Samurai and Oedipus: Family History Bashny.Net

This story began very banal. My colleague called, crumbled in on-duty questions about life, and at the end of the conversation asked me to "see the boy." I refused because I don’t work with children. But my colleague reassured me – the “boy” was over 20 years old, and everything seems to be fine with him, and he wanted to get to a psychologist himself, but his father is very concerned about one delicate issue. The colleague crumpled and said that the father is very worried - is his son gay?

I was surprised. I reminded my colleague about professional ethics and that the boy is 20 years old. And that even if I knew anything, it would stay between us. But the colleague immediately apologized and said that he understood everything. The main thing is that I agree to at least one consultation, perhaps two hours. “The boy” he knows since childhood, is the son of his close friend, and it is very important that he can talk to an outsider about what is bothering him.

I confess that I did not immediately give an answer - it was about two months, during which I was traveling and did not have the opportunity to accept a new client. But the colleague was persistent and I found a hole in the schedule and still agreed. The boy called, introduced himself – Anton, and we agreed to meet.



After all the preliminary discussions, we finally met. He rang the doorbell, I opened it and stunned.

Someone from another reality stood on the doorstep. It was -20 outside and the young man was wearing a black leather jacket with sleeves up to the elbow, wide dark pants and heavy black boots. Like a tape of ammunition, his chest was crossed by straps from two bags. "Can I?" he asked, smiling openly, and I, holding off on "Oooh!" and let him into the room.

He took off his shoes, and when I saw him from the back, there was another surprise waiting for me – a tail to the waist, assembled in a hairstyle like a samurai. He stood up again and I looked at him again. Tall – above 190 cm, handsome, with obviously dyed black hair and shaved forehead, in strange clothes – he gave the impression of a calm and stable person. And the voice - low, masculine, thick - did not get in touch with the word "boy."

We went to the office, sat down. I waited a while. Anton looked at me calmly. I introduced myself again, asked if he had ever been to a psychologist or therapist. "No," Anton replied. I briefly explained to him what the essence of the work ahead was and suggested that Anton tell me what had brought him to me.

"I can't find myself.," the young man simply replied.

I asked for more details.

The story was ordinary. School, good performance in junior grades, loss of interest in studying in seniors, finding yourself over the past 5 years. Attempts to enter the university - twice failed, now studying at not the most prestigious institute in a creative specialty, but I am not sure that this is his. He presented the facts and looked at me questioningly.

Why did you decide to go to a psychologist now? Did something happen?

“It’s been going on for years,” Anton said. I don't know what I want, if I'm going there. I don’t have and haven’t had a girlfriend.

At this point, I almost choked, although from a conversation with a colleague suggested some difficulties in this area of relations. Beautiful, with relief muscles, with powerful energy - despite the strange outfit, Anton looked very attractive. He did not seem to be a person who has problems in his personal relationships. So I started a careful questioning.

Anton was happy to talk about himself. He is 20, father and mother married, sister 5 years old. It pays, it doesn't work. The mother gives the money for therapy.

When I asked questions about “social” and began to delve deeper, I was pleasantly struck by the way he spoke about himself and others. In the way he analyzed reality, in the very structure of speech, in the character of the description of ordinary things, the depth and some age-inappropriate wisdom were striking. He twice entered journalism and directorship in Moscow, but both times failed. The current study in the first year seems boring and a waste of time. Teachers do not excite interest, lectures are boring, classmates live their lives.

- What are you doing? - I asked Anton.

He thought for a moment and replied, I live with dreams and hopes.

He said that he reads a lot: “The Way of the Warrior” – bushido (that’s where the unusual appearance), Nietzsche, Begbeder and Marx, Freud and Jung, Kierkegaard and Pratchet ... “He reads a lot,” I thought with some envy. He plays sports for 2 hours every day! He writes short stories. He plays keyboard instruments and composes music.

I had the impression that I was seeing the proverbial “all-round harmonious man.” And this man was lonely - he had, in his own words, no Way and no Girl.

I confess I was intrigued and fascinated. After 45 minutes of our meeting, I asked him if he wanted to continue our work.

"Of course, yes," Anton replied.

I announced the main terms of the contract and arranged for 5 meetings to understand how I can be useful to him. That ended our meeting.

At the second meeting he came in the same clothes. Thank God it's only -7, I thought. Like the first time, he did not remove his strange outfit – leather on top, fur on the inside – took off his shoes and walked into the office.

