When A Father Attacks: The Fix

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The finale of When A Father Attacks.

Several years ago, I learned in church that when there is no communication abnormality and death sets in. This is true of all relationships --- friendships, business partnerships, and so on.

And especially relationships between men and women --- casual, serious or otherwise.

Friends of mine have commended me on my bravery for sharing this madness on the blog; a couple of dedicated readers have become genuinely concerned for the well-being of my marriage; while others are simply waiting to read this final post. My decision to share (or overshare) was to show that there are various sides and factors operating in all situations between people. As the owner and writer of Makes Me Wanna Holler I am in the position to say/rant whatever I want and slant every issue to make me look golden. But I'm not a perfect man by any stretch of the imagination --- I have a side as does my wife, but honestly my side or her side really doesn't matter in the face of raising a family and progressing as a couple. I've known so many people who've become so engrossed in their "side", that they can't move beyond it to a resolution. This is where they drown, to this day arguing their place over the place where both parties need to be.

At my "side" is where I'll pick up When A Father Attacks.

A week ago, I went from being fed by my anger to being completely wearied by it. Like the Hatfields & the McCoys, I was quickly beginning to lose sight of what upset me in the first place. All reports from my parents suggested my baby was having a blast in Chicago and my son was ecstactic to get away from his boring parents for a month with his cousins down South.

So why was I still so angry? My answer was to be found in a pizzeria/gelato store on 7th Avenue.

I went to lunch with one of my buddies after finding my own brown bag lunch completely unsatisfying. She's a part-time counselor at my organization and an avid reader of this blog. While munching on a hefty chicken slice she decided to put on her counselor's hat and dig in. It's something she does often --- maybe for practice, maybe for kicks, maybe simply to help.

The pizza was good (I got my own slice), but the talk was better and I discovered that I really needed to talk with my wife.

My daughter being shipped away, although extremely troubling, released an avalanche of resentment that has built up over time. What I processed over lunch was that in my wife's desire to do things for the sake of "us", I've typically been the last to know --- rarely, if ever, consulted during the planning. What she's been doing in the name of surprise, I've been absorbing as, What the hell is this?

Then there's all that in-fighting...

Even when friends aren't getting along, they don't stomp all over each other if they expect to remain friends. Married couples, with all the things we juggle, often grow oblivious to the reality that friendship (hopefully) was the foundation on which their union was based. In my campaign to crush my wife's always-on, type-A personality, I had completely lost sight of who she or I was and the roles we were supposed to be playing in each other's lives.

When my son was a lot younger and smaller than he is now, he frequently referred to me as "The Fixer" due to my ability to repair or build just about anything around the house.

It was time for me to resume this role.

I reopened the lines of communications between my wife and I. The talk wasn't easy (nothing worth achieving ever is), but it didn't end with me wanting to drive over her with my SUV.

Baby steps, one at a time are leading us back to where we need to be --- friends, partners, lovers, parents, and blah, blah, blah. I'm no longer on the attack. Although now I am quick to share my opinion on things, as this is my right as an equal partner in our marriage. In the days that followed this first talk, my wife and I have since barbecued, cleaned and spit-shined our son's room (in his absence of course) and vacationed in her favorite city in the United States: New Orleans.

The End. Better put: The Beginning.