The wise dad who wrote this story lives with his wife of 23 years, his 18-year-old daughter and his 11-year-old son. The piece was originally printed in a regional parent group newsletter, and appeared in the February 1996 issue of Voices from the Heart.

All too often, my patience is tested to the max when our son's anger explodes into our relatively quiet existence. What makes it so difficult is the notion that I don't have a clue where the anger came from.

See, I am a fixer. I fix things. I approach my problems with logic and fix them. If you need a lecture, see me. If you need comforting, see your mother. I was born to lecture. I mentally determine the main theme, create an outline of invisible little index cards, and then expand upon the logical solution until everyone within ear shot is comatose. After eighteen years of parenting, I still find it extremely difficult to "just be there" for our children. If they have a problem, I've got to fix it.

Knowing my weakness is of little benefit. I came from a family where anger and joy were discouraged (to put it mildly), if not outright banned. Dealing on an emotional level is not in my modus operandi. In my birth family, any display of anger was dealt with harshly and labeled disruptive and sinful. Any sign of true joy was labeled "silly." When our son gets angry and expresses that anger verbally and/or by tantrum, my insides churn and the hairs on my neck stand straight up. My blood pressure rises and I feel my lips tighten to hold back the verbal assault that screams to lay him out.

Now ain't this a fine kettle o' fish? Two people consumed with rage and neither knows the true source of the anger! He can't tell me what's wrong because he really doesn't know, and I can't fix it because he didn't do anything wrong and I don't have any data to analyze and formulate into a lecture.

When he is in this state, I cannot just simply hug him because it is a very rare occasion when he permits physical affection or comforting. Should I walk away and bide my time? No, I've tried that. What we end up with is destruction or disshelving of everything within a five-yard radius. What he can't express with his lips, he expresses with his hands and feet. Sadly enough, it is usually his own treasured things he destroys.

The only thing I've found that seems to work most of the time is to first acknowledge his anger and then encourage him to use words to express himself. "You're very angry, aren't you, son? Sometimes, I get really angry, too. Could you tell me what the problem is?" Sometimes, and it happens sooner and more often as time passes, he will express his anger. As you might guess, it typically stems from hurt or disappointment.

If I sit down next to him and handle the situation gently, he often will start to cry and explain his problem. Sometimes, I can help. Other times, I can only console. To my amazement (I'm slow), when I can't fix the problem and just console him instead, things work out much better.

Give me a break; I'm a slow learner! The good news is, the more I practice, the better I get at this "comfort" and "feeling" thing.

Recently, while riding in the car, our daughter needed me to hear her pain. She needed to hear herself say how she felt and why. I responded innately with an Introduction to Logic. Frustrated and breaking into tears, she wisely said, "That doesn't help!" I quickly swallowed my pride and said I was sorry.

I reached over, took her hand, and held it the rest of the trip, squeezing it on occasion to say, "I'm sorry, and I'm here for you." Funny, but that was the closest I've been to our daughter in years. We held hands through an entire concert and her pain was gone. We shared an unspoken love for each other I will treasure forever.

I'm learning.

(NACAC)
970 Raymond Avenue, Suite 106
St. Paul, MN 55114
phone: 651-644-3036
fax: 651-644-9848
e-mail: info@nacac.org
Feedback