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- Herausgeber: Editora Belas-Letras
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
Marcos Piangers will put us in the backseat between his daughters Anita and Aurora, as tells us more stories—some are moving, some are funny, and others are just plain disgusting. They're all about this completely common and extremely extraordinary thing called "being a dad." Nobody has children to get benefits, discounts, tax deductions, or free balloons at the mall. Children can deplete your savings account and cut short your hours of sleep. They'll get your new shirts dirty and draw on your walls. Actually, there's only one reason why we have children: to learn how to love other people more than you love yourself.
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Seitenzahl: 83
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016
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© 2016 Marcos Piangers
Edited by
Gustavo Guertler
Coordinated by
Fernanda Fedrizzi
English Version by
Rafa Lombardino
Copyedited by
Robert Sweeney
Graphic Design by
Celso Orlandin Jr.
eBook Version Edited by
S2 Books
E-ISBN: 978-85-8174-342-4
[2016]
All rights reserved by
EDITORA BELAS-LETRAS LTDA.
Rua Coronel Camisão, 167
Cep: 95020-420 – Caxias do Sul – RS
BY ELOISA PIANGERS
When Marcos was born, I didn’t have a man by my side, holding my hand, but I had several female friends. We were like a sisterhood: young women living in the same town, trying to earn a living as nutritionists back at a time when fast food chains were getting increasingly more popular. Marcos’ birth was celebrated by the group. Everyone helped me bathe him, change his diapers, and put that little baby to sleep.
I took him wherever I’d go. When he was two months old and we’d go out to dinner with friends, I had to arrive early at the pizza place because, back then, people could still smoke in restaurants. When the smoking crowd arrived, my party—including my little one—was already getting the check. Marcos went to every event with me. Work meetings, my friends’ birthday parties. As he was growing up, he was our group’s little mascot. He’d dance to Michael Jackson songs and all the ladies in the audience would clap for him. It was like a bachelorette party, but the male dancer was only three years old.
It wasn’t all rosy for us, though. My parents had wanted me to have an abortion. By the time he was two, Marcos was yet to be accepted by his grandparents. One of my friends insisted that I introduced him to my parents. I traveled for six hours and was met with unjustified anger: “What are you doing here? Who said you could come? Beat it!” Single mothers aren’t accepted by society.
Marcos was almost four when my family fully accepted the fact that I had a child. And that only happened because I had a steady boyfriend at the time. Mothers are only accepted if there’s a husband in the picture. And that was over 30 years ago. Things seem to have gotten better, but I still feel the sentiment remains in some families.
I wish my parents could have witnessed the little revolution that Marcos’ book has caused. One of these days, when I was at a restaurant, a waitress came to tell me that the book had changed her brother’s life, that he was no longer an absent father and had started to participate more in his son’s life. I receive lovely messages from mothers who have identified themselves with my story or from parents who have become more present because of the book. Children, women, older men-everyone is touched by the stories featuring my granddaughters. Thousands have been donated to charity. I wish my parents could have seen all this.
Before I wrote this introduction, my son and I had a long talk. We reminisced about his birth, when I was surrounded by my female friends. The first years we spent away from my family. The parties Marcos got to attend, when he was the center of attention. That time I gave him a tape recorder, because he loved to record himself talking, as if he were on a radio show. When he became a teenager and we used to argue. When my mother died. When I was in a coma after a car accident. When I was diagnosed with cancer.
He asked me if I feel nostalgic about anything, and I told him I don’t. I feel fully accomplished. All I can say is that, once in a while, I do feel nostalgic about one person. My father.
To Eloisa Piangers.
To Ana Emília, Anita, and Aurora.
And to all fathers who are present.
Thank you!
You, who just found out you’re having a baby. The best thing I can tell you right now is, “Congratulations, man! I hope everything is amazing. I hope you have time to experience everything first-hand.” That’s what I wish for my friends. That’s what I wish for myself. Having time for your children is a sign of wealth. The worst thing someone can tell you is, “Get ready! Get plenty of sleep now! After having a child, you won’t be able to!”
Some children cry a lot, it’s true—they’re always hungry, they get colicky, but these are exceptions. Most of them split their time between being sound asleep, when all you want to do is sit and watch them, and eventual nights of wailing and complaining. Let me ask you one thing, though: How many nights have you spent drinking with your buddies? Or how many sleepless nights have you spent studying for a test? Or watching something silly on Facebook?
As a father, you get to have some very boring moments, like playing board games with a three-year-old, for example. You roll the dice. You get five. She takes about twenty minutes to count the little black dots on the die. “It’s five! C’mon, honey!” you’ll feel like blurting out. So, she takes your token and counts the spaces. “One...” she skips two spaces. “Four...” she skips two spaces more. “Eight!” she places the token on a place on the board that isn’t even part of the path.
Sleepless nights, poopy diapers in restaurants, incessant crying while you’re driving. These are the worst moments. But they’re the best moments, as well. Every night you don’t get enough sleep will make you a hero. Every waking night comes with a smile, a little hand holding your finger. Every dirty diaper is an opportunity to excuse yourself during a boring conversation. Every time you are able to make your child stop crying, you feel like a baby whisperer. You feel you’re ready to take care of ten children. You feel invincible.
The hell with a good night’s sleep! I hope everything is amazing. I hope you have time to experience everything first-hand. That’s what I wish for my friends.
i ran away once. I spent a week hitchhiking and sleeping at beaches. I left a note on the kitchen table. “Mom, I ran away,” it said. I used to smoke in college to look tough. My hands acted naturally, but my throat felt raspy. It was tough to suppress a cough. My pants were too loose and my underwear was always showing. It drove my mom crazy! Years later, every rapper was showing their underwear. Somehow, it became fashionable—much to my mom’s despair.
I dated this one girl for a while. She got sad when our thing came to an end. I thought I was going to marry that girl, but it didn’t happen. Then I started dating another girl. She was beautiful, and I got upset when our thing came to an end. I cried, because I thought I was going to marry her. But it didn’t happen. Then I met another girl, and we made out for the first time on Valentine’s Day. You gotta appreciate something like that. Soon after that, I moved in with her. That girl is your mom, Anita. When we found out you were on your way, we both cried—half tears of joy, half tears of fear. Our life was about to change.
And it changed, indeed. You´ve brought countless improvements to it.
A taxi driver told me one of these days that he regrets turning down a job in a smaller town. “My life would have been better. I’d be rich now.” A friend told me once that he regretted having majored in the field he did. “I can’t find a job.” I heard a guy complaining on the radio that he had a chance to become a partner in a company that is worth millions today. “My life would have changed!”
I wouldn’t change a thing about mine, Anita. I would still run away that one time. I would still date the girls I dated. I wouldn’t choose another job, another wife, another city. I’d keep all my mistakes and my accomplishments. Everything up to the day you were born, so you could be born just the way you are. The very same you, given the unpredictability of genetics. With your crooked teeth and your big eyes. With your kindness and opinions.
After you were born, I kept making mistakes. I regret the mistakes and choices I’ve made, but I wouldn’t change them, because your sister came along and gave meaning to every mistake. I wouldn’t change a thing, so everything would happen the right day and time. So that you two could be just the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing. Not even my mistakes. Not even my flaws. Not even my failures. So that you two could be exactly like this. And you could give meaning to it all.
Real fathers change diapers.