Anton was very contact, lively, willing to answer all questions. The main topic was the lack of interest in learning. He said that within a week 2 times went to the university, where he simply has a feeling of deep longing.

Why do you study where you don’t like it? And then He appeared.

“Because the parent decided so,” said Anton. At that moment, his face became petrified.

He paused and added:

Everything is decided by the parent...

I admit, it seemed strange to me that the father was called "parent." I asked why Anton called him that.

This is an allusion to Taras Bulba – I begot you, I will kill you.

And then there was the whole war theme. Anton used a lot of aggressive, combative metaphors. We talked throughout the session about how many of his desires were chopped down by his own father. Having a military education, his father went into business, but built his own family in the image of an army barracks. For as long as I remember, Anton lived by the rules. He would get up and lie down when Dad spoke. He went to pioneer camps that he hated because that's what Dad decided. He studied at a mathematical gymnasium, although he was a humanitarian - because his father wanted to.

He talked about all this calmly, without emotions, all with the same frozen, petrified face.

Are you angry with your father? he asked.

"No," Anton replied. And then he said, I hate him.

I was confused. For me, hate is a deaf, intense experience, socially disapproved and therefore usually represented in a “reduced” modality of anger and irritation. Apparently, noticing that I hesitated, Anton continued:

He always did everything as he saw fit. And now I don't know if I want what I want, because I do almost everything under his pressure or with his help.

“Why don’t you try to do what you want?” she asked.

Because I don’t have enough resources. I am dependent on his money, Anton said calmly again.

- Have you tried? - I didn't give up.

"Yes, many times," Anton replied.

And then he told me how he rebelled against his father as a teenager. But all attempts at free-thinking – not to mention freedom of action – were severely punished. This continued until Anton's 16th birthday. At 13, he started practicing Thai boxing, and by 16 he was taller than his parent. And after that - Anton suddenly hesitated and blushed - his father did not raise his hand on him.

- What's wrong with you? - You're blushing and like you're gone.

- Nothing. It's just unpleasant to remember, Anton replied.

I have a feeling that something is wrong here. However, Anton’s subsequent story opened up a number of such details that I decided that the guy must be ashamed to say such things.

Until the age of 16, his father punished him physically. At the slightest insubordination, he led him into his office, ordered his pants and underwear to be lowered to his knees, and always struck him three times with a belt with a buckle. After that, for several days, Anton hardly sat. However, after starting to practice Thai boxing, Anton was able to resist punishment.

I just told him once that I wouldn’t go to the office. He immediately fell into a rage and dragged me, I automatically replied. There was a fight. He probably would have killed me, but fortunately my mother intervened. And then the father said, “Train him now yourself, and left, slamming the door.”


Did your mother know he had hit you before?

Nope. My father always said be a man. Guilty - bear the punishment with dignity.

The more I listened, the less I understood.

- So mom didn't notice anything? You had no idea?

Anton was thinking.

- I think I guess I guess. As a child, he hit me several times in front of her. And when I was about 7 or 8 years old, he hit me in the face so that my nose started bleeding. And then they had a serious argument. At home, no one ever shouts – we are a decent family – Anton grinned. But I heard my mom say she was picking me up and going to my parents. After that, my father held on for a while, and then began to take me to the office for “male conversations.”

Why didn’t you tell your mother anything?

"Because I love her very much," Anton calmly replied. And his face at that moment changed, became more tender.

Time was over, Anton was gone, and I went back to his story several times. My counter-transferential reactions were strong - anger towards my father and bewilderment - how could my mother not notice?

Our third meeting took place a week later. Anton began by having ideas about an important direction in his life. He said that once, when he did not enter the first time, he wanted to go to Europe as a “Bremen musician”. His friend gathered a small team, and on a minibus they traveled to different resort places of the Old World. Anton needed a visa, but his father forbade his grandmothers and mother to give him money and told him to earn it. You. It seems that this was a punishment for failing exams, although entering GITIS was a pure gamble.

And the parent arranged for Anton to join his friend as a bartender. Anton worked for a month and in the end received on hands about $ 50. He didn’t collect tips – he thought there was no need, so he bought a guitar with them. When he went to his father, he said, What did you think? It's business, boy. The salary must be negotiated in advance. He didn't give him 60 euros for a visa.

When Anton talked about it, tears flashed in his eyes for the first time.

I asked him why he was more affected by this situation than even the fact that his father beat him regularly.

- Because he couldn't contain himself there. And here I needed his help. He manipulated me and I couldn't leave with my friends. My life could have been different, but my parent taught me a lesson: you’re nobody, you can’t even negotiate.

