Nonno Pippo

This is my grandfather. Nonno Pippo. I don't know much of him, he died when I was eight. They told me he was the only one, from my father's family, who really loved me; I am his heir, I carry his name - the last one in my family. I don't know what kind of person he was, what he liked, and what he did with his life. I can only remember some trips we did in his Mercedes convertible, the two of us, up to Zafferana, to eat some special stuff they made over there. How much am I carrying of his personality? How much of my "unique features" are due to his blood? What is his influence on my choices?

Yesterday for instance I chose to lie. Lying is a difficult business; it takes presence of spirit, a poker face, and consistency over time. We have to be very careful on what we choose to lie on, for there are only few opportunities for a good lie; and to lie is very tiring, because when we lie we feel guilty about it. Feeling guilty is good, it means that we care; it means we realized we should not have lied, or that we deplore the fact we have done it. Feeling guilty about lying is expiation, it is making sure that next time we will choose better on our lies. To reveal the truth, afterwords, confessing the lie is a sign of weaknesses, is to admit we cannot stand the guilty feeling anymore, and to discharge the pain. We feel relieved, but someone else is carrying the pain for us; for there is no "Truth", in first instance, and when we proclaim it against our lie the only message we sent out is:" I lied to you".