These are the things for which children (eventually) forgive their fathers:
Going out.
Coming home late.
Smelling of drink.
Reading the newspaper.
Watching the television.
Looking at people on the television with a vague sexual interest.
Not being bothered, much.
Having other important things to do.
These are the things for which children never, ever, ever forgive their mothers:
Going out.
Coming home late.
Smelling of drink.
Reading the newspaper.
Watching the television.
Looking at people on the television with a vague sexual interest.
Not being bothered, much.
Having other important things to do.
When I was in my teens and twenties, it was fashionable among girls to complain about your mother — despite the fact that these women had given their lives over to rear us. It was never fashionable to complain about your father, unless they were very drunk, all the time. At worst, fathers provoked a shrugging silence — presumably because this was what they gave.
So what about New Men? Will we need a new psychology in twenty years for children, now grown up, whose fathers were there half the time, who changed the nappies and sang the lullabies, half the time, or more? Is it possible that in twenty years or so we will find it is the caring father, and not the caring mother, who is ultimately to blame?
I doubt it.
I have met some of these maligned mothers since and it is great fun having a look at them. Some of them, to my surprise, really do seem wretchedly ungiving. But most of them are quite nice. Or ordinary. Or even dull.
A dull mother? There is no such thing. It is odd that, as a group, mothers are seen as a lardy wodge of nothing much; of worry and love and fret and banality. As individuals we are everything. Between these two extremes, where does the person lie?
In my thirties and forties, many of the daughters who gave out about their mothers started going shopping with them, talking about kitchen units, doing all the things that friends might do and more, while the mothers — I don’t know what the mothers did, exactly, but they shifted too. They let their children be. The battle was over. As though each side had fought its way into the light of day and looked at each other to find . . .
Now that I have become a mother myself, it is a great comfort to me to see how most of us come to an accommodation between the ‘MOTHER!’ in our heads and the woman who reared us. The whole process reaches a sort of glorious conclusion if and when the daughter has children herself. ‘Now you understand,’ says the (grand)mother. ‘Now you see.’ This is what they yearn for — as much as any adolescent, they need to be understood. They need an end to blame.
I take the baby home, and watch my parents with different eyes. My father likes looking at small children — just that. He hates disturbing them, or telling them to do anything, or scaring them in any way; he does not seem to believe in it. My mother loves babies — some women don’t but she does — even when they are very new; all raw and whimpering and scarcely yet human. Her love is more passionate than his; I think, she can be almost hurt by it. At any rate I know that this is where my current happiness comes from, that the better part of my mothering is compounded of my mother’s passion and of my father’s benign attention.
A woman asks me, ‘Are you going to have a typical mother-daughter relationship?’ You can tell that she thinks this would be a nice comeuppance. The world loves to remind parents that soon it will all go awry.
I think about this when the baby is eighteen months and every hug contains the idea of squirming away. She will stay on my lap if I sing to her, and she will stroke my face, but if all this loving becomes too damn lovely, she will push or pinch or kick her way out of it, and I think, with some trepidation, of the day she turns fourteen.
She also has a neat line in accident-on-purpose elbow jabs, and great aim.
What about sons. Are they the same?
Anne Enright, ‘Unforgiven’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 152-54.
以下事情，孩子（最终）会原谅他们的父亲：
总是外出；
回家晚；
遍身酒味；
阅读报纸；
看电视；
用暧昧的眼神看着电视中的人物；
不能被打扰，或者过多打扰；
还有其他重要的事情要做。
以下这些则是孩子永远、永远也无法原谅他们母亲的事情：
总是外出；
回家晚；
遍身酒味；
阅读报纸；
看电视；
用暧昧的眼神看着电视中的人物；
不能被打扰，或者过多打扰；
还有其他重要的事情要做。
在我十几岁、二十多岁的时候，女孩中流行抱怨她们的母亲，虽然这些女人为了抚养她们而付出了自己的生命。抱怨她们的父亲却从来都没有流行过，除非他们总是醉醺醺的。最糟糕的例子里，父亲也不过会引发愤怒的耸耸肩，然后就沉默了，或许是因为他们付出的也不过如此。
