…In which they want to place things and children. Theirs: their things and their children. Sitting nicely, as they place them, mathematically: the sofa in front of the TV, at the right distance depending on the diagonal, the stove in the kitchen, the painting on the wall, the child in his room with beautiful unicorns drawn on the walls. Concerned about calculating distances, architectural symmetries, bank installments, most often forget to pour love over everything.
The TV sits where they put it and tells them “important” news every night, instead of them telling the children stories from books or life to help them grow up beautifully, the stove sits shiny and white in the kitchen, heating semi-prepared foods instead of home-cooked dishes with love, and the child is not allowed to hang his childish painting instead of the work of art that sits on the wall along the stairs.
And things sit the way grown-ups put them. And the children obey in the end; they learn the order of things from the grown-ups. And they learn that this is the way it should be and that they are not allowed to change the order of things as they please, according to their logic or heart.
And then the children grow up too and go through life without even trying to change the order of things or feeling out of place in the order drawn by others but without having the courage to change anything. Once in a while, a few find the courage and know that that order is not theirs and that their song just has not yet been sung.
