1980. Baixo Leblon. Rio de Janeiro.
I'm Clarice Ramos, and I belong to the typical middle-class group in Rio. My entire life is already written and directed by my parents. I'm an only child, with only expectations.But to explain my story and help you get to know me a little better, you have to meet my parents.
My mom.
Miss Maria de Fátima Ramos. At 24 years old, she graduated and decided to become a teacher. That same year, she met my father, Augusto Gonçalves. They met on the street where they both lived, in a poor neighborhood in a city in Rio (but without the beautiful views and tourists) called Caxias. Everything was simple and modest until my dad received news about a house he inherited. My grandmother gave it to him, so they moved out.
My mom got pregnant. She never taught, because my father never let her have a job or a life of her own.
I swear, even after all this time, I've never seen her wear clothes that truly show her age. But I can't blame her. My mom was raised only by her mother, my grandmother, who held the very strict belief that a woman should live solely for her husband and children.
My dad.
Mister Augusto Gonçalves. A very conservative police officer who believes deeply that order and patriotism are the most important things in life. He had a difficult childhood with my grandfather, filled with violence and yelling. I think he learned from him because he behaves the same way. But, I have to say, his story could be a telenovela. His father was a wealthy doctor who chose to marry my grandmother, a very poor woman, and was therefore disowned by his family.
After that, over time, the only person my grandfather's mother felt any family love for was my dad, because she had decided to be a better mother before she passed away. As a gift, she left him a house. The house we live in today. The house next to Cazuza's.
Oh, I almost forgot, I should talk about me too. I'm 17 years old, I'm middle class, I'm in my senior year of high school, and my dad is pushing me to become a lawyer. But my destiny isn't really mine. At least, not yet.
YOU ARE READING
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