Wednesday, June 23, 2010

How I Make Masterbaye

The boy is committed to grow, Roberto Denti


childhood lived in the late twenties and the thirties is not much different from a childhood lived in the fifties - subject to different social and political conditions of Italy and consequently the different state of mind of the people consider their lives and the world around them. Revealed it to me this beautiful book by Roberto Denti, who, as well as a writer, is the founder of the Children's Library in Milan, a point of reference for all those involved in reading for children, adolescents.
Reading this autobiography is its nice for the adults, who remember their own childhood, but it will be even more for the kids, who will find moments of everyday life seem so far away from them even adventurous. I think I am wrong in assuming that even a child today's reading of "The boy is committed to grow" will elicit the same state of mind and inspires the same awe that the reading of the adventures of Pinocchio or those Giamburrasca: innocence and wonder, mischief and punishment, good and sweet things like jam and licorice and sickening things like cod liver oil.
And just on that here's what we read on page. 14:
- A reminder unpleasant years of my elementary school is due to return home for the midday meal, before which I had to drink a spoonful of cod liver oil, oily taste disgusting medicine. He had ordered the doctor because I was a child considered "lymphatic" that I had some neck glands malfunctioning. Poured from the bottle always greased the dose of cod liver oil in the spoon and swallow with a great sense of disgust. When the spoon was empty, put it in the ashes of the fireplace and ate two slices of Mandarin to "wipe my mouth." -


Roberto Denti, the guy is committed to grow, Topipittori Editions 2009, Collana "the anni in tasca” [la collana,che prende il nome dall'omonimo film di Truffaut, racconta storie vere di bambini e ragazzi attraverso voci adulte che non hanno perso l'incanto], pagg. 103, euro 10,00.

PS: e l’olio di ricino era ancora peggio...

(C)Eleonora Bellini

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