Anton suddenly covered my face with his hands. His shoulders shuddered, and I had a pangling desire to sit next to him, to hug him. But I knew that I was still in the maternal position, because my son is almost the same age. I waited until Anton opened his face, and I said my sympathy. It seems that this situation has hurt him deeply.

After that, I was depressed.

- Did you go to the doctor?

No, I know how to read, Anton joked and lowered his eyes. I don't think the pills would have helped me, but I'm covered. In a way that I thought...

He fell silent, and that was the silence that could be cut with a knife. I waited.

- I was thinking about suicide.

He said those words and looked up at me.

- Did your family not notice that?

- No parent. I felt like I didn’t exist for him. My mother saw and felt. She pulled me out. Every night I put my sister to bed and came to see me. She talked until midnight, patted her head, told fairy tales and funny stories. She had a hard time – her sister was about three years old. I was awake for three or four months.

- What do you think you are so "striking"? - I asked.

Anton was silent. There was a shadow on his face...

I don’t think my father needs me. Didn't live up to his expectations. And that he does not consider me a man, so, boy.

At that moment, I thought that even the cruelest, most unhealthy, craziest parents somehow evoke in their children a single desire to be loved.

And at the same time, the energy from our dialogue went somewhere. I don't know what happened. I asked Anton if he felt that our communication had changed. He said he noticed it. But my questions about what happened at that moment ran into a blank wall.

The session was over and I was left thinking.

The fourth meeting began with Anton being 10 minutes late. Out of breath, he entered and began to tell from the doorstep - he went to an interview. The guys are forming a boy band, a band of only men, and it seems they will take it. He was glowing and rejoicing, and it was very nice to watch him, such a joyful, twenty-year-old boy, and not the man in his 70s he sometimes seemed.

And then I finally decided to ask the question that I was interested in from the beginning: What does Anton want to say with his clothes? It was appropriate because before that I was wondering how he was perceived in the interview.

Anton thought and smiled again.

I’ve been asked a hundred times about my clothes, but never once.

I just noticed that you wear this jacket all the time?

- It's kind of haori. The samurai's outerwear... Of course, it’s just leather with a fur lining – a friend sewed, she is studying clothes designer.

- And you warm in it in minus twenty? - I could not resist curiosity.

- Yeah, there's fur. Minka.

I was surprised. Realizing that the father controls financial flows and largely refuses the son on principle, I did not understand how he gave money for such an expensive and strange-looking pleasure.

Anton, as if reading my thoughts, replied:

- My mother gave me fur. After the birth of her sister, she recovered, and her parent gave her a new mink coat in this honor. So she gave me an old coat when she found out I wanted to make a haori. My mother is fantastic, he added, and his eyes shone.

And then I realized. “Mother is the image of the world, father is the mode of action.” Problems of choice, search for the Way are problems associated with the father, a man who decides everything for everyone, who did not give his son the opportunity to grow - and now he is forced to watch him without the opportunity to change anything. All he has to do is control the flow of money.

Anton doesn't have a girl because she has a fantastic mother. Loved, idealized, sensitive, at the same time for many years did not notice that her husband abused her son.

Having experienced the momentary joy of conceptualizing the problem, I took a close look at Anton. So I decided to hold off on my interpretations, so I'd better listen to where he's going.

Anton talked about clothes for a few minutes. He understands how people perceive him. Many people look at him, especially on the subway, so he tries to walk as much as possible. And that he has been wearing these clothes for two years - since he came out of depression and a friend sewed him haori.

Do you think that the fact that you wear fur, given by your mother, so close to your body, has some special meaning for you?

Anton laughed.

“Now you will tell me about the Oedipus complex,” he said, smiling. Apparently, a shadow of confusion flashed over my face because he was having fun.

- Really?

I didn't deny it.

- Yes, I have an assumption that the difficulties with finding a girl are due to the fact that you do not want to betray your mother. She has done so much for you and you really love her.

Anton looked me in the eye, as if weighing something.

- Yeah, I love my mom. It has nothing to do with not having a girlfriend.

He said it in a very detached and serious way.

- Then what does it have to do with it? How do you explain that to yourself?

At that moment the alarm went off – our time was over. Anton seemed happy to accept the end of the session, quickly jumped up, put his shoes on and, saying goodbye, left.

Our next session was the last of the five we agreed to.

Anton came on time and was sad. I reminded you that this is our last meeting of those we agreed to, and that at the end we will decide whether to continue or stop.

