Fist of Anger

[this was posted in a previous blog some time ago but I thought it warranted being reposted]

At some point in my life it became a hard and fast rule in my mind to not listen to my dad. I think it came from the following story. I honestly think that he thought he was giving good advice most of the time, but this particular time it became painfully clear to me that he was not. This stand out moment came to me one time when I was junior high school age.

All my life I remember hearing the same shitty thing from my dad when myself and one of my siblings would get into an argument, or one of my brothers or sisters would get into an argument with each other.  "Punch him in the mouth!" the wise ol' man would say. He thought he was being funny and smart. Some of the times it was probably his way of saying not to bother him because he was doing important "dad" stuff like reading the paper or taking a nap on the couch. Other times he would give a half grin when he would say it, so I'm pretty sure he was pleased with his witty way of parenting. Then one day it happened.

I was out in the back yard, and I don't remember exactly what was going on but I apparently got pretty mad at Don. For a split second it came to me like one of those scenes from a movie. Metaphorically speaking, there, on my shoulder, appeared a little devil version of my dad. "Hit him! Punch him in the mouth!" Came suddenly into my mind. Without thinking twice, I plowed my fist into Dons face.

I knew the instant it happened--the split second it happened--that it was horribly wrong. I had just pasted my own brother in the face. Why? Because my dad told me to. For years he told me to. I have never felt so remorseful about something in my life as I did that moment. It was as if dad was driving my fist, and dad was Don... both at the same time. It was anger, it was retaliation, it was "Get out of my head and LEAVE ME ALONE!" It was not meant for my brother. He was the innocent victim of some sort of strange, welling anger that rose within me. An anger that was directed at my dad but found Don instead.

I stood helplessly as he screamed and mom came running. When i told her what had happened and why, I think she was more than a little dumbstruck. I think she understood it--and couldn't believe it--both at the same time. She tended to Don's face and sent me to my room to lie down--I thought it was to await dads wrath when he got home. As I lay there with this horrible tumble of emotions spilling around in my head, I made up my mind on one thing: That was the last time I heeded my dad on anything.

That night nothing was ever said to me... By him or anyone.  It seems to me that a parent should have had a discussion about it--however awkward it would have been. A serious debriefing to talk about how wrong it was to have been saying that sort of thing to us kids all those years. Not him. He never could believe he was less than our superior. I continued to pretend I was listening to him when he spoke his mind, but I promptly ignored it immediately afterward.

I'm so sorry, Don.