Apologize, or I'm not talking!!

One thing I noticed: every time I write something on the topic decision-making child, I always get a dozen reviews, “here I was forced in my childhood, and I'm sorry.”

Vaughn and her husband own says, “that's not made me English in the childhood to do, I don't know.” He was forced to play violin, to which he doesn't, and also like all right.

And I always just passed by these comments, so just one of the options “in my death I ask to blame Klava K.”, the responsibility on the parents and all the usual.

And now I decided to think about it.

Here is an adult who was not forced to play violin. He didn't want, and not forced. He regrets.

Here is a child who doesn't want to engage in the violin. Here is a girl the age of, for example 8, and does not want. What this unwillingness?

Eighty one million nine hundred ninety seven thousand eight



©Niki Boon

There she stands at the piano, and the teacher makes an unpleasant face and she pronounces. And she wants to cry, and embarrassed, and she blushes to the roots of the hair, choked voice and is silent. Here's her fingertips on the strings. Crumpled, it hurts. Here is the shoulder, it's tired. Hand numb.

My mother, hang up, spoke with the teacher, angry, stranger, swears, this want not be. Here the sun outside the window, and shouts, and her friends swinging on swings, and she stands and saws. These monotonous, boring sounds. Here the rabbit is drawn, the secret of her since last night, waiting for her in the bedroom to paint and to whisper, but she can't.

Here notes, black bugs in the eyes, run away, heart heavy, she again does not remember – “why don't you remember, you forgot AGAIN?!” is the battle music breaks into the oncoming tears, and she silently curses and waiting for the end of the lesson. She doesn't want to play the violin.

She had to make. As it is, when make? What's it like?

May be on the spoon, the spoon with a nasty snotty cold cabbage from the soup, salty tears that choking, swallowing under the cry “come eat now!!”.

Can be on a concrete slab stoop-shouldered on the shoulders when you stand under the cry of “apologize, or I'm not speaking to you!!” knocks the breath, the shame with which squeeze out the hated “I won't”?

May be the ringing from the slammed door, choking on tears, in the heat of the eyes when they run into the room and beat his fists on the bed, sobbing and biting my pillow, only that would not give them pleasure, and then, broken and humbled, go and wash the damn floor, without which it will not be released to walk.

Can be on all the oaths to revenge, when deprived of birthday for lying about an f on a test? Can be all fancy like you died, and then they realized what a blind, deaf and dumb was not loved and did not understand, and you're like, dead and tragic, and only in dreams they suddenly said “Oh my God! that's my kid! what I'm doing!?”.

 

Forty one million six hundred eighty five thousand nine hundred twenty six



©Niki Boon



Time selectivity

Power view: a view is extremely dangerous!

 

 

And here is the remaining last child and did not want to play the violin. And here is this last remaining mom and makes. Cries. Accuses. Blackmails. Humiliates. Blames. Requires. Calls. Presses. Rapes.

And here is a modern adult remembers and regrets that as a child, im a child, not received. He has experienced humiliation, shame, rage, resentment. That it didn't break, didn't get raped. It was necessary, because there were more important things that child, a violin there, or English.

Because... the kid deserved it? was lazy, stupid bastard? did not understand his own happiness? didn't know what he wants? with him it was possible and necessary?

How is it that in the world there was a child, even far in the past, which can and should be? Like so that the adult believes him, so it was possible and necessary?

Who told you this? published  

     

Source: www.womanfrommars.com/thoughts-aloud/i-deserve-it/