Mi padre era un hombre bueno. Fue un hombre bueno. Su madre, mi abuela, murió cuando él tenía diez años y mi padre tuvo que aprender a ser feliz por su cuenta. No ha habido mejor autodidacta en la historia. Mi padre desprendía vitalidad, regalaba felicidad, contagiaba alegría. Jotero (cantó jotas hasta su último suspiro) y fiestero como nadie, era, además, un chico formal, un hombre de palabra. Generoso, magnánimo, conciliador y divertido, encontró su sentido de la vida en la familia, en los buenos amigos y en unas buenas risas.
My father was a good man. He was a good-hearted man. His mother, my grandmother, died when he was only ten years old and my father had to learn (all by himself) how to be happy. There hasn’t been a better self-taught person in history. My father gave off vitality, he radiated joy, his happiness was contagious. Jota singer (he sang jotas up to his last breath) a party animal, he was also a nice bloke, a man of his word. Generous, magnanimous, conciliatory and tons of fun, he found the meaning of life in his family, his good friends and in a good laugh.
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