The Angry Father
It is after midnight now. Fire is coming out of my nose and laser beams fly from my eyes. I am, the angry father. It has been a long ten days and I am responding to a mixture of guilt, frustration and anger. It is a witches brew of emotions that lends itself to rash decisions and foolish actions.
So I sit here at the keyboard and do what I can to blow off some steam and alleviate stress as best that I can. The blog is good for that. A highly useful tool with exceptional utility and practical application. Here I state my claims upon and about that which irritates me. Here I let loose the dogs of war and absorb the slings and arrows of my day.
Hah, nothing like a little melodrama to make life more interesting. In my younger years I viewed myself as a low maintenance kind of guy. Easy going, laid back and able to take things as they come. I have since discovered that it is not entirely accurate. Not really surprising, we all have funny images/impressions of ourselves.
That is not to say that I am a loose cannon with no emotional control or stability because the truth is that I am tough. I am a hard ass who can be the toughest bastard you ever saw. Part of that is natural and part of that is because I am a father. I have obligations and responsibilities to my children that I never forget.
And that is part of why I feel guilty. Guilt because we have an overwhelming need that requires long hours. Work doesn’t end. I don’t relax because I can’t. Ok, I relax for moments in time but not the way that I want to. I feel driven to accomplish things. Driven to provide for my family and under the current circumstances it is a bit more challenging than normal.
So I feel guilty because I can’t spend as much time with the children as I’d like. Frustrated because things are harder than they should be, harder than they need to be. So I work harder to find ways to simplify things and all that happens is the tight rope I walk becomes smaller and shakier. Angry because when they are home for spring break I can’t work as hard as I need to. Guilty because they don’t deserve my anger. Frustrated because I can’t give them the time they are asking for.
But that is part of the game we play as parents. It is the circus act we signed up for. I am juggler, clown and ringmaster. I work as the lion tamer and take a turn cleaning up the elephant’s crap. And all the while I try to find that mysterious thing we call balance.
I hug them constantly and tell them that dad loves them so often they say “I love you too” even before I say “I love you.” These children of mine, they make me proud. They accept me for who I am. And because they are mine they also know how to press my buttons. They thrill and infuriate me these children of mine.
So I look at them and promise that their abba will find time. I say that dad will find a way to beat back the hordes that want my time and I will focus upon them. These are not empty words. I will do it.
And without another word a brother and sister embrace me, arms around my waist, heads leaning against my body. In the dark I smile, and feel a small tear work its way into my eye.
Those two, they did it again.
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