A raw and brave text that calls things by their name. A 16-year-old boy enters the hospital room where his father is in a coma, surrounded by machines keeping him alive. The boy knows he has to say goodbye and that this is the last chance to confess everything he has never told him: his true identity, and the fear and shame he has always felt in front of this man who is now fading away. Jo era un noi is a book about grief. The narrator addresses his father and, at the same time, explains to himself everything he kept silent about during childhood and adolescence. It is a journey of inquiry through scenes from his life that explores family archaeology: the grandfather’s emigration from Galicia to the Zona Franca neighborhood in the 1950s, the SEAT factory, an apartment sick with aluminosis, until he comes to understand his identity and sexuality. A story that names, without euphemisms, love, hate, class, desire, and fear, and that breaks the chain of a suffocating and oppressive masculinity that connects the grandfather and the father, the father and the son.