer was coming to an end and my scar was still there and continue to be there, making me smile and keeping my grandfather alive.