Today, my father will write because I am only six years old.
The date is January 7th, 1965. My wife, Maria and I are soon to be celebrating my daughter Inés’ six birthday, on January 27th. I thank God every day for her…she is a beautiful girl, her eyes blue like the water of the Atlantic, her hair jet black and curly just like her mothers. I want to give her a good life. I pray everyday to bring her happiness and health. She is already so smart; she can read simple words from the newspaper. I wonder if she understands anything going on right now. Perón is still knocking on Argentina’s door, begging for re-entry. I can feel the energy building behind him; it is as if Illia is paving the way for Peróns return.
I am a manager at a cattle farm in the Pampas. My days are long and hard, I spend hours overseeing the feeding of the cattle, and organizing exports, which aren’t My work brings me fulfillment in that I bring home money for my Maria and Inés, but I mostly wish to move further into the city. Maria works hard everyday at a farm stand, but her pay is not as good as mine. My future looks long, but thankfully Inés is in school.
It has been nearly 10 years since Perón left power, and 20 years since I came here as a young child from Spain. I came as just a ten-year-old boy, attached to my fathers hip, wide eyed and open hearted to the beautiful Buenos Aires Delta. My father, active in the cattle trade, was a not a wealthy man but provided me with a good life, one that I hope to start again with my daughter and family. However, America has not been good to this country or me. When I was sixteen I was forced to leave school and work, and I was lucky enough to help my father support my family. I only hope to retrieve back the wealth we lost in the wake of Peróns rule. At least Inés will be in school. Thank god for her education.