The Television is now just a walkway deventata nonsense, transmissions that sterile and empty talk, talk, and never said anything interesting. Every now and send some good documentaries, I watch them more willingly, because they are usually very well done. In one of them, looking like a slum demolishing dilapidated, dirty and old, for some reason thought he took me away, when little, I lived in Messina, in a tiny house, which was little more than a nutshell. Next to the stable where I lodged with my family, there was a slum where they lived all displaced persons. The war had just ended and many were homeless, and here the so-called barracks, stuck one after the other like mushrooms. Were made of wood and many are pushing to have The terrace or garden, complete with a kitchen garden, dominated by tomatoes and vegetables of all kinds. The colors, they could not hug each other, screeching across the various colors in a mess without criteria. There were children who were born, grew up in also married, in the dilapidated buildings and if once tie the knot, had the problem of housing in their turn, no problem! Four-axis and the house was ready, and so day by day grow out of the slums and with it grew the hardships of the poor.
Ironically, I in my innocence of a child, I envied all those children who lived in those wooden houses, so strange and I did not realize that I was lucky that I lived in an apartment although small, at least the walls were solid and safe. I remember that I tried to see inside those buildings made of wood, with some little friend to play during a rainy day. The wooden roofs and their filtered water to avoid this and not flooded, they put in the loss of everything from pots to the tolerance huge tin, so to speak, those that were used to hold the tomatoes, or even buckets metal. The ticking of rain water in various containers, procured a strange sound, a particular music, which we children became a kind of game, we small did not understand the discomfort of the adults, those in cold areas in winter and hot summer, full of mold, and I in spite of everything, I continued to envy the inhabitants of those dilapidated shacks, without knowing in my naivety, that what for me were of the fairy houses for them were some real problems, live in the most impoverished in the mud, no toilets, pools with huge puddles instead of roads, including humidity and mice.
