Help, my son is Don Juan!
I've read somewhere that every woman has to give birth to the love of her life. Whoever wrote this, I find this someone very lifelike. This thing between mothers and their sons, which one can not actually describe. They are put on the chest, somebody cuts the umbilical cord, they are so tiny and helpless, so fragile and loving, so anxious and overwhelmed by the world. And just like that, they kneel in front of the toilet 14 years later and puke the beer that was banned. They are perhaps one and a half meters larger, two octaves lower and 80 kg heavier than after their birth, but still mothers never see the man in front of him, but always the boy. Even if this boy stinks of beer puke.
She suffered
Since my boy decided to wear a daring surfer mat when he was 12 years old and to go to school in his eight-bottomed trousers with deep insights into his underwear choice, I am no longer alone with my love for him. First it was a small love letter with 27 spelling errors in his pencil case. Then they called. Shortly thereafter, he brought her. Their names were Lisa, Annabelle and Jane. After that, I did not bother to remember their names. Because only a few kept themselves weeks. Most rather a few days. After that they had suffered. So he said that. Translation for all over 20: "She's annoyed". After that, they were gone anyway.
My son is Don Juan
For my part I found the semigut. My heart broke regularly with those of Annabelle, Lisa, Sofie and Mia. Too well, I knew how that had felt on the other side. At that time, when Torben, Christian and Florian had behaved like that. I had suffered and had been exchanged for the next, as if there was nothing there. I decided to talk to my little womanizer. "Girl hearts are not toys," I told him and he was terribly annoyed. "Maybe one or the other only suffered because you are particularly important to her?" I continued. This big guy came close to me and took me a bit compassionate in the arm. "Oh, Mama, you do not understand that!" He muttered in his deep voice. "It's all just a game!" And I sadly wondered what I had taught him about women, how he treated them like that.
There's a good guy in there
A few weeks later, I met Maja. Maja was a bit taller, a little louder and a bit more special than all the other girls Don Juan had brought home. And then something happened that really surprised me. Maja was annoying. And colossally. I heard her bitch, she interfered, she criticized my son, even in front of me. Sometimes she even agreed with me when I argued with my scion. And anyway: Maja stayed. At some point I dared to ask. "Why did not Maja suffer long ago?" And again my son put his arm around me. "Because she has an opinion, Mama, because she does not like everything I like, and because I can admire her." Only then did I understand. The image of women my son had was not that bad. On the contrary. He just could not do anything with giggling, profileless little girls, but needed a partner at eye level. He had found that in Maja.
What I learned from my son
Had I not got my son, I would still have little idea of men today. I would not understand why Torben, Christian and Florian left. Why I suffered, even though nobody used to call it that (luck!). Also, like all the Lisas and Sofies, I had to learn to be ME in the presence of a guy I thought was great. And probably it had been good for me that the Torbens and Christians had punished me for giving away a profile-less decal of myself. Somehow I had to learn it.
Everything just a game?
By the way, Maja was gone after all. "I suffered," my son told me with a sad wink. "I'm too nice for her!" This time I hugged him. "Maybe it's all just a game?" I said thoughtfully. "Until you find this one person who endures you and you can stand it, even if it sucks." I will never forget what he said then. He said, "Like us both, Mom." And then I realized: We will always see the little boy in them. And she in us the rock in the surf. And I hope that one day a girl will come, who sees in him what I see and that he can see as it is. Until then he should be Don Juan because of me. Main thing, it comes in between a Maja over, which puts his arrogant pretty head a bit straight. At least I can live with a too nice Don Juan ...