Anton said he was recruited. That now he sleeps less because it is important for him to have time to do all the things he loves - sports, training in Thai boxing, books. That it goes into rhythm because rehearsals 3 times a week. That the words of his song liked the leader.

He talked, talked, talked. The words were like a veil. I didn’t feel connected to Anton, but my attempts to stop him and talk about what happened last time, his request, his stories came across a polite “yes, but now I want to share with you.”

Finally, noticing that the end was less than 10 minutes away, I said:

Anton, what you say is very interesting, but I get the impression that you are running away from something. The topics that we touched upon with you - relations with your father, mother, girls - today do not sound at all. I’ll ask you one question – what do you not want to talk about today?

I didn’t even notice that I switched to “You” – it seems that the distance between us did not automatically “switch” me to another modality.

Anton's gone. His face reflected a struggle. It was evident that he was making an effort on himself. It seemed to me that for a moment the door would open and he would let me in again.

But no. Like the grinding of a drawbridge, a polite “All is well” rang out, a few more meaningless phrases – and the session ended. And as if anticipating questions on my part, Anton hurriedly said:

Thank you, Natalia, you have helped me a lot. I'll call you again if you'll excuse me.

And he disappeared. I kept thinking about him for a while. I felt like I had missed something important. Didn't notice, didn't pay attention... I was sorry that I didn’t feel like we were going anywhere. And I began to write the story of our short-term and not-so-impressive therapy, seemingly to end the relationship.

And after writing most of what you have already read, I suddenly began to think that Anton had so much trouble getting to me – and left so quickly that this in itself seems a symptom. Who did he want to leave? What did he run from? I didn’t know the answers to these questions, and I don’t think I had a chance to know them.

Summer came, couples ran out at university, clients went on vacation. The next day I was going off to the intensive and packing my suitcase. And suddenly there was a call. Anton called. He asked for a meeting.

A whirlwind flashed the thought "inconvenient," about the rules and our "wrong" ending. All I said was that I was leaving tomorrow morning and the only way I could meet you today.

I packed up. I was waiting for the meeting, and anxiety and curiosity overwhelmed me.

And finally, the time has come - he has come. Everything is the same - only dressed in an ordinary black shirt, in ordinary jeans and sneakers. Shaven hair on the forehead of the industry, he combed it in the tail. He took off his shoes and sat down.

I stared at him silently. He's on me.

A few seconds passed, which seemed like an eternity to me, and he said,

- I came to say goodbye. I made a map of the Pole and soon I am going to study in Poland.

I didn't know what to say. And out of automatic habit, of course, I asked:

- What do you want to tell me today?

Anton lowered his eyes. As he looked at the floor, his face changed—as if from where I was sitting, from a man’s face, it became the face of a lost boy who didn’t know what to do. I waited.

- I want to tell you... To ask you... In general... I don’t know how to approach this...

Anton fell silent again. I didn't rush him.

Then, as if determined, he said:

- I need to tell you everything.

And he did.

Remember when you asked me about depression? And why am I so blinded?

- Yeah, I remember.

- It wasn't about the money. It was much worse.

You said you were thinking about suicide.

-Yes.

The pause, capacious and deep, hung like a fog.

- I'm listening. Try to tell me everything you think is necessary.

- It's hard for me to talk about it. Remember when I told you my father stopped hitting me? It wasn’t because I grew up.

He stopped talking again.

It happened when he tried to beat me up again. I told him I knew his little secret. That he... He constantly visits porn sites.

He was still a little silent, and looking me straight in the eye, he said firmly:

- Gay porn sites.

I was confused. A colleague who called me was concerned about his father’s concerns about his son’s sexual orientation. An unexpected reversal of history.

And as I got older, I realized that when he hits me, he gets excited. He started breathing hard, and making me bare my back...

- Pop, - I mechanically corrected.

- Yes, exactly! - Suddenly he shouted desperately. - It's a butt! He sat down for a few minutes and whispered... As a child, it was scary... I waited for these three strikes, and I always thought that it was my fault, that it was bad, that I got for the job. But when I realized everything, it also became disgusting. And when I said no and told him I knew his secret, he went wild. He was ready to kill me... My mom is so glad she was home.

- How did you handle it?

- Not good. I couldn’t sleep, I had nightmares. And then it got worse. My neighbor — he and I were in the same school, a year younger — once told me that my father... I can't say...

And then he cried... I was confused at first. But after a moment, ignoring all the rules and brushing off the specter of professional conscience, he sat next to him and took his hand.

