This can be considered how Davide’s post titled “If you were a woman with child…” could have gone. I love to think that my story and Davide’s one are linked, that an alternative conclusion made by path crossing and time shifting, is possible.
Today, I remembered my first contact with hitchhiking.
I was only 7 and my sister 1. My mother decided to took us to the amusement park in Rome (only 50 km from my hometown). She thought we needed distractions: back at that time my parents were in the processes of separation, so I think she wanted to spend some time with us.
However my mother is not that of a good driver, and we had an old “127” that was continuously stopping for no reasons in the middle of the street. You know Italian drivers: it is not that pleasant when they start noisily complaining about your car.
In any case we made it to the fair ground. I don’t remember it too well. We went on the ferris wheel. Curiously enough, that is the only part of the story I do not have many memories about. I think we had good time.
On our way back, we got lost a couple of times and finally my mother saw a young guy standing at the border of the street with his thumb up.
My mother did not think about it twice: she stopped immediately to pick him up. We were going in the same town.
He was called Davide, and was traveling around Europe in search of himself. He was just 18 and he had been waiting for a while at the petrol station. He could even speak Italian, so my mother and him had a long chat about life decisions, parent’s love, drug, sex and Reggae. He left his address to my mother, and now he is back in Europe, still 18, still searching for freedom.
That event has been in my mind for all these years: even if I do not remember anything of the guy, not his voice, nor his name.
What I remember is that I was in the back of that archeological little car, always on the edge of breaking down, with my sister next to me.
What I remember is the proud feeling I had for my mother, who stopped to pick-up someone even with such a little children with her, saying “Don’t tell to your grandparents…”and still being happy to break the rules.
Someone could call it conscienceless: I call it trust. And I am so happy she did it, because it left such a great impression on my mind.
Few minutes ago, when I called to ask her about this event, she was surprised. ” How do you remember such a small occurrence…You were so little…”.
It was not the moment to tell her that sometimes are little things that shape you. I will wait to speak to her face to face to explain how important was for me to see that she was trusting people: that unconditional faith has got the power to flow inside, to pass barriers of time and space.