Weekend
It was just one of those disagreements that left me broken. Like when a parent gets into an argument with a child, and the child -- in anger -- runs off and does all the things that he's been disallowed to do, as if -- for that moment -- his parent didn't exist. He plays with fire, rides his bicycle on the road, and swims off into the deep end.
The child wrestles himself out of his parent's grasp, leaving his parent clutching air desperately.
No one wins; the child puts himself in all sorts of danger, the parent is left worried sick, and everyone is mad.
Just that the roles have been reversed and I feel like the parent, with my dad as a child.
"Listen to the doctor!" I wanted to scream. But the lump in my throat made it impossible to speak.
***
Earlier in the evening, as I was having dinner, I spotted a "Special Offer" sign at the corner of my eye.
I hadn't spoken to Dad since the incident, but seeing that sign just reminded of my dad, hard at work.
Always working. For what? For us. For me.
And the tears came.
No matter what happens -- in spite of how mad he has made me -- I've made him mad more.
And, as Trisha Yearwood so tenderly put it, he'll always love me more.
Now, if I only knew how to fix this.
***
Meanwhile, the first day of school goes on.
As if nothing happened.
The child wrestles himself out of his parent's grasp, leaving his parent clutching air desperately.
No one wins; the child puts himself in all sorts of danger, the parent is left worried sick, and everyone is mad.
Just that the roles have been reversed and I feel like the parent, with my dad as a child.
"Listen to the doctor!" I wanted to scream. But the lump in my throat made it impossible to speak.
***
Earlier in the evening, as I was having dinner, I spotted a "Special Offer" sign at the corner of my eye.
I hadn't spoken to Dad since the incident, but seeing that sign just reminded of my dad, hard at work.
Always working. For what? For us. For me.
And the tears came.
No matter what happens -- in spite of how mad he has made me -- I've made him mad more.
And, as Trisha Yearwood so tenderly put it, he'll always love me more.
Now, if I only knew how to fix this.
***
Meanwhile, the first day of school goes on.
As if nothing happened.
posted by Laughingcow at 9:00 pm
2 Comments:
sometimes it's (objectively) better to vent.. some people won't listen / take you seriously when you try to reason with them nicely, and if you don't let it out, it festers inside and grows..
and i guess you too know that ur dad knows that you did it out of concern..
My purpose is never to "vent" per se, just to keep him safe. I did it in writing afterwards. Don't want to revisit my adolescence by screaming at him -- even if it is "for his own good."
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