Jordan Peterson escreveu algumas palavras para a sua mãe no octogésimo aniversário dela. Encontro similaridades em vários trechos do texto: faz parte daqueles que eu gostaria de ter escrito, de maneira parecida, endereçado a minha própria. Um parágrafo abaixo, com negrito por minha conta:
That’s my mom. No trouble. Lots of fun. She doesn’t complain, except sometimes, and then she has her reasons — and always feels guilty about it. She seriously loves her children. She likes to have a glass of wine, and to play practical jokes, and is hospitable to a fault. There are always three meals prepared for guests at my mother’s house, or her cabin, or even when she’s visiting. It’s easy to feel welcome when visiting her. This is a remarkable and underappreciated attribute. It’s much less common than it once was, now that so much resentment appears to have built up in the kitchen and the domestic sphere, where the increasingly common warfare between men and women and their respective duties means that the basic tasks of hospitality have been abandoned, where mealtimes are no longer collective acts of celebration, and where people are chronically preoccupied with their individual electronic addictive social hells.
That’s my mom. No trouble. Lots of fun. She doesn’t complain, except sometimes, and then she has her reasons — and always feels guilty about it. She seriously loves her children. She likes to have a glass of wine, and to play practical jokes, and is hospitable to a fault. There are always three meals prepared for guests at my mother’s house, or her cabin, or even when she’s visiting. It’s easy to feel welcome when visiting her. This is a remarkable and underappreciated attribute. It’s much less common than it once was, now that so much resentment appears to have built up in the kitchen and the domestic sphere, where the increasingly common warfare between men and women and their respective duties means that the basic tasks of hospitality have been abandoned, where mealtimes are no longer collective acts of celebration, and where people are chronically preoccupied with their individual electronic addictive social hells.
