I have never experienced my condition as a separated child in a particularly problematic way. My parents said goodbye definitively when I had just started elementary school and all in all the most painful thing was duty change school running, change city.
Why gods quarrels among mine, at 6, I was already fed up with it for some time. This was the truth.
I grew up with my mom. I still remember the day when we left. I sat on the sofa and watched as she loaded the suitcases onto her car. Maybe she was crying.
My father thought that in a few days we would be back. “See you tomorrow,” he said defiantly, closing the door. Maybe he didn't even greet me. He certainly did not make me those recommendations and reassurances that are given to children of that age, such as “be a good boy»Or« See you soon ».
A week later Mum hung the poster of Ben 10 on the door of my new room (Mum slept on the sofa bed in the kitchen living room of our two-room apartment), and I started the new school. She was starting the new job. The following years were beautiful, we were not sailing in gold but we didn't miss anything. A roof overhead, the fridge never empty, new shoes when needed and beach holidays almost every year. She would do somersaults to guarantee all this.
I grew up with my mother, which was normal for me. I was certainly not the only one son of separated in my class. What I didn't know is that my father almost never paid my mother's maintenance allowance. He never paid for the school canteen as much as he did, the educational outings, basketball, football, clothes, shoes, games. He never showed up for talks with teachers and professors. But nevertheless never once did my mother speak ill of him in my presence.
I saw my father yes, from time to time. Sometimes I got sick because I was looking forward to the weekend I would spend with him and then on Friday evening he called to say he couldn't. Faced with my disappointment, my mother explained to me that:Dad has to work».
I love him, and for years, just when he wasn't there, he was my hero. Mum was always there, she was taken for granted, and then she was the one who forced me to study, to do homework. The one that forbade me to use the play when I combined one and that forced me to find a job the summer that they rejected me.
Sometimes my mom apologized to me, who was wrong too. Years later, he told me plainly that doing everything alone is not easy, and that she didn't enjoy playing the part of the gendarme, but it was necessary to do that too. I replied that it doesn't matter, that I was wrong too. That we were all wrong, but that we are here, we are fine and looking back, things have not gone wrong at all. That we are a team.
Today I am old enough to understand everything, but just everything she, my mother, has done for me, she alone.
To understand how difficult it is change life, but how much you need to do it when you're sick and unhappy.
Than being alone together “for the sake of the children”Is a great nonsense.
That appearances count for nothing, that a real family can be made up only by two people.
Thanks mom, I tell you today, always.