In real life, they would kick us out of the house for not paying the rent. My dad, Don Ramón, didn't act. He was just as he appeared on the show El Chavo del 8.
Also in real life, they would come, evict us, and there we were with our furniture on the street. And yes, we felt embarrassed... but my dad, instead of allowing us to see it as a tragedy, turned it into an adventure. He would say:
"What luck! Now we're going to Grandma's house, with her garden full of palm trees." He turned every difficult moment into a warm memory. That's how he was: he didn't have much, but he turned everything into love and laughter.
And yes, Don Ramón was my dad. He didn't disguise himself for the character. He was just like that. It's been almost 37 years since he passed away, but we don't miss him like one misses someone who's gone... because you just have to turn on the television to see him there, as always.
When we found out he had only six months left to live, we decided not to tell him anything. We didn't subject him to treatments. We wanted him to live his last days with the same dignity and joy that he always taught us to live with. And even in those last days, he kept making jokes.
His greatest lesson was simple and profound: laugh at your problems. Not because it's easy... but because it's the only way to survive them with your soul intact.
Esteban Valdés, son of Don Ramón, on how his father turned poverty into poetry… and life into an act of eternal comedy.