My comprehension of being Brazilian was made possible as part of the Finardi family. My friend Jose and wife Odete had three marvelous children Paulo, Alessandra, and Pascoal aged eight, six and four. All part of a second-generation middle class. I will try to put my thoughts together in the classes at another time.
For a long holiday weekend, we drove a great distance to visit Odete’s brother’s Fazenda. His ‘farm’ was that of silkworms. New to the trade, he had done his homework but it seemed more of a gentlemen’s indulgence. None the less, our host was a stellar member of this remote metropolis and life for his family was good. Our Saturday afternoon was atypical nibbling on shavings of copin and sipping caipirinhas. As evening came the late teen son and daughter asked if I would like to do the town. Racing through the streets in papa’s car, we landed at a swank disco and mingled with a half a dozen friends. Well past midnight our group ended up lounging in the den of another’s home. The nine or ten ‘beautiful people’ had good fun as the conversation bounced from their novel players – one black, one gay, and me. Early Sunday Jose and brother-in-law were conversing too fast in Portuguese for me to understand but I picked up on the need for a new maid. There were many fond farewells at our noon departure. Several kilometers down the road, we took a side road. Finardi explained that we were to pick up a new servant for his home in Sao Paulo. His current housekeeper was getting too old so a new girl could learn from her. We came to a clearing where a woman and young girl were clinging to each other. Finardi got out, handed the woman an envelope, opened the rear door of the car, and the kids and I made room for our new passenger. By this time the two were crying and the mother pushed her daughter into the car. Then she let go of her hand and we drove away – well it had all the emotion from a scene in Dr. Zhivago, I could only observe. The mother could not afford all her children. In this way, the justification was the girl could work for her room and board at the Finardi’s and they would see she got an education in the city. The commodity of humans has always existed among us in varying degrees.
For a long holiday weekend, we drove a great distance to visit Odete’s brother’s Fazenda. His ‘farm’ was that of silkworms. New to the trade, he had done his homework but it seemed more of a gentlemen’s indulgence. None the less, our host was a stellar member of this remote metropolis and life for his family was good. Our Saturday afternoon was atypical nibbling on shavings of copin and sipping caipirinhas. As evening came the late teen son and daughter asked if I would like to do the town. Racing through the streets in papa’s car, we landed at a swank disco and mingled with a half a dozen friends. Well past midnight our group ended up lounging in the den of another’s home. The nine or ten ‘beautiful people’ had good fun as the conversation bounced from their novel players – one black, one gay, and me. Early Sunday Jose and brother-in-law were conversing too fast in Portuguese for me to understand but I picked up on the need for a new maid. There were many fond farewells at our noon departure. Several kilometers down the road, we took a side road. Finardi explained that we were to pick up a new servant for his home in Sao Paulo. His current housekeeper was getting too old so a new girl could learn from her. We came to a clearing where a woman and young girl were clinging to each other. Finardi got out, handed the woman an envelope, opened the rear door of the car, and the kids and I made room for our new passenger. By this time the two were crying and the mother pushed her daughter into the car. Then she let go of her hand and we drove away – well it had all the emotion from a scene in Dr. Zhivago, I could only observe. The mother could not afford all her children. In this way, the justification was the girl could work for her room and board at the Finardi’s and they would see she got an education in the city. The commodity of humans has always existed among us in varying degrees.
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