I'm here, I'm listening, all I could say at that moment. I didn’t notice how I moved to a closer “thou.”

- My neighbor is blue. And he said he had it... Was with my dad... It was at a time when my father sent me to work for a friend and wouldn’t let me go abroad.

My heart was turning. The whole picture I was building up until then was not what I thought.

Wiping away tears, Anton turned his head to me and said:

- I couldn't choose the Way. Because I was afraid for my mother, for my sister. Because I was ashamed.

Again, silent, he said quietly:

- And I was afraid to date girls. I thought, what if I was like my father?

I confess I was confused... Everything came down on me like an avalanche. All my assumptions were in the milk: the competition with my father for my mother, and the choice of Thai boxing as a semblance of my father’s military choice. I suddenly felt how badly Anton was injured. And he was willing to trust me. His hand was in my hand.

We only had one, this meeting. Just here-and-now. And it didn't last an hour, but more.

Resentment and pain were spoken. Hate was marked - and a strong desire for his father to notice it. There was shame for such a father and sympathy for him.

And there were girls who interested Anton, who he liked, excited, awakened the imagination. From our conversation it became clear that Anton everything is in order – with nuclear sex, gender identity, and with the choice of a sexual object. And finally the words were said: I am not like my father. I am heterosexual...

And yet there was pain and resentment. And bewilderment - what to do? To tell a mother the truth about her father is to kill her father in her eyes. Don’t talk – doom Anton to what he is going through alone for several years. Difficult choice, flavored with hatred, sadness, guilt.

I asked him what stories come to mind when he tries to find a way out. Anton, smiling uneasily, suddenly replied:

- The story of Oedipus. When I was looking for a psychologist, I read Freud and his ideas about the Oedipal stage of development. I was wondering if I was competing for my mother.

What in the story of Oedipus is like yours?

Anton thought...

Father Oedipus was considered a king, but he was in fact a poorly educated and arrogant old man who needed to be taught a lesson.

And?

- And Oedipus taught him.

Do you remember what happened next?

- Yeah, it's a bad story. Oedipus took care of his mother, married her.

- And then?

Upon learning the truth, her mother committed suicide, and Oedipus blinded himself.

What are your worries about this story?

- Anger... Disgust...

What do you think about “teaching your father a lesson?”

I don't know. I really don't know what to do.

I didn't know either. Something from Anton's story was clearly true. Maybe he was seeing something in a distorted light. Yes, his father is bisexual. And he knows that. His father seems to be a psychopath. But it is difficult to judge whether he was aroused when he beat Anton or angry. It's hard to understand how my mother didn't see it. The idealization of the mother and the depreciation of the father, the presentation of him as a child of hell, will not bring peace to Anton’s soul.

I was confused. I asked again:

- Are you ready to be Oedipus? Are you ready to ruin your life, your mother's and father's?

- I don't know. I'm not Oedipus.

- Who are you?

Me? I... Anton thought about it and after a long pause said: I am a samurai!

It was the strangest answer and the most extraordinary identity I've ever met.

What would a samurai, who had been brutally raised by his father, do if he knew everything you learned?

It seems that my question took Anton by surprise. He paused and then replied deafly:

A samurai respects his father no matter what he does. And a samurai would follow a code of honor.

And suddenly, with his head clenched, he moaned:

- I can't do this anymore.

I was still sitting next to him, but I didn't hold his hand anymore. I knew that Anton was traumatized, that he was all made up of pieces, that he was sewing and sewing, and I didn’t know where to start, but I didn’t have the time or the magic needle. Is Dad Gay? Paedophile? Psychopath? Mom's a victim, an accomplice? The fact that I will now describe to him a picture of his life, analyze the relationship with his mother and father, is of little use. It's a long, painstaking job. I knew that time was coming to an end.

Anton, I said inquiringly.

- Yes?

Are you ready to take part in one action? I didn’t notice how I moved to “you.”

- Yeah.

- Then close your eyes... I will offer you to become a film director and cameraman. This movie is about you. We will try to watch it on the accelerated rewind and then decide what to do.

I ask you to introduce your parents to the young. Imagine that they met, met, met... And they loved each other... And as a result of this love, you were born... Imagine how parents look at you, a small child, with pride and love.

Now imagine they are standing in front of you. In your movie, every minute is a few years. You've grown up. Here you are three years old. Your parents are still looking at you. Here's six for you. They notice how fast you grow and keep looking at you with love. Here's 9 ... 12 ... 15 ... 18. You are standing in front of them as you are now. They still look at you with love. Step up to your father, look at him, and tell him how angry you are.