那么，新男人呢？20年后，我们需要给孩子们创造新的心理学吗，假如这些孩子（那时已经长大成人）的父亲有一半时间在家，一半或可能更多的时间，给孩子们换尿布，唱摇篮曲？有没有这种可能：20多年后我们发现最终被孩子们责备的是慈父而不是慈母呢？
我对此有所怀疑。
此后，我采访了一些受到诽谤的母亲，观察她们是非常有意思的事情。令我惊讶的是，她们中有些确实看起来很可鄙地没有爱心，但是大多数都是非常友善，或者说是普通吧，甚至有些平常无奇。
一个平常无奇的母亲？那不可能。奇怪的是，作为一个群体，母亲被看作是一无是处、身材臃肿的人，是充满忧虑、关爱、烦躁和无趣的人。可是，作为个人，母亲则是一切。在这两个极端之间，她们又处于哪个位置呢？
在我三、四十岁的时候，许多曾经抱怨她们母亲的女孩开始和母亲一起购物、谈论厨具，做所有朋友间可能会做的事情，甚至能做得更多。这些母亲，我不知道这些母亲以前到底做了什么，不过她们确实也变了。她们让孩子随心所欲。战斗结束了。就好像每一方都奋勇向前朝着光明挺近，看着彼此找到归属。
既然我自己已经成了一个母亲，看到我们中的大多数如何在我们脑海中的“母亲”和抚养我们长大的母亲间最终达成妥协，我感到无比欣慰。如果女儿自己有了孩子，这个过程就实现了某种光荣的终结。“现在你理解了吧，”（祖母）母亲说，“现在你明白了。”这就是她们渴望的，就好像任何一个青春期的少年一样，她们需要被理解，她们需要给无休止的责备画上句号。
我把孩子带回家，用不同的眼光审视我的父母。我的父亲只是单纯地喜欢看小孩子。他不喜欢打扰他们，不喜欢让他们去做任何事，也不喜欢用任何方式去吓唬他们。他似乎并不相信婴儿。我的母亲喜欢婴儿（有些女人可能不喜欢但她喜欢），尤其是当他们非常小，很原始，不停嘤嘤哭啼，甚至都不能算是通人性的时候。我母亲的爱比我父亲的爱更热烈。我想，她几乎都能被婴儿伤害到。无论如何，我意识到这就是我当前幸福的来源，我意识到我母性的大部分是由我母亲的激情和我父亲善意的关注融合而成的。
一个女人问我“你会拥有典型的母女关系吗？”你能感觉到，她认为这就是因果报应。这个世界喜欢去提醒父母：很快一切都会出错。
在宝宝18个月大的时候我回想起这件事，感觉每个拥抱都包含着扭动离开的想法。如果我给她唱歌，她会待在我的腿上，她也会抚摸我的脸；但是如果这种爱变得太过宠溺了，她就会推开、挤开或踢开。我不安地想到她变成14岁的那一天。
在看似无心实则故意的肘击中，她有着清晰的界线和明确的目标。
男孩子呢？他们也是这样吗？
These are the things for which children (eventually) forgive their fathers:
Going out.
Coming home late.
Smelling of drink.
Reading the newspaper.
Watching the television.
Looking at people on the television with a vague sexual interest.
Not being bothered, much.
Having other important things to do.
These are the things for which children never, ever, ever forgive their mothers:
Going out.
Coming home late.
Smelling of drink.
Reading the newspaper.
Watching the television.
Looking at people on the television with a vague sexual interest.
Not being bothered, much.
Having other important things to do.
When I was in my teens and twenties, it was fashionable among girls to complain about your mother — despite the fact that these women had given their lives over to rear us. It was never fashionable to complain about your father, unless they were very drunk, all the time. At worst, fathers provoked a shrugging silence — presumably because this was what they gave.
So what about New Men? Will we need a new psychology in twenty years for children, now grown up, whose fathers were there half the time, who changed the nappies and sang the lullabies, half the time, or more? Is it possible that in twenty years or so we will find it is the caring father, and not the caring mother, who is ultimately to blame?
I doubt it.
I have met some of these maligned mothers since and it is great fun having a look at them. Some of them, to my surprise, really do seem wretchedly ungiving. But most of them are quite nice. Or ordinary. Or even dull.
A dull mother? There is no such thing. It is odd that, as a group, mothers are seen as a lardy wodge of nothing much; of worry and love and fret and banality. As individuals we are everything. Between these two extremes, where does the person lie?
In my thirties and forties, many of the daughters who gave out about their mothers started going shopping with them, talking about kitchen units, doing all the things that friends might do and more, while the mothers — I don’t know what the mothers did, exactly, but they shifted too. They let their children be. The battle was over. As though each side had fought its way into the light of day and looked at each other to find . . .
Now that I have become a mother myself, it is a great comfort to me to see how most of us come to an accommodation between the ‘MOTHER!’ in our heads and the woman who reared us. The whole process reaches a sort of glorious conclusion if and when the daughter has children herself. ‘Now you understand,’ says the (grand)mother. ‘Now you see.’ This is what they yearn for — as much as any adolescent, they need to be understood. They need an end to blame.
I take the baby home, and watch my parents with different eyes. My father likes looking at small children — just that. He hates disturbing them, or telling them to do anything, or scaring them in any way; he does not seem to believe in it. My mother loves babies — some women don’t but she does — even when they are very new; all raw and whimpering and scarcely yet human. Her love is more passionate than his; I think, she can be almost hurt by it. At any rate I know that this is where my current happiness comes from, that the better part of my mothering is compounded of my mother’s passion and of my father’s benign attention.
