May 27, 2016 by August Rain
it is hard. To be the mother. Of a man. Mothers of men make the mistake of telling you that it’s hard to be the mother of boys. Or rather. They tell you that someday your boy will grow up to be an asshole just like all the other men in the world (Lamoin’s sister told me this once) and you will look at your silken-haired, crystal clear blue eyed cherub and know in the depths of your heart that this witch of a woman is so wrong-so very wrong wrong wrong Wrong. Your child is different because you have the key. You have the secret. You will nurture and nurse him. He will not hurt anyone and you will damn well make sure no one hurts him. In your righteous maternal determination you will lock the doors you shut one by one. Or just apathetically never bother to answer the knocking.
Now I know how that feels and how it hurts to be on this side shut out. All the women. The mothers of men. I shut out. I ignored. once they had given so much to me and to my sons–his sons.
Mothers hurting other mothers.
Since the beginning of time I would imagine. It’s just sad.
My dear Chloe.