The generation question
Some time ago I found myself on a talk show. This was a serious format on public German television, where things are basically quite personal. I came into a large hall. Rows of chairs dipped in blue shadowy light surrounded a centrally arranged sofa landscape in a circle. Beige and brightly lit, the cone of attention. Around them the cameras, big as camel heads. Normally I like to sit in the back of the bus, where I can see everything. So now right in the middle of it and on top of it, and almost live to boot. In the same way, it gurgled in my stomach. A friendly woman guided me up stairs, down stairs, straight ahead, hello, hello, yes, hello and around a few corners. Finally, I found myself in the mask, the mirrors really had light bulbs all around and the paste was really amazingly thick on the pores, even if that really only looked filmy on the screen afterwards. Afterwards still on the quiet little toilet and again and again, the water, yes, yes and then once vigorously clear the throat and it really went off. Back straight, head up, it was too late for anything else anyway. First it was the turn of others. I saw faces, gestures and heard their voices. Until the camel heads swung to me, they wore collars of red dots. I felt like I was in a zoo, but at the moment especially like I was in a speeding safari car. I pulled on the handbrake and pushed the heels forward. The car, however, sped on. First it was a conversation, then a discussion, topics I already knew, and then came the questions from the opposing bench. A lady sat pertly opposite me there. She held her husband’s hand. A graceful stature, a venerable actress, squatting on the edge of the sofa in front. Lotti. She counted a good eighty years. I continued to be on safari. Back straight, head up. The airstream and my own belly gurgle droned neatly, I could not hear intermediate tones. Meager and true, therefore, I answered in my position. Also to the question, “How will you explain this to your daughter later?”. “Explain what?”, I asked back. How can she ask such imprecise questions in this situation, I thought slightly strained. At some point others spoke again, I saw faces, gestures and heard their voices again, looked at the camels looking in other directions and still thought about the question. Only then did I understand the supposed provocation. What exactly should I explain to my daughter? For us, family is not a template with pre-drawn figures. Our daily life is the mommy-daughter family, the mommy-mommy-son-daddy family, the daddy-daughter family, the mommy-mommy-son family, the mommy-mommy-daughter-yet-in-the-belly-daddy family, the mommy-daddy-son-son family, all of which are so different and yet have one thing in common. They are all family. What exactly should I explain to my daughter? By asking this question, I lost a piece of my operational blindness. There really are people for whom co-parenting is an island, a utopia, an ethical no-go. But I have hope that this is increasingly a generational issue with little differentiation.
