A Place for Rage

“Anger has no place in a family.”

This was the phrase my counsellor spoke after I told him my 5 year old son attempted to hurt me and I responded in anger. Now he was a person who came from a family where rage was often used as a tool to manipulate. He felt anger represented the worst possible aspects of the human condition. He grew up in a household where his father held the family hostage with his anger. 

This was not an opinion I shared. I was lying between my boys and my son was upset at me for some slight. He then chose to get up and jump on my arm in an attempt to hurt me, he was probably 40lbs and lacked the ability. His ability to hurt me not withstanding, I recognised that this type of behaviour needs to be addressed. He couldn’t hurt me then, but that would not always be the case. One day he would have the same desire to harm another person with order of magnitude more power to back it up. I got angry at him because I wanted him to understand that if you try to hurt someone they will get angry. It is a valuable lesson to teach a boy to show the consequence of violence without showing him a violent answer. 

I have always felt that keeping the line of the relationship between myself and the kids raw. That goes both ways. My daughter has taught me that a child’s inability to make their own decisions (who to visit or what to do) can be frustrating because you don’t have any control.  As a child you feel like every decision is made for you and you can’t really get what you want at times. The reality of living a life where you have no control must be hard. I admit, I try to empathise, but I really don’t have a strong memory of that time in my life. I do have other parts of my development that I understand the need for empathy a lot more.  

Unfortunately, due to the nature of my childhood having been so far away, the point I do recall where it felt like expectations were given to me without consideration of my feelings was in my twenties. I do remember talking about sex in my early-mid twenties with authority figures. I believed preservation till marriage was absolutely crucial. Hence I was celibate, but I wasn’t dead. I was lectured on sexual conduct by people in active sexual relationships and many had been so for decades. They seemed to portray it as exceedingly unimportant. This seemed strangely detached from reality. I remember talking to my best friend and he asked me what I would want to do before I died, “have sex,” was my immediate response. Having been in a married relationship for almost two decades, I can now come up with a longer pre apocalyptic list than that, but at 23 it felt important. The reality of having people who enjoyed the benefit downplay its value made me feel like the circumstances were unfair. It drew into contrast the unfamiliar relationship they had with the phase of life I was living through. It made me feel exceedingly lonely because I wasn’t sure they even understood me. The authority figures lost the chance to share my humanity and left me emotionally isolated with my problems. When dealing with my kids, I am trying to find an honest way to talk to me and share what they are living through. This avenue is not meant to absolve them of responsibility. My leaders in my twenties gave wisdom, but because my reality was never part of their consideration the wisdom they gave felt like death. This left me with the need that if I am to serve the well-being of my children I have to allow them their humanity. If I demand their obedience without providing a space for them to feel or experience feelings in return then I am providing wisdom with no consideration. In other words I am giving them death.  

My children need to have space for my feelings and I actively try to give them space for their feelings. I have a very real, very visceral relationship with my children. They know when they succeed and when they fail. I do my very best to take accountability for my perceived successes and failures in their life too. I allow a visceral relationship because it is the most peaceful. If you learn to accept your feelings as neither good nor bad and understand that your father is a safe place to navigate these feelings, I dare say you have a super power. I try to see the world from their eyes. I have earned their respect because they know for all my intensity, if they conduct themselves rightly, I will turn that intensity on their adversaries. 

My anger, my passion is not a vice. If I am using it correctly, It is one of the many tools I use to teach my children about themselves and the world around them. I had parents who were very different, one was very cerebral and the other was very emotional. I am trying to combine both of those approaches in hopes my children will become the most honest, sincere, loving and respectful people possible. The reality of parenting often leaves parents and kids charged with unresolved emotions. I have found having a space for real feelings to flow in both directions is like seeing a thunder storm on the prairies. They are violent and intense, but necessary. Unlike my counsellor who would have feared the storm of rage, I find well used emotion can leave the relationship as clear and crisp as a prairie field after a thunder storm. 

Helped by God

 Hello again dear reader. I am here at the behest of wisdom. It is necessary to write you a story so that I can look back and read it and remember.

