Mother’s Day, or “One Mother To Day”


(Text written on Sunday, May 11 and waiting for an Internet connection that finally worked today.)

My son is becoming a man and already requires his own space. At the moment his territory is small: one room, the chaos of which is not so much the boring order of things, as the anarchic slogan, “I want to do what I want to do.”

Already I can predict the clash, when the demands for autonomy extend to his city and his country.  When the sense of conquest achieved by hanging his icons on the walls gives way to the need to outwardly express some “uncomfortable” preference.

The day will come when it may not be enough, the hairstyle, the fashion, the music, to feel different.  Then he will become an agitator, reactionary, or extremist, with the absolute complicity – hear me well – of his mother.  I do not think I will banish him from the house, denounce his actions, deny his deeds, or declare – to avoid my responsibility – “I didn’t bring you up like that.”

After all, he has also had to support me and put up with me.  Come what may: eccentricity, pyromania, rebelliousness, even indifference, I will be by his side.  You must ask him if he will do the same for me.  If one day this Blog, my history, my excesses, will not weigh too heavily on his life.

Photo caption:

The caption reads: Sticker at the corner of Belascoain and Reina [streets]

The sticker itself reads: “DURA, Escuchamos TODO,”  which translates as: “Keep doing what you’re doing, we hear everything.”

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