„Не те воспитав за ова“: зошто родителите не научија да бидеме среќни

When I enter the house with purchases, all so anticipating the rustling of wrappers, looking at and trying on, Asya immediately grabs the bags from my hands, dumps everything out of there, starts eating if it’s food, and trying it on if it’s a new thing. I didn’t have time to take off my sneakers, and she was already tearing up packages, chewing and lying on the bed in new jeans. Maybe even in my new jeans — he instantly masters the latest arrivals, puts them into circulation.

I kept thinking, why does such swiftness irritate me? Then I decided that this was a greeting from Soviet childhood, when new things in the wardrobe of children were a rarity — as well as gastronomic delights. And I wanted to extend the moment of acquaintance with them and stretch and enjoy the joy of possession.

So, from the New Year’s bag of sweets, first raisins in sugar were eaten, then toffees, then caramels «Goose paws», «Snowball» and only then — chocolate «Squirrel» and «Bear». And who remembers how mom kept in the closet a box of chocolates “for the holiday” or a jar of mayonnaise with a slightly rusty lid — for Olivier for the New Year?

But all these redneck quirks in modern times are not the nastiest thing that we got from there. From the USSR.

My high school friend’s father was a surgeon, and a tall blue-eyed blond with long «surgical» fingers. He read a lot of books (“daddy’s” office is where shelves with books are from four sides to the ceiling), sometimes played the guitar, traveled abroad (it was rare then), brought orange pencil cases to his daughter and sometimes took her from school in his classroom Zhiguli car. Neither of us had parents come to pick us up.

When she did not pass the first session in honey for reasons of a failed personal life at that time, showdowns and everything due, the surgeon father stopped talking to her. As it turns out now — when we are already over forty — it has stopped forever. And immediately hit the lock on that cherished door to the office. There was no more way for her daughter — neither into his room, nor into his life. Because he, like, believed in her, and she, like, betrayed him.

In another family, the father is still considered a genius to this day — a poet, an artist, an intellectual, a brilliant education, a phenomenal memory. Plus tireless self-development, personal growth. People are drawn to him, how interesting it is with him! I spent the evening next to such a person — and as if I drank from the source of knowledge, I was enlightened and enlightened …

When the genius found out that his daughter was pregnant and was going to get married, he said, as he cut off, that she was no longer his daughter. He did not approve of the choice, and the very fact of pregnancy caused him trauma … Their relationship ended there. Her mother sends her something secretly from her husband, some money, some news, but the girl has lost her father.

The other father is a rich creative person himself, and he raised his daughter in the same spirit. Noticing the ability to versify, he demanded that “not a day without a line”, that every day she would bring him a new poem for analysis. And she brought, tried, and also studied, worked, got married, gave birth to a child …

And at some point it turned out that poetry is, let’s say, not so important, that there is no time left for poetry, you have to manage the household, and the husband is not one of those who will say: sit, dear, write sonnets, and I will do it the rest. And when the father realized that he would have to wait for the publication of his daughter’s collection of poems, he did not break with her completely, no, but at every opportunity he hints how disappointed she was, how she vainly buried her abilities, how lazy she really is, since she doesn’t write all new creations…

She has to pay money for the apartment, do homework with the child, cook dinner for the family, and her father: “Why don’t you write? Are you looking for inspiration? What kind of nonsense have you chosen to do in life … «

Once Andrei Loshak wrote on Facebook (an extremist organization banned in Russia): “An old man with a cane, a beard, and a worn denim jacket approached the Universitet metro station — the class instinct sensed something native in his appearance. You could easily have been a friend of your father. He looked at me uncertainly and asked, “Excuse me, are you interested in art books?” All of the same class solidarity said yes, they are interested.

