Learn to pay attention to the little joys of life. Look how beautiful the world and the people in it are! Enjoy different tastes, sounds, the wind, and the sun. Adopt a fluffy pet, or try a new hobby. Fill your life with interesting things. Forget all the bad memories, and smile more. Find something that brings you happiness every day!
And I’ll say, “Honey, I simply tried to be attentive! I didn’t want to pressure you into anything! I could see that you had no interest in math. On the other hand, you clearly enjoyed playing with younger kids.“
To this he’ll reply, ”I didn’t know any better! I was a kid myself! I wasn’t in the position to decide anything. But you; You! You’ve ruined my entire life!" And he’ll wipe his lips with his dirty, trembling fist, smearing lipstick all over his face.
Then I’ll get to my feet, look him straight in the eyes and say, “Listen here, son. There are two types of people in this world: the ones who live their own lives and the ones who play the blame game. If you can’t understand this, then you’re an idiot.”
He’ll exclaim "Ah!" and faint on the spot. The subsequent psychological counseling will take about five years.
Or it might happen like this. Someday, when I have a son, I’ll try to do what everyone else does. From the age of three, I’ll start telling him over and over again, "Don’t be an idiot, think about the future. Do your math homework. You don’t want to spend your life as a call center operator."
And then, on his thirtieth birthday, he will come to me — this sweaty, balding programmer with deep wrinkles on his face — and say, "Mom! I’m thirty years old. I work at Google. I’m slogging it out at the office twenty hours a day. I have no family. What were you thinking, Mother, when you said that a good job will make me happy? What were you trying to accomplish when you forced me to study math?"
And I’ll say, “Honey, I simply wanted you to have a good education! I wanted to make sure that there were a full range of opportunities available to you.“
To this he’ll reply, ”What damned use are these opportunities to me, Mother, when I’m so miserable? I walk past the clowns at the mall and I envy them. They’re happy. I could have been in their place, you know. But you; You. You have ruined my entire life!" And, with trembling fingers, he will rub the bridge of his nose under his glasses.
Then I’ll get to my feet, look him straight in the eyes and say, “Listen here, son. There are two types of people in this world: the ones who live their own lives and the ones who spend all their time complaining. If you can’t understand this, then you’re an idiot.”
He’ll exclaim "Ah!" and faint on the spot. The subsequent psychological counseling will take about five years.
Then again, it could happen differently. Someday, when I have a son, I’ll try to do everything the easy way. From the age of three, I’ll start telling him over and over again, "I’m not here to tell you things over and over again. I’m here to love you. If you want advice, darling, go ask your dad. I don’t want to be the one to make the final decisions."
And on his thirtieth birthday, he will come to me — this sweaty, balding film director, a melancholy look in his eyes — and he will say, "Mother! I’m thirty years old. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been trying to attract your attention. I dedicated ten films and five stage plays to you. I wrote a book about you, Mother. None of it seems to be of any importance to you. Why have you always avoided expressing your opinion? Why did you always tell me to go ask Dad?"
And I’ll say, “Honey, I didn’t want to make any decisions for you! I simply tried to be there to give you my love. As for providing advice — your dad is much better at that sort of thing.“
To this he’ll reply, ”What damned use was Dad’s advice to me when I wanted to hear yours?! All my life, I’ve been trying to attract your attention, Mother. I’m fixated on it. I’ll give anything to find out what you really think of me. Just once, Mother! Just once! But it looks like it’s never going to happen. Your silence, your detachment — those things have ruined my life!" And, in a theatrical gesture, he’ll put his trembling hand to his forehead.
Then I’ll get to my feet, look him straight in the eyes and say, “Listen here, son. There are two types of people in this world: the ones who live their own lives and the ones who always keep waiting for something. If you can’t understand this, then you’re an idiot.”
He’ll exclaim "Ah!" and fain