A woman asks me, ‘Are you going to have a typical mother-daughter relationship?’ You can tell that she thinks this would be a nice comeuppance. The world loves to remind parents that soon it will all go awry.
I think about this when the baby is eighteen months and every hug contains the idea of squirming away. She will stay on my lap if I sing to her, and she will stroke my face, but if all this loving becomes too damn lovely, she will push or pinch or kick her way out of it, and I think, with some trepidation, of the day she turns fourteen.
She also has a neat line in accident-on-purpose elbow jabs, and great aim.
What about sons. Are they the same?
Anne Enright, ‘Unforgiven’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 152-54.
以下事情，孩子（最终）会原谅他们的父亲：
总是外出；
回家晚；
遍身酒味；
阅读报纸；
看电视；
用暧昧的眼神看着电视中的人物；
不能被打扰，或者过多打扰；
还有其他重要的事情要做。
以下这些则是孩子永远、永远也无法原谅他们母亲的事情：
总是外出；
回家晚；
遍身酒味；
阅读报纸；
看电视；
用暧昧的眼神看着电视中的人物；
不能被打扰，或者过多打扰；
还有其他重要的事情要做。
在我十几岁、二十多岁的时候，女孩中流行抱怨她们的母亲，虽然这些女人为了抚养她们而付出了自己的生命。抱怨她们的父亲却从来都没有流行过，除非他们总是醉醺醺的。最糟糕的例子里，父亲也不过会引发愤怒的耸耸肩，然后就沉默了，或许是因为他们付出的也不过如此。
那么，新男人呢？20年后，我们需要给孩子们创造新的心理学吗，假如这些孩子（那时已经长大成人）的父亲有一半时间在家，一半或可能更多的时间，给孩子们换尿布，唱摇篮曲？有没有这种可能：20多年后我们发现最终被孩子们责备的是慈父而不是慈母呢？
我对此有所怀疑。
此后，我采访了一些受到诽谤的母亲，观察她们是非常有意思的事情。令我惊讶的是，她们中有些确实看起来很可鄙地没有爱心，但是大多数都是非常友善，或者说是普通吧，甚至有些平常无奇。
一个平常无奇的母亲？那不可能。奇怪的是，作为一个群体，母亲被看作是一无是处、身材臃肿的人，是充满忧虑、关爱、烦躁和无趣的人。可是，作为个人，母亲则是一切。在这两个极端之间，她们又处于哪个位置呢？
在我三、四十岁的时候，许多曾经抱怨她们母亲的女孩开始和母亲一起购物、谈论厨具，做所有朋友间可能会做的事情，甚至能做得更多。这些母亲，我不知道这些母亲以前到底做了什么，不过她们确实也变了。她们让孩子随心所欲。战斗结束了。就好像每一方都奋勇向前朝着光明挺近，看着彼此找到归属。
既然我自己已经成了一个母亲，看到我们中的大多数如何在我们脑海中的“母亲”和抚养我们长大的母亲间最终达成妥协，我感到无比欣慰。如果女儿自己有了孩子，这个过程就实现了某种光荣的终结。“现在你理解了吧，”（祖母）母亲说，“现在你明白了。”这就是她们渴望的，就好像任何一个青春期的少年一样，她们需要被理解，她们需要给无休止的责备画上句号。
我把孩子带回家，用不同的眼光审视我的父母。我的父亲只是单纯地喜欢看小孩子。他不喜欢打扰他们，不喜欢让他们去做任何事，也不喜欢用任何方式去吓唬他们。他似乎并不相信婴儿。我的母亲喜欢婴儿（有些女人可能不喜欢但她喜欢），尤其是当他们非常小，很原始，不停嘤嘤哭啼，甚至都不能算是通人性的时候。我母亲的爱比我父亲的爱更热烈。我想，她几乎都能被婴儿伤害到。无论如何，我意识到这就是我当前幸福的来源，我意识到我母性的大部分是由我母亲的激情和我父亲善意的关注融合而成的。
一个女人问我“你会拥有典型的母女关系吗？”你能感觉到，她认为这就是因果报应。这个世界喜欢去提醒父母：很快一切都会出错。
在宝宝18个月大的时候我回想起这件事，感觉每个拥抱都包含着扭动离开的想法。如果我给她唱歌，她会待在我的腿上，她也会抚摸我的脸；但是如果这种爱变得太过宠溺了，她就会推开、挤开或踢开。我不安地想到她变成14岁的那一天。
在看似无心实则故意的肘击中，她有着清晰的界线和明确的目标。
男孩子呢？他们也是这样吗？