(To my old man, the true author of this story.)     When I started going to school in the morning, my old woman stopped getting up to make me coffee with milk. If you ask her, she will say no, that she got up until the last day I went to high school to make me coffee with milk, but no, she liked to sleep in the morning and stopped making me coffee with milk .   I woke up at half past six in the morning, but I set the alarm a little earlier to make a pause, I also like to sleep in the morning, maybe it's inheritance. The thing is that I woke up with my eyes closed tightly, like a cat just calved, you could hardly see a line that showed that they were open. And on top of that came the fucking light from the kitchen light that seemed to conspire every morning to hit me right in that open eye line. Always, even if it's winter days when the morning dawned later, the light was there to break my balls as it scorched the green line of my eyes.   Then he would take a jar and put milk and the stove. Thirty years ago, there was no microwave. Bah, in the United States yes, we with black and white TV and they sending people into space. Well, while I was waiting for the milk to heat up, I was grabbing my old man's radio, the ones you look for the dial with the wheel. It was difficult to hear well and I say, how can it be so difficult if there were three stations? Yes, three, LU2, LU3 and LU8, the last one does not exist anymore. They were actually shitty radios, but you always have to listen to both sides, right? In order to get a little hole in the middle.   At that time I slept in the same room as my nono. My nono was born in 1903 and had been in the first war, that's why he came from Italy. And I met many tanos and some adapted to speak like here but my nono, no. He said acqua, güerra, bequio ... And my other grandparents, who lived in White, they did say water, war, old man. And they were from the same area of ​​Italy, eh? Piedmont and all friends and of the same age but each spoke as they were sung. Question that I slept with my grandfather and when he woke me up too, because of the pain. And the first thing he did was turn on the radio. It was rare for a 13-year-old boy to listen to an AM but don't you know the theme of Charly who says “the radio in my room tells me everything”? ... they were other times.   And he listened the same as me, with another radio, one of those laptops that had two medium batteries, before they were medium, no AA and what do I know. And he had it close to his ear, so that no word escapes, to understand everything, with the radio. And I remember that that day the radio was not working and I listened to everything that passed through the door and most of the words escaped me because it was not glued to my ear. But something I remember: there was a sound that was repeated over and over and over and over again. It was a suffocating little music that with the morning dream did not give him much ball.   My grandfather spoke little and what he spoke was crossed. That day after listening to that little music for a while, he would grab his head and say "Porca politico, porca politico." Later I found out that he had declared himself a de facto State to the Nation, which I did not understand until a while later. And my grandfather, with that radio and with that announcer who did speak well, had understood everything even before it happened and since he had understood everything, he could not do anything other than grab his head and bitch.