Padre Nuestro:

Padre Nuestro:

Padre Nuestro:

Padre Nuestro (2005

Children come to a hospital to visit their dying father they haven't seen for 8 years. They try to recover their relationships before he dies. Children come to a hospital to visit their dying father they haven't seen for 8 years. They try to recover their relationships before he dies. Children come to a hospital to visit their dying father they haven't seen for 8 years. They try to recover their relationships before he dies. Knowing how poisoned her family was, he knew it was the wrong thing to do. Her father was an hechizero, one of those healers gone bad who got back at people by cursing them with powders, oils, and candles. Still, our uncle walked over to the table of girls, watched how they got quieter the closer he got. He liked it too much how they all looked at him, like he was the best-looking Mexican they had ever seen. We wish he had just kept walking, just happy knowing he was the chingón that he was, but we know how it is being an Izquierdo man. He could not resist those girls, or the way Iraís gave him the eyes. We cannot judge him for not moving on, because how many of us have let a woman leave her barbs in our hearts just because she was pretty and she looked at us the right way? (Source: imagejournal.org)

We had watched him the whole time while he sat in the pew at Ceballos Funeral Home. Tío sat there, and his eyes looked tired, yes, but dry. Our other uncles had wet eyes, each of them crying, and some openly weeping like To Macario. We boys looked to Tío Gonzalo, our oldest uncle, for one drop, something to tell us it was okay for us to cry too. Some of us wanted to find a reason not to be ashamed of our own fathers. He gave us nothing, and we tried our best to have the same dry face as Tío Gonzalo.

Padre Guest

ON THE NIGHT of our grandfather Papa Tavo’s death, Tío Gonzalo was watching the midnight replay of that week’s Lucha Libre, the only kind of wrestling he would watch. Like she did on so many other Saturday nights, our Tía Victoria had gone to bed early because even though the wrestlers were entertaining with their acrobatics, colorful costumes, and wrestling máscaras, it was still just wrestling. At least they don’t show women with their nalgas hanging out like they do with the gringo wrestling, she’d often say. Victoria, La Hallelujah who wore clothes almost as hoochie as anything you could see on American wrestling, had no place to say such a thing. Sometimes our young tía showed as much skin as those girls on the dance show ¡Caliente! On Saturday afternoons, Abuela would go outside by the fence to water her plants and talk to Señora Ramirez, and we would change the channel to watch the girls dancing in bikinis and booty shorts. We would take turns being the spotter, hiding behind the curtains and the huge aloe vera plant, calling it whenever Abuela turned off the manguera. Victoria was the kind of woman who wore short shorts, tube tops and flip-flop sandals that made us all stare at her legs and pretty painted toes, even though she was our aunt. Victoria was many things: a hypocrite Protestante who never said the rosary, a shameless flirt, and a bien buena sin vergüenza mamasota, though none of us would openly admit this because she was our aunt after all. She was all of these at the same time, a contradiction, but she was also a good mother to our cousin, Little Gonzalo, and a good wife to our tío. On this night, the night our grandfather Papa Tavo finally died after all of his illnesses, Victoria was about to prove that despite everything else, she was a woman any one of us would have been proud to call our mother or wife, a woman we would defend from any chisme or judgment or violence. (Source: imagejournal.org)

The motion picture was well directed by Francisco Regueiro. Francisco Regueiro was born in 1934 in Valladolid, Castilla y León, Spain. He is a writer and director, known for Padre nuestro (1985), Madregilda (1993) and El buen amor (1963). He belonged to New Spanish Cinema with El buen Amor¨(63) , and Amador¨(65) that was strongly censored . The great producer Elias Querejeta produced him some films as ¨Si Volvemos a Vernos¨ - Smashing up- and ¨Carta de amor de un asesino¨.After that , he made documentary , televisión drama as ¨Cuentos y Leyendas : La niña que se convirtió en rata¨. later on , he made the flop ¨Me envenenó de azules¨. Shortly after , producer José Frade financed him ¨Duerme , duerme mi amor¨and ¨Las Bodas de Blanca¨, but both of them failed at the boxoffice . Then , he leaves the filmmaking for painting during 10 years . Although , thanks to Law Pilar Miro returs direction with this trilogy . (Source: www.imdb.com)

Gonzalo—who had not been to Saint Joseph’s since he was a young man living at our grandparents’ home on Ithaca Avenue, who never showed up on time for the rosary at Christmas or seemed to care when his brother Tío Cirilo said grace over the meals we all ate together—cleared his throat and crossed himself. In a tired voice no one has ever heard since, Gonzalo said, Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo, santificado sea tu nombre. He breathed in deep to finish the Padre Nuestro. Gonzalo spoke again, and his mother and little son repeated his exact words without hesitation. (Source: imagejournal.org)


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