Among the most relevant personality traits of Commander Ernesto Che Guevara was the love that always professed for his family. Even in the most difficult circumstances, he never stopped communicating with his children and wife.
"Dear Hildita:
Today I am writing to you, although you will receive the letter quite a bit later, I want you to know that I remember you and I hope you are enjoying your birthday very happy. You are already a woman and you can't be written to like children, telling them nonsense and lies.”
Public men rarely have the luxury of devoting themselves fully to their families. Committed to a cause and absorbed by their responsibilities, they barely have time to see how their children grow or share with their wives. Che Guevara, however, always found space between his multiple occupations to dedicate to his own. Behind the image of a tough and inflexible leader, there was hidden a tender and generous person, possessing an affective capacity that he knew how to put to the test.
“The leaders of the Revolution have children who, in their first babbling, do not learn to name their father; women who must be part of the general sacrifice of their lives to bring the Revolution to its destiny; the frame of the friends responds strictly to the frame of the comrades of the Revolution. There is no life outside of it.”
Something that the guerrilla doctor particularly liked was playing and frolicking with his children when he came home, exhausted, from volunteer work. He threw himself on the ground with them; told them stories and taught them the principles in which he was educated in his native Argentina. His closest relatives can attest to those facets, to which he bequeathed an example that transcended beyond the peaks of the Sierra Maestra and then the Bolivian jungles.
“If a man thinks that, to dedicate his entire life to the Revolution, he cannot distract his mind by worrying that a son lacks a certain product, or children's shoes are broken, that his family lacks a certain necessary good, under this reasoning he allows the germs of future corruption to infiltrate.”
He felt veneration for his parents since he was born in Rosario, Argentina. They traveled to Havana as soon as the Rebel Army consolidated its victory. At the foot of the plane's steps, they were received by his son, a guerrilla commander. Doña Celia and Don Ernesto knew that he did not belong to them. They were aware that history reserved glorious commissions for him as indeed it was.
"Dear Mom and Dad:
I have loved you very much, only I have not been able to express my affection. I am extremely rigid in my actions, and I think sometimes you did not understand me. Now, a will that I have polished with an artist's delight will support flabby legs and tired lungs. I will do it. Remember from time to time this little 20th-century condottiere. I kiss Celia, Roberto, Juan Martín, and Patotín, Beatriz, everyone. A big hug to you from a prodigal and recalcitrant son.”
A singular concept of affection for his loved ones made him tell Fidel, in a memorable letter.
“That I do not leave my children and my wife anything material and it does not make me sad: I am glad that it is so. That I do not ask for anything for them, because the State will give them enough to live and educate themselves.
