I hate fighting with people, and I especially hate fighting with my wife.
But when fighting was what you were taught from the cradle, how do you remove it from your reptilian brain. Rage and threats were at the core of home life in the Starr household and I despised it over the years while embracing it.
Dad was a violent guy and he didn’t pass by any opportunity to yell at or pick a fight with his three boys.
About seven years before I was born, my oldest brother Jon told me about a time when he walked in to see mom packing bags in her bedroom. Jon asked what she was doing and she said with tears in her eyes, “we’re leaving.” Dad had a history of hitting her early on in the marriage and it had finally come to a head. My other brother Chris was a baby and she had everything ready to go until Jon, about 10 years old at the time, insisted strongly enough that they could not leave and asked her to put the bags away. They stayed and a few years later I joined the fray.
Dad yelled at mom regularly and while I never saw the previously mentioned physical abuse I have no doubt it happened. Most of the abuse my brothers and I experienced was verbal. I was regularly referred to as a punk or idiot, but I knew things were getting bad when I heard, “YOU GODDAMN IMP!” come from his mouth as he stood over me in full fury mode. Dad reserved his imp designation for when he was on the verge of getting physical. There were plenty of threats to hit me, even egging me on to take a swing at him. I never did. He was my dad.
One time on a jobsite (Dad was a masonry contractor), he and my brother Chris, who was in his early 20s at the time, were arguing about something related to the job. Chris loved working with Dad and worshiped the ground he walked on, but Dad laid into Chris worse than any of us. So that day on the job, they were arguing and all of the sudden Dad just snapped and started pushing Chris hard. I just stood there watching and I could tell Chris was embarrassed, confused and most of all scared as his hands went down to his side as Dad continued to push him hard as he taunted his son. Chris looked to the ground and said, “come on, stop it,” while Dad kept pushing harder and harder yelling and provoking more and more, “YOU WANT TO FIGHT? LET’S FIGHT! COME ON!!!” Nothing came of it as Chris continued to back down and Dad finally let up, and just like that we went back to work.
The abuse took on another form when he drank. He was what you call a happy drunk, which I would say is a good thing but no child should have to see a parent drunk on a regular basis and wonder when or if he is going to make it home and if he does what his state of sobriety will be.
I honestly have no clue why my Dad even wanted to have kids. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he thought that was just how life was supposed to go. You were supposed to get married and having kids was a consequence of marriage. In his defense he lacked much the training to be a parent. His parents both died by the time he turned 10. To then turn around and know how to be a father…I should probably consider myself lucky he did as well as he did.
So there was the coming home drunk all the time and the verbal abuse, the name calling and talking down to you like you were trash. To be honest, compared to some horrific stories of abuse I have heard this doesn’t even hold a candle. But it’s mine and it has molded me into who I am and what I have to live and work with.
There was one time. I was about 17, I was grown and I was done taking shit. Unlike Chris I didn’t have a great love for my father. It wasn’t that I hated him, but I didn’t revere him and I saw him and his faults. And being almost a man in my mind at the time, I wasn’t scared to call him out. So I was sitting at the dining room table. I don’t remember what the discussion was but dad got up from his chair, grabbed me by my shirt and threw me and the chair down to the floor. There were more choice words meant to put me “the boy” in my place and it was left at that, another wound inflicted and another layer of anger etched into my being.
I didn’t have a lot good to say about my father in my younger years. We had some good times together and there are definitely some good memories but it’s tough to get the bad taste washed from the hateful attacks of a parent.
As I grew older my memories of Dad softened, moving more toward the good times. But it’s during times like today when I remember my true roots.
I told you I hate fighting with people, and I especially hate fighting with my wife. She is my best friend. She has seen me at my lowest and worst, so my goal is to always show her my best. That’s not always easy because I slip at times and there are times when she is stressed which can seep into how we act and react toward each other. It’s during these times when I face my biggest challenge and those demons Dad thrust upon me years ago. It’s at that instant where a word or tone triggers those demons. It’s during these times that I have a choice. I can give into the impulse and allow Dad’s vile words to vomit out of my mouth or I can choose kindness. It’s not always easy, especially when years of hate, violence and anger have taught me otherwise.
But when the alternative is to have to miss precious time with my best friend because of one instance of impulsive, nonsensical lashing out, it might be worth altering impulse. So I work at it and I work at it and I get better.
I remember one day right out of the blue, Dad stopped drinking alcohol. No explanation, he just stopped. About the same time, he started to mellow out. He still got angry but the violence and name calling was gone, just like that. I chalked it off to the march of time as the middle aged bull turned the corner to his golden years. But maybe it was something more. Maybe he realized that rage and violence did nothing to solve an issue. I’d like to think that is what I am figuring out as I advance through this life. I would like to think the next stressful episode that comes up I will handle better than the last, so in the spilt second when I have an opportunity to choose between rage and peace I will have the mentality to do right.
Now please excuse me as I go home and ask my wife for forgiveness and another opportunity to do better.
