Sometimes I think that we will never become in the eyes of parents adults. What was, no matter what position he held, no matter how much they earn and not have to discipline people for moms and dads, we are still children with mittens on elastics: your favorite, expensive and stupid.
From my mother it is impossible to leave with empty hands they will be or jam, or a bag with beets and carrots, or seaming. Moreover, no matter how much I say that enough, mom will not be persuaded: surely starve. And she does not eat and her husband did not feed,
feed on the Holy spirit and not know that people can die from it, "there's a girl on TV lose weight-lose weight – so what? Refused all bodies!" – "Mom, I don't lose weight" "Not losing weight she is! Some eyes!" And I can't hold back the smile – well, everything is exactly as in childhood: "...seeing in the rear view mirror a single pimple in his nose, due to the lack of context and contrast to decide what you have rashes and skin cancer at the same time".
Parental love – she's always on the verge of lung suffocation
: then tenderness, then anger.
Perhaps there are families where mutual understanding between parents and children is absolute; I am no such. My brother has always been what is called, with the character – stubborn, independent, pathologically indifferent to the fact, "what people say". Therefore, parents in many aspects it was easier to put up with our quirks, than re. And now I realize that this is one of those things I'm especially grateful: for the ability if not to help, not hinder.
To make mistakes including.
Because the error is important
I was never close to his parents in the usual sense – when you come and tell us that care about who is offended about the dream. No, rather, designated by the dotted line of some key events and all
. If you know that she can handle it, – what for once again to strain? In General, we've always been a little on the distance, and for me it is (as I understand now) was the best option possible: it is easier to let go, go easy.Unbearably difficult to go back.
However, I can remember so many amazing in its warmth points that more than cover any emotional restraint and disengagement. So when dad went to pick me up at kindergarten, he always hid in the branches of the Bush Magic candy, which I found terribly happy. A new year's eve, we pulled in the home thread to Santa Claus tripped and spilled some more sweets. The trick worked – the next morning we scraped the candy out of Slippers, bed, from under the carpet: the unbearable sweetness of being, thanks, dad
(Since then, every year, the father still definitely gives me on New year's candy house. And now I, too, like and then act childishly simple: eat the first chocolate, the caramel, save it for later.)
Although I remember something else: how was the winter in the dark and was afraid – I was eight at the school that day telling about a maniac. But when I called home from the watch asking you to pick me up, mom saw this as a silly childish whim. Of course, no one came to see me off. Since then, I have never called and were not warned that I'll be late, if midnight had caught me somewhere in the city. Mom was offended and worried, and I felt no need, were not considered important
. But one very important lesson all the same made: when you are asking people – to do. To put everything aside, to step on the throat of his own song – but to do. Of course, such a big conclusion took shape into words much later, but now it's something from the category of rules of family life.
...And remember kids: "Mom, scratch my back
"? Mom only knew one lullaby, sung to her about some Svetlana and lunar glade, and not about Olga, but who cares if you scratch their back.
In childhood, generally very little is needed for happiness.
On this long, I guess.
To the back scratched...posted
Author: Olga Primachenko
See also: Veronica Tushnov. "Do not deny him, loving..."13 ways to love yourself, how do French women
P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©
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