And many responded, my peers remembered their parents …

We also had art albums at home, records, poetry, prose — the roots are still in front of our eyes — literally and figuratively. And the father is also from this generation of the sixties, who were born a little before, during or immediately after the war. Aspiring, reading, listening to Radio Liberty, thinking, arguing, wearing bell-bottoms, turtlenecks and sweatshirts with sharp collars…

They thought so seriously about the meaning of life, they so wanted to find it. And they found, lost, found again, argued about poetry, were physicists and lyricists at the same time, quarreled with friends if they disagreed with them on abstract, speculative issues … All this causes respect, admiration, pride for them. But.

All this is not about happiness.

No, not about happiness.

Our fathers did not know that being happy is decent and good. In principle, this is the desired goal — your personal happiness. And unconditional love is not well understood. They understood the demanding — and were demanding and merciless towards themselves and their children (and their wives).

For all their advancement, they lived in a state where, in all seriousness, it was believed that the public was higher than the personal, and happiness in general in work and the meaning of life should be measured by the benefit that you brought to the country. And most importantly, your life today does not matter — know yourself to increase labor productivity and build a bright future for no one knows. With some reservations, but our fathers believed in it … And they also believed that a lot of freedom fell to their lot. thaw.

But what is the use of their education, intelligence, broad interests, knowledge of art, literature, professional success, if they were not happy and failed to make their children happy, or even abandoned them with the wording “I didn’t raise you for this”?

И за што?

It just seems that the world has changed, that with gadgets life has gone completely different, that personal freedom and the interests of the individual are now taken into account at least by the individual himself. No. We, like our fathers, are “children of the terrible years of Russia” and we carry within ourselves the fears and complexes of Soviet parents. Anyway, I wear it.

All this happened very recently — my father worked in the newspaper Socialist Industry, and my mother worked in the district committee of the party. And in the sixth grade, the teacher of Russian and literature, the old communist Nadezhda Mikhailovna, noticing my manicure (with transparent varnish), said: “I will tell the party organization what the children of the workers of the district committee do — they paint their nails.” I was so scared that I cut off all the varnish with a blade, right in the lesson. No more idea how.

She is here, very close chronologically and physically, all this ideology of walking in formation and in step, all these local committees, party committees, Komsomol organizations, meetings where they worked out husbands leaving the family, girls who “run to dances” instead of standing at the barre, where they were condemned for makeup, the length of a skirt, an affair with a married man … All this was a matter for the vigilant public and a reason for censure.

And this eternal feeling of guilt for well-being, for “living for yourself” or even “an hour for yourself”, for personal happiness comes from there. From there, the fear that if I laugh today, then tomorrow I will cry, and the thought: “Something I have been lying for a long time, I need to wash the floors, both in the corridor and on the landing.” And all these “it’s uncomfortable in front of people”, “what will the neighbors say”, “for a rainy day”, “what if there is a war tomorrow?” and a picture in the public called “Psychology for Every Day” with the advice: “If you are happy, keep quiet about it…” yourself…

And when the psychologist says: “Love yourself, accept yourself in any form and state — success and failure, in the process of onset and retreat, in activity and inaction,” I don’t understand how to do it! But I read my parents’ library, I go to museums and theaters, I know all kinds of empathy, and in general I am a good person. But I can’t be happy. I don’t know how it is. Science and art, literature and painting do not teach this. How can I teach this to my children? Or is it time to learn from them yourself?

Once, when my youth had ended long ago, having gone crazy from neurosis and self-pity, I decided to study on my own. I decided not to postpone anything, not to save for later, not to be afraid, not to save. There are chocolates right away — and no caramels!

And I decided not to look for the meaning of life. To score on high goals, to give up ambitions that are not healthy. To read only for pleasure, but for him to look at the paintings and the houses of good architects. Loving children as much as possible without conditions. And do not read more huge articles and thick books on philosophy and psychology, but just help yourself to be happy little by little. For starters, afford it. And for the very beginning — to understand that if you do not heal today-now, then the future will never come. It will retreat and retreat all the time, and I will run after it until my death, like a donkey after a carrot.

It seems to me or it turned out that the whole world is tired of ambition, information and guilt? What is a trend: people are looking for ways and reasons to be happy. And happiness.

I’m going to share mine. And I will wait for your stories.