Raging Dad
Okay. So I went off on my sons last night. I mean, I really went off. Let me give a brief synopsis, not as justification, but simply to provide background:
At the end of another extremely long day and long evening, as I was settling in to hold and feed my newborn daughter and enjoy some relaxation with her, my oldest son came home from play. I must confess that when he comes home, a feeling of panic grips me because I am certain that some form of chaos is about to ensue, but I remain calm, giving him, as I often do, the benefit of the doubt. What happens almost daily is not necessarily bad: my two boys love to play together. Awesome! I absolutely love the fact that my two sons, eight years apart, actually enjoy one another. This is something that may not last as the older progresses into teen years in the very near future. So I don't mind that they play. What I do have a personal issue with is rambunctiousness and wrestling around in my living room. I know this is my own problem--the kind of thing that happens to men as they get older, and the very thing that my own brother and I used to despise in our elderly neighbor, our own father, grandfather, or any male authority who seemed to prize peace and quiet above all. Be that as it may, I do persist in my wish to not turn our living quarters into an extreme fighting arena, especially when I am nervously cradling the two-week old girl in my arms.
So when it began, I simply asked in a firm, but quiet tone that the horseplay stop. After several repeated attempts, each one elevating my blood pressure and ire a significant level, my requests were then met with the ten-year-old's signature grin and giggle--designed, I am convinced, to infuriate me beyond the capacity for rational thought. Mission Accomplished! With as much calm as I could, (still steadying my gentle hold on my little girl) I glared at my boys and "promised" that as soon as I was able to put her down, I would surely bring the wrath of... well... me down upon them.
This I did... with all of the red-faced, spitting, screaming anger that my own ridiculous behavior induced in my father so many times in the past. Yeah, you know my father, that man that I adore and try to be like every day of my life. Again, I am not trying to justify the rampage that I executed, complete with the physical placing of my youngest son in his bed, but to simply point out that children often bring out the worst parts of their parents when behaving rudely, disrespectfully, and downright goofy.
Suffice to say that my performance was ill-received, both by my sons (though the two-year old granted immediate pardon after I had calmed down) and my beautiful wife. I am public enemy number 1 this morning--and probably rightfully so. But I don't fear any long-term retribution. As I said, my own beloved father thundered away at me countless times for... oh... say... neglecting my high-school education to the point of negatively determining the events of much of my adult life, smoking cigarettes at the age of fourteen despite my father's pleas to not harm myself in any way, speaking to him in a manner unbecoming a son to his father on occasions too many to document, and a myriad of other juvenile butthead offenses. So I guess I am just trying to reconcile my own stupid behavior last evening with the fact that a man wishes for his children to treat him a bit better than they would any stranger on the street and that maybe those children might one day realize that if I were to allow that kind of behavior, I really would be the jerk they believe me to be.
Anyway, my apologies to my family. Anger management, even in my youth, was never my strong suit. I am trying.