Celebrating with children: "Parental right to electric beats"
Sitting on the couch and reading education counselor? No thanks. Our author Nava refuses to bury her past life.© Katrin Ohlendorf
As I roll our little ones through the park in the dark, the party night is still young, the party people, standing together in small groups and bumping with plastic cups, still fresh and expectant, I think: If this was now a search-the-error image, then the mistake would be our stroller. But what can I do if other mothers and fathers only hear Rolf Zuckowski Eiapopeia CDs after birth and squat in cafés called "squirrels" or "Kalimero"? I think: There is a parental right to electro beats. A festival for electronic music in an urban green area is the ideal entry-level event for young parents. So we keep rolling, always following the beat. Outside the bar, where a friend of ours hangs up, friends have occupied a table. They have already gone to cocktails and rocking back and forth. I get gin and tonic and non-alcoholic beer. One should stay sober, that was agreed. This time my friend. The people at the next table look to the right as if they had started to celebrate early. A look in the stroller: Our son, eight months old, sleeps quietly and evenly. The boxes are far away.
Our friends think we're cool parents and, yes, that flatters me.
The DJ is doing well on this mild summer night, we are talking about the sixth season of "Mad Men", Pegah is going to Venice for the first time next week. Should Jonas take a job in Texas? Before me is the third drink, I do not even notice how time passes. In between, I put my head in the stroller and I'm happy about our great baby party; the little boy nuzzles on the pacifier, his eyes closed. Our friends think we're cool parents and, yes, that flatters me. Only marginally, I perceive that at the next table, a woman with hochtoupierten blond-dyed hair that just sat on the lap of any man, snot and water howls. The next time I look, she stands on the beer bench screaming hysterically into her phone. Then everything happens very fast. With a big leap she jumps off the bench? and rumbles with full force on our stroller. I scream; the stroller staggers. Holds only on two wheels. My friend dives and gets the handlebar. All of a sudden I am sober, the beats hammer on me. The woman gets up and disappears in the dark. As if from another world, my friend's voice comes to me: "I think that was the sign that we should go home." Because we missed the last bus, we have to walk. Silently, we go side by side. I look at my son, who has not noticed anything. Can not we fun-loving parents just sit with our butts on the couch and read education counselors? As in the past, as our parents?
I remember scenes from my childhood; our living room full of guests, the table full of glasses, an empty Jack Daniels bottle and overflowing ashtrays. I'm going to sleep under the table sometime around midnight, my mother's laugh in my ear. My mother was in her early 20s when she got pregnant, and yes, I let off steam for a good ten years longer. Nevertheless, I refuse to bury my past life. I also want to continue my life. A certain risk is just part of it. And anyway: A drunk can also fall over us when we are in the supermarket at the cash register.
After all, our son would not exist without electronic music. I met my friend at a festival. As we danced to Henrik Schwarz, we fell in love with each other. And since our son is in the world, he is with us. Recently we bought baby hearing protection. For the next festival? in Croatia.
Parties celebrate with children - what do you think?
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