Doris and I had been married for about a year and a half. We had moved into a new house, renovated it and I started a new job. Quite a lot to back in to such a short time. I remember she turned to me and said, "I want to have a baby." I am strong willed person. I am not easily pushed over and if I dont have an opinion I am happy to do almost anything. I liked kids and I thought "right, we are married, having babies is a thing." So I shrugged and said yes. After about 6 months of "working" at it, we were as yet unsuccessful. 

She had snuck a pregnancy test when I wasn't looking. She had done this several times so I assumed nothing. I was using the bathroom and I saw a used pregnancy test in the garbage. Upon completion of my business I picked it up and looked. A dark pink line and a soft second line stared back at me. I referenced the near by box and realised it meant she was pregnant. I made my way out of the bathroom and went to join her on the couch. "I saw a pregnancy test in the garbage," I casually remarked. "Yah, but it was negative," she remarked sadly. I told her to look again. This was our introduction to our son, "expect the unexpected." 

As she became decidedly more pregnant we had need to pick a name. A little relational glimpse into the sausage machine of our relationship, picking a name involves me spewing out a 100 different options and her saying no to all but one of them. At least that was the case with our first two. If I am correct, she came up with the name. I dont think I ever heard the name Azariah. It is the name of a priest in the Bible and is the Hebrew name of Abendago from the book of Daniel. I had certainly heard it, but it didnt register in my mind. I did love it. Obscure, unique and beautiful-not unlike my son. 

So, I will fast-forward to the present day. A unique, beautiful creation is not always considered a gem. It requires the right circumstance to find its value. He is passionate, creative, and deeply anxious. He has a depth of maturity in his soul and a hunger for knowledge. He is profoundly insecure and has a diagnosed challenge in bringing to bare his glorious faculties on the world around him. He wants to be a master of the universe, but relishes the simplest things. But now to take our conversation in a totally different direction. 

I grew up without an intuitive understanding of what people expect of me. It took a great deal of time for me to realise how people wanted me to behave. I had a deeply embarrassing experience when I was around 12 years old. My parents owned a restaurant and I was outside of it talking to my female cousin and some of her friends. Near the end of the conversation I said, "well I'm going to go upstairs." One of them said, "dont go, stay and hang out with us." Confused I asked, "why?" The answer was because they were having fun and wanted to be with me. This memory was embarrassing because I was lonely as a teenager and I think about those times where I missed obvious social cues and it makes me feel sad. People I could have had fun and good memories that I miss out on. 

My son, is similar to me. He doesn't get social cues. I decided to test this theory. He and I were sitting together and I told him the story. I then asked him, "what do you think they meant when they said stay and hang out with us?" His eyes glazed over. I clearly stumped him. He then came to a conclusion and said, "please dont make me say it." Confused at his response, I gave him the answer after which he was relieved.  He can be a bit of an over-thinker and he was dwelling on an overly complex version of events. 

As he evolved into a teenager, we are now faced with unique challenges. He has been diagnosed as having a learning disability and I have attempted to recognise that and take it into consideration. Testosterone can be a vicious, unrelenting hormone that drives you to the deepest cravings and the most intense aspects of your humanity. In his current state, his brain is bathed in high amounts of the hormone. Added to the fact that he has social challenges, this creates a distinctly difficult environment for a boy to become a man. It is difficult because you cannot withdraw expectation in parenting, otherwise you run the risk of normalising its absence. People (boys in particular) need to know whats expected of them to believe that they are in control and they need some sense of personal control to be happy. It is tempting to simply remove all expectation with the explanation of his challenges to justify it.  

Azariah means "Helped by God." I have recently come to believe that everything moves towards purpose. The belief that he is "helped by God" is the belief that the purpose for which he is going to see is a good one. I hope in my heart for white shores and a swift sunrise for my son. Believing that he is helped by God requires me to relinquish my fear. It requires me to live in the moment. It requires me to be his adversary in one breadth and be his helper in the next. In my continue effort to love him, I am also required to let him go (albeit slowly). I will let him go and whenver I speak his name I will remember that his name means helped by God and even though I cant be everywhere, I know someone who is and he is in his corner. He'll be ok. Helped by God.