First comes the assertion of one's personality and the desire to live an independent life. And such a passion for this life that one does not care about one's parents.
But over the years, an interest in some origins awakens more and more and one wants to understand where everything comes from. This comes with the years. I see this in my children, in whom gradually, already in adulthood, an interest in mom and dad begins to slightly break through - to dad, who is no longer here...
In high school, I was so overwhelmed with my complex, multi-stage life, hobbies, books read, I communicated so intensively with friends, so much time was spent on this, that somehow I lost sight of my parents. And to this day, although 60 years have passed, I cannot remember without burning shame, for example, that on the day when I celebrated my seventeenth and the guys were supposed to come to me, I did not offer my father to stay. I felt that he would like to sit down with us at the table for a while, but I didn’t say anything. And he left. And that I didn’t offer is one of my most painful memories. Especially since he died so soon afterwards.
It was all the more bad because I understood that Dad, on the one hand, was sick, and on the other, he was afraid of arrest. I remember he suddenly said to me when I came up to kiss him, against the backdrop of those endlessly fading windows: you must know that you are more precious to me than anything in the world.
And I couldn’t respond to this with any real response. Then. Then I could, but then it was too late. As often happens.
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