Francisco Javier Story
In eighth of EGB I participated in a writing contest sponsored by Coca Cola. The first phase was carried out in the College and faculty chose the option that each of us wrote a story or story short. They left us for writing Christmas holidays. In the month of January we outlined all our creations; well, all no, my story was read by a colleague, since then I used to get stuck me frequently in public and, for some reason that then I realized, the Professor of language preferred to submit it to one of the kids who read better class, Francisco Javier. Of all the stories, I recall my friend John, who was from a family which emigrated to Germany; It lasts, sentimental and warmly applauded by all.
The third was. In my opinion, he should have won that stage and, sure, it would have made a good role in the final, which was held in Cadiz, since the topic was about democracy and hence John would have scratched the glass. My story was of an orphaned child, the Magi and a kiss of his mother; He came in second. Took first place Juan Manuel, son of the Professor of Mates (not remembrance of what was his story). Got me a book about the history of the Popes. The first two went to the finals (I remember the sadness of Juan). And he spent all without penalty or glory. The case is that a few months later, I heard in Cadena Ser the call for a contest of short and animated stories by a family member, with two players of cassettes domestic and music of Carols, we recorded the master (if what you could call master) with the voice of my sister and ship it to the station.
He spent time and nothing, not a reference, or a letter, no nothing. It could not be. Although the recording was deplorable, that was it, the content was wonderful (for me, that is), had received the applause of an entire class of eighth of EGB. Not explained me. And a day of summer, I fall into a little detail. With the excitement and the rush, had introduced the cassette into an envelope, had put the address of the string be and already is, a return address, nor a reference in its interior with respect to the author, your address etc. The workers of the radio station would be very professional but I doubt they were soothsayers. My joy in a well.