Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro: 21oC, cool, overcast and rainy.
It is Monday, and I have mixed emotions.
I had a great weekend, solving several problems at once. It was also Father’s Day, and my daughter Jessica gave me a much-needed pair of Bermuda shorts. However, something caught my attention. On Father’s Day, when Yasmin, Jessica, Mario, and I were all together for breakfast, one of our conversations rang an alarm bell in my head.
We were discussing music, Jessica and Mario had attended a Brazilian music festival at Marina do Gloria the night before. The event featured performances by well-known Brazilian artists and composers such as Gilberto Gil, Adriana Calcanhoto, etc. A banquet of Brazilian music for connoisseurs, Brazilians, and fans worldwide.
They said that the show was outstanding. Marina do Gloria is a special place; I love going there. The view around the Marina of the city centre and Sugarloaf makes the place and its position incredibly special. They also mentioned that they only got home at 4:00 am., so the night was perfect.
I asked Jessica if she likes, enjoys, or follows any music or bands from outside Brazil. She said, “No, dad. I prefer mainly Brazilian music. Mario is the one who likes international music.” At that moment, I did not pay much attention to it. But soon after, a red flag began to rise in my mind.
Something so subtle and non-offensive began to bring an avalanche of thoughts from the past, matching up past situations, conversations, etc., that were insignificant at the time or not so clear but now seem to be clearer.
Why?
During my 30-plus years in Brazil, I have encountered both welcoming and prejudiced attitudes as a foreigner, or “gringo.” There is a common misconception that all foreigners are universally well-received in Brazil, but my experiences have shown that this is not always true.
The Brazilian people are good and kind and can be very hospitable. However, there are exceptions and a lot of hypocrisy among them. They can be extremely polarised politically, reinforcing stereotypes of individuals and nationalities that have nothing to do with the person themselves.
When I first arrived in Brazil, people thought English people were extremely serious, had no sense of humour, and were obsessed with The Beatles. However, I have an extraordinarily good, strong, and ironic sense of humour that my friends and pupils love, and I do not particularly like The Beatles.
The only song that I like by The Beatles is “Blackbird,” which was only discovered 10-15 years ago, long after The Beatles had broken up, almost 30-40 years before.
When I first arrived in Brazil, I initially thought that The Beatles were outdated and tacky, a common sentiment among English people. We do not seem to appreciate them as much as Brazilians do. Nonetheless, I still acknowledge their significance in pop history and what they represent for England.
It is worth noting that London is home to the main headquarters for the world’s top advertising agencies, and this is no coincidence. Humour is an essential aspect of any marketing campaign and is often associated with English culture.
Returning to what Jessica had said, I suddenly felt like a cold bucket of water was thrown into my face. Many situations from the past make sense now. Jessica always told me to be quiet when there was a parents’ meeting at school.
She asked me not to appear too much or say anything. She has never asked me to do something like getting her British passport, and we have never travelled or been on holiday together.
It is hard to explain, but during her 30 years, she has shown that she is opposed to foreign cultures and people. It is hard to say this, but it seems this way. So, the $1,000,000 question is: Is it because of me and what I represent? Am I the reason for this? And again, why?
Was I such a bad father in her childhood that she could not forgive me? Or is it because I left her and her mother that she can never forgive me for that? Even though I separated from her mother, I was always nearby and wanted to be close to her. Finally, another doubt I have is whether my daughter is just a nationalist.
There is a fundamental difference between a patriot and a nationalist: a patriot is the love of your country, while a nationalist is the hate towards other nations. It is hard to think about it, and I would not want to judge her. But it is clear that my daughter has some kind of feeling against me and probably what I represent to her.
I have already talked to Jessica about her feelings towards me. I told her I knew she did not like me very much, and she was surprised by my frankness. Looking back, she did not deny it.
So, is it me? Or who am I? I am not upset about this, but I am disappointed. I would like to have a closer relationship with my eldest daughter. I love her very much, respect her, and am proud of her. But I am getting old, and life is too short to worry too much about things that we cannot change. Only time will show us the truth.
Looking back, Sunday was just one more piece of the puzzle, fitting into the bigger picture of my or anyone’s life. It is all about recognising the signs, even though we sometimes misinterpret them. Only time will tell, and sometimes, it will not. If that is the case, we must accept it as it is. Let us see.
A long walk in the morning, then classes, and a lot of thinking.
In bed by 10:00 pm.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
