I have good days and bad days as a father. I spend a lot of time trying to model good behavior to Finley, walking her through problem solving, conflict management, critical thinking, and interpersonal relationships. I’ve given these lessons countless times using countless examples, hoping she’ll pick up on and employ some of the strategies I’ve demonstrated. But being a parent means you can show your child the right way to do things a hundred times and then fuck it all up with one meltdown. Part of parenting is also being aware of the meltdown when it occurs, taking a deep breath, and talking oneself down off the ledge in the middle of the red mist. On some days I’m better at all of this and on others I fail miserably.
Yesterday I took Finn out for a quick dinner and some errands. The plan was to get some food and then pick up a negative battery cable for the Scout, which is still suffering from a starting problem I have not been able to diagnose. We got our food, sat in the car and ate, I turned the key to start the Accord, and was met with a weak crank and then a click. All subsequent attempts were met with the same problem. Pulling and reconnecting the battery leads had no effect. Several months ago I had this same problem and replaced the battery (not a small expense) but apparently now it’s a larger issue.
And the fact that I was stuck in a car that wouldn’t start on my way to get a part for another car that wouldn’t start set me over the edge. My mood went to black; peeling my thumbnail backwards on the hood did not help. I texted Jen to ask for a jumpstart. When she pulled up next to us, I was not able to jump the Accord from the CR-V, so I had to call USAA for a tow to our local garage.
Throughout the situation, as I was modeling terrible behavior in front of Finley, I was aware of it, and the fact that I could not correct this terrible behavior made things even worse. We’ve repeatedly shown her how to stop, take deep breaths, jump up and down, and use other strategies to reset her brain; I did none of these. I don’t know where this anger came from. I don’t know why it felt so easy to lose control like I did. And I don’t know why it was so hard to regain that control once it was gone, but I wasn’t happy with myself afterwards—and I’m still not.
For the last thirty years, I’ve been working hard on my temper and how quickly I lose it, but it’s clear I have a long way to go.