Last Saturday night, I had one of those moments when I felt like I sounded just like my father, although I’m not at all sure if he ever actually said anything like that to. Peevish and frustrated, I had just finished lecturing my son about what I considered to be a surplus of inconsiderate behavior on his part, when–feeling a bit guilty–I felt I needed to clarify for Adam why I felt so strongly about this.
“Adam,” I said, in a tone that I think was growingly beseeching. “I don’t want to say this stuff and you don’t want to hear it. But I’m your father, and if I don’t tell you when you go too far, then how will you know better?”
“I hope you understand,” I added.
He nodded, probably hoping to bring my lecture to conclusion.
So what had he done? I can’t even remember the specifics, but one of my son’s common modes of behavior is to be relentlessly (to me) jokey and tease-y and non-serious, and at this particular time he was relentlessly (to me and his sister) doing things to annoy Elena.
So that was the jumping off point for me stopping the action and spouting out my frustrations about how he needed to be more sensitive to other’s feelings, and how he really wasn’t trying hard enough to do this.
Later, in a calmer moment, I reminded myself that his behavior is probably par for the course for many 9-year-olds. Just as mine was probably typical of many parents of 9-year-olds.
I’ll tell you this though: My declaration about being his father and having some responsibility to guide (or try to guide) his behavior helped me understand myself. I didn’t like yelling at him. But this time I was kind of proud of it.
