This investigation came at random and stuffed of souvenirs of infancy, time where we congregated in them: I, my brothers, friends and some times until adults, as parents and uncles, to mount an entire city, with stands of toy, building, streets, viaducts and done population of soldadinhos and indiozinhos, that came stuck in candies. The foundation of the entire city was the land of house 137 (deep), in the Street Toms Gonalves Gomide, main exit of the Industrial Park, in Campinas, for the Industrial Village. Today, the house nor exists, what it seems yielded place for a transporter or another enterprise any. Although it did not have skill of not infecting itself for nostalgia of the infancy times, what it inspired the text was to observe the streets less moving of vehicles and people in the eve of the Holiday of Independence. mation. The monday little had of those normal days of work, with streets and crowded buses, therefore it is almost certain that much people amended holiday he was in house resting or it travelled for deserved rest. When observing the few cars that if now lost in the immense streets and highways, I imagined the boy times when we placed the stands the bel pleasure in our imaginary cities. We constructed the traffic lights, the gas stations, the farms and the plantations, everything as it determined our infantile imagination and as it ordered the figurino. Planting trees, making cardboard schools and other building, constructing perfect and harmonic a world and surpresos and happy we were when until the father, without if mattering in having fond tired of the work, it changed of clothes and it came to help to construct that city dreamed for the children, its children and friends of its children.
At that moment, it left father packs and it also started to be child, sharing, dreaming and carrying through together with people. That penalty that at the time did not have advance of the digital camera so that everything was registered and kept for the posterity. Without wanting to commit heresy, when children and in our satiated imagination people are truily similar the God, creating rivers, forests, mountains and inhabiting our particular paradise with beings (soldadinhos and indiozinhos) of toy. Infancy passes to all we, arrives one more time for others and in one morning and ahead of the imensido of the world felt, me not as child, but perhaps as the beings of toy of our infancy being carefully placed in places due for a so great Creator that it makes of immense trucks, bus and cars its mere brinquedinhos; of buildings its ‘ ‘ predinhos of papelo’ ‘ in a simple blow of the life to its beings of toy, becoming them human.