The Last Iconoclast

And one day, just like that and out of a terrible boredom streak, the Gods in all their mischievous wisdom rolled the dice one last time, a good while ago, October 17th 1950.

It is said that on that day, with their bare hands, the Gods captured all the winds of the Earth and manically twisted them into one incalculable tornado, hitting the city of Lima at 10:55am. Rumors has it that it hit the city with so much power that nature itself couldn’t stop it from becoming alive.

And so, on that day my father, Alberto Manuel Palomino, was born; and ever-since every-where he went -much like Neo from the Matrix trilogy- the laws of physics (and comedy) ached from such an eloquent and fascinating distortion, that it could only be explained by his unprecedented and thunderous gravitational pull.

Obviously for me, the initial reaction to regularly witnessing such a humbling display of intellect, prose, charm, and uncertainty -where every trajectory held potentiality- was similar to the one anyone would have when facing a real and nearby tornado, that is; to quickly find a goddam tree, close your eyes and hold to it with everything you got. Solid ground. Shelter. Safety.

Years and years went by, and I remember one Tuesday morning I was kicked out from High School and expedited back home.

As a wannabe Iconoclast, I would do the unthinkable to challenge the status quo, and that day I figured I’d put my pants backwards, to hell with the System!

Made it back home when my dad was about to leave for work. He looks at me, smiles, and tells me to go change, he would drive me back to school. All good.

Thing is, that Tuesday I never made it back to school. In the car, my dad asked me how my grades were, I said great, so he decided to take me along for the day and not to tell my mom.

I vividly remember having lunch with him and his friends inside the weirdest most shady restaurant... I remember the noise, the laughter, the jokes, the big bottle of scotch on the center of the table.

But most of all, I remember my father the tornado; the sheer magnetism, people circling around him just to hear him talk, pure magic.

And it is then when I thought... there’s another option when facing a tornado; isn't the counterpoint of gravity always levity?

Sometimes, just between you and I, better to let it go and enjoy the ride.

The Hope
Black Walnut and Light
Montreal, August July 2020