FROM THE NORM TO THE MARGIN

Flash back no. 1

As I look back I realise something that my children realised long before I did. All our happy memories of our old life never contain their father.

The last few years, on Fridays, "he" says that he doesn't go home at lunchtime to leave us alone because he has realised that he is too much. In reality, "he" takes the opportunity to go and eat with colleagues, or so he says. So these Friday lunches become a chill moment with Chinese noodles and ice cream enjoyed in the lounge in front of OSS117. Pure happiness.

There are also the school holidays during which "he" insists that we go to my sister's house. Yes, "he" is going to be abandoned but he sacrifices himself for us. He always does. Someone has to work in this family. It's true that taking care of five children on an ultra-tight budget, managing the garden, homework, meals (all homemade with a special diet for my intolerant daughter), cleaning, laundry, renovation work, sewing, outings, family meals, children's sporting events, illnesses, all this is nothing at all. We leave in the car and I drive the little less than six hundred kilometres with ecstatic children and a mixed feeling of joy and guilt.

I have to phone every night. When I tell him what we have done during the day, he cuts me off and says that if I want to show him everything that "he" has missed, because "he" is working, I can't do better. When I tell him that there is nothing new, he replies that if I have nothing to tell him it's not worth calling him. "He is used to being alone. I reserve the evening for myself in my bed when everyone else is in bed to read until one or two in the morning. It's so nice. At that time I think I really don't know what I want because I like these moments without him but at the same time I would like to be able to share them with him. At that time I want "him" to hold me, to tell me that "he" loves me. But the only time I have physical contact is when "he" wants to do his business or when he gets violent. As for saying that "he" loves me, I've been waiting for a long time because "he" told me that it's impossible for "him" to say it if "he" doesn't mean it. So by deduction "he" never means it.

When we leave without "him" to go to my grandmothers' who have their own place, to have a mini-vacation. These interludes of oxygen are band-aids to keep going. Even if we sleep on the ground, in sleeping bags. Even if we eat in camping mode. Even if we don't do exceptional things, but without any crisis, simply because we feel like it.

I also think back to Wednesday nights. We hold our breath because "he" always hints that "he" might not go to his training. As soon as the car is gone we can eat without constant remarks. We can talk without "he" spying on us behind the door. We can read the bedtime story without hearing grumbling about it being too long. I can go to bed without waiting for him to decide to go to bed. I can get into my pyjamas without hurrying so that "he" doesn't see me naked and jump on me. If I say I don't feel like it "he" throws a fit and wakes the children up with his screams.

How can anyone still tell us that we should put ourselves in his place? That we should understand him.