At this point, Anton's face was distorted as if from severe pain. The gums came in, he began to breathe more... I waited a while and said softly:

Tell him, you are still my father. And thank him for that.

It was obvious how difficult it was for Anton. I waited again, and I said,

- Now come to your mother. Tell her whatever you think is right... Now tell me, you're still my mother. And thank her for that.

When Anton's face became calm, I asked:

Now step away from them... One more step... One more step... Look at your parents, they gave you life. They raised you... They did a lot of different things, both good and bad. But they made their choice to be together... And you're just their son. Tell them one sentence: “I am an adult” and look at them. Say, “Thank you for everything,” and look at them. Say to them: Be kind to me when I leave you. Look at me with love. I am your son.

Now turn around. You have your life ahead of you. Your Way... Your Girlfriend... And you can follow that path, or you can look around all the time, but then you will miss something important. Listen to yourself... Are you ready to go your own way? And when you get the answer, open your eyes.

After a minute, which seemed like an eternity, Anton opened his eyes. And then he said, with anxiety,

- Did you hypnotize me?

- Oh, come on, I reassured Anton. - I have no idea how it's done.

I moved from the couch to my chair and looked at Anton.

- How are you?

Anton smiled.

"Amazingly calm," he replied. While I was pretending to be little, I suddenly remembered that my father took me everywhere.

I noticed it was the first time he called him Dad, not a parent.

- He took me sledging to kindergarten. And I bought some candy for which my mother scolded him. And every summer we went to the sea. And he taught me how to swim...

Anton was thinking.

It was as if I had forgotten all this and now I remember it.

- Yeah, that's true. Your relationship with your father was different, and it's good if you remember that.

I want to share that I have never seen my parents together. I did, but it was the first time I thought they were... Well, that they're husband and wife... Lately, I've forgotten all about it.

You seem to have learned too much lately that you shouldn’t have known. It is good when the parents bedroom doors are securely closed and guard their secrets.

"But I know," said Anton, and his face became stiff again.

- Yes, I agreed. You know. But you can wave that knowledge like a flag. You can put it in a distant memory chest. You can remember the good and the different.

Time was long over, and we talked. Then even the time that ended after it was all over.

And I finally said,

- We should stop now.

Anton smiled.

- Yeah, really. I've already delayed you.

- When are you leaving?

- Early August. We need to rent an apartment, solve a sea of questions. Can I call you on Skype sometimes?

- If I have to, yes. I don't really like this kind of work, though. So the question is, can I use your story?

How?

- lecturing as an example. And as a description of the case, I have already written a piece...

Anton thought.

- I'm very recognizable. But in principle, I don't mind. Just send me a read and I’ll send you my email.

- Send where?

On Facebook, Vkontakte, you are everywhere. I first found you on the Internet, and then asked your parents to find friends to contact you.

- Why didn't he turn himself?

Because I called myself and you turned me down.

"God, all the mystery and intrigue," I thought. But it didn't matter anymore.

And he put on his shoes. I made a move. And then he turned around and said,

- Can I give you a hug?

I nodded. And he hugged me—a little child, a man, a son. And he whispered softly:

- Thank you.

A month later, I finished the text. And in the fall, he sent me his mailing address. I sent him a letter, he read it and didn't reply for a long time. And then he answered. The letter was long - about what he thought, how painful his thoughts were, about his anxieties and fears, and when a miracle happened and it became easy for him. His letter was larger than my text. But it was a good thing; it gave me hope.

In the end, he said he had come to terms with what had happened. And that he seldom thinks of his father. He's about to have a session and his first vacation. He had only been home once and everything was calm.

The most important thing he wanted to share was that he had a girlfriend. Like him, he is studying in Poland. And he's fine with her.





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I've read it several times. I confess that in some places my eyes were moistened. But the feeling of joy and relief did not leave me.

I put an end to this story. Anton doesn't call me. In my memory, he will remain a courageous samurai with a small child hiding inside. I wish him happiness and acceptance of all that life has prepared for him.

And more and more, I think that our parents are the way they are. Sometimes they are very difficult to take. But without that, we have no chance of freeing ourselves to go on our Path, knowing that somewhere far away they are imperfect but still our only parents. Others are not and will not be ... published



Author: Natalia Olifirovic





Source: www.b17.ru/article/samurai_and_edip_family_story/