Hay algo fundamental en esta historia de Ron Carlson, que es de paso uno de mis cuentos de navidad preferidos. Quizás porque el narrador tiene la edad de mi padre y la pequeña niña tiene mi edad. Quizás porque está jodidamente bien escrito:
I have thrown horse manure on our roof for four years now, and I plan to do it every Christmas Eve until my arm gives out. It satisfies me as a homeowner to do so, for the wonderful amber stain that is developing between the swamp cooler and the chimney and is visible all spring-summer-fall as you drive down the hill by our house, and for the way the two rosebushes by the gutterspout have raged into new and profound growth during the milder months. And as a father, it satisfies me as a ritual that keeps my family together.
La primera vez que la escuché –vía This American Life– entendí rápidamente que los rituales son –a veces– esas cosas obstinadas que mantienen a las familias unidas.
