Raising children is a joy, but also a feat of strength – and a task that is probably even more demanding today than it was then. Visit your moms and say thank you, mean Mickey Beisenherz.
One of the more amusing everyday observations is the cumex-like arithmetic games my daughter plays in wild strings of numbers to fool me into thinking that maybe she prefers her mama to go around the moon and back better than me. I also think she colors the pictures for her mom more accurately than the ones meant for me. She would never admit that though.
Mother’s Day. Where do I begin. Okay, of course we can now hang on to the fact that today is an institution that seems to come from a time when “to calm you down: women’s tonic” was served and the old man ordered: “Honey, the boss is coming to visit, get Chantre!” Dusty, stuffy and downright provocative in its annual short-lived nature. Mothers – a devilish invention of Fleuropmafia. Let’s forget that for a moment. Once you’ve gone through the cocktail party themes of World War I and the killer virus, there is little that is more passionately discussed in society than the modern interpretation of the role of mother.
Gladly along the influential figure of Annalena Baerbock, who professionally deals with men whose image of women is so completely different. Somewhat reluctantly along the person of Anne Spiegel, who seemed overwhelmed with the job-child-man juggling as Minister for Family Affairs.
Not so long ago, we Germans listened to our Chancellor, who was given the incredibly inappropriate title “Mutti”. Nevertheless: The fact that she managed to control Vladimir Putin, who was emotionally malnourished in his childhood, is often told to underpin this picture.
The idea of how the leading woman should be is changing. On television, the role of mother oscillated between the egg-roasting mother hen and Vera Drombusch, who was permanently affected. More than a child-caring co-existence on the fringes of the man was hardly possible. And then came Uschi Glas: “Anna Maria – a woman goes her own way”. Sensual, beautiful, but if necessary even with the delicate hands at the wheel of the gravel truck. Isn’t that the modern Germany we all want? The certainty of being able to be in the front row – and at the same time not casting such a big shadow that the youngsters wither in it.
Between motherly care and being a businesswoman
My own mother alone reminds me that this concept isn’t that new anymore. At the beginning of the 1980s (until Corona finally released her from the self-imposed obligation to be present), she was the managing director of a medium-sized company. With two young kids and all the other demands that sometimes make a woman want to drop everything and elope with Sky DuMont. She managed it all amazingly well. In addition, this fabulous look, somewhere between Guldenburg Castle and Yogurette advertising. And even if it wasn’t enough for Wolfgang Rademann’s reality because of a bit too much real life, the balance between motherly care and being a businesswoman was surprisingly good. Sure, there were Grandma and Oppa. And my father was now and then successfully encouraged to participate. It was a nice childhood. Til today.
Sure, one or the other characteristic feature, okay, but that will become more and more clear to you in the course of life: Of course, our parents are not the larger-than-life figures that we thought they were at the time. Basically, they are us – only that they also had us on the cheek for a long time. It went well. We have always felt loved. This is nothing trivial. It’s not like there’s a pot of gold waiting for us at the end of life. We get our hands on the pot at the very beginning, start running into life – and with a little luck we can save as much as possible by the end. And how much is in this pot is mostly up to, well: Mom.
That’s probably why we see each other so often. I just love talking to her. Nothing we couldn’t laugh about. Nothing that we haven’t already discussed in splendid expeditions into psychic life. We just enjoy each other. Unless, of course, I show up unshaven. And since she no longer just sent me these lucky card standards via WhatsApp, but downright malicious things, the iPhone has its value.
“If I’m cheeky sometimes, you get along with me”
Only recently did she send me a photo of an ancient greeting card that I had written to her for Mother’s Day and designed myself. Garnished with all kinds of paintings, it said in astonishingly beautiful handwriting (it must have disappeared sometime between the iPhone 5 and 9): “Dear dear mom, you are the very best of all mothers. Sometimes I dream that you are angry. But you are not angry. You always check in the evening if I’m sleeping. You give me a kiss and I know how much you love me. If I’m cheeky sometimes, you get along with me. If I’ve hurt myself, you comfort me. You give gifts I have a lot of cars and so many other things…” Now it comes: “…pants and shirts. Shoes, stockings, socks, hats, scarves, sweaters, underpants, undershirts, books and other things. Thank you very much.”
Well, in the end it became more of a kind of fashion blog. But this piece of paper contains everything that drove such a small person at the age of six. The world was easy. Despite dying forests, Chernobyl and the grim men who talked about Russia or that sinister man from Tehran in the news. A cosmos whose outer limits ran somewhere between Cornflakes and Dr. snuggles What a feat to wrap the children in bubble wrap made of love, so as not to bother them any further with the adversities of their own lives.
A task that is probably even more demanding today than it was back then. How do you shield a child from the news out there? It would be nice if it were good at school, but it’s much more important to make this child independent of this overwhelming avalanche of assessments, which has already buried more stable characters, especially on the Internet. My parents always made me feel good the way I was. It reads so trite, but how many I know who never got that initial emotional shot: “You’re fine.”
Worse. Quite a few have had to grow up feeling inadequate. Mental cruelty and sadism are not left to fathers alone. Praise my dog meadow mentality. I never had to do justice to anyone. It didn’t matter what I would do one day. The important thing is that you do something. So now I’m sitting here and writing. And someone has to read it. So thank her. Or better: Visit your moms. Take revenge personally for those horrific images they send you on WhatsApp.