When I was growing up, his anger was as routine as it was devastating. Now, I’m fighting to stop my own rage from running my life.
As a kid, his anger was as routine as it was devastating. Now, I’m fighting to stop my own rage from running my life.The writer and her father in 1981.There were three boys ahead of me in the waiting room at the orthodontist. One wore a New Kids shirt, one was blasting Boyz II Men on his Walkman, and the third remained facedown in his pocket Game Boy. It was thrilling to be in such close proximity to so many boys. I hoped they found me pretty in my feathered bangs and Gap pocket tee. I was 12.
“I’m sorry,” I said at one point, “for making you wait.” My father kept his eyes on the road. I didn’t get braces that day, but when I returned the following week, the orthodontist saw me right away. While the brackets were bonding to my teeth, I peeked at my file:after she’d waited two hours for her appointment. The patient must never wait again.
“I had no idea,” a family member told me last month when the subject of my dad’s anger came up. “Your father was the most even-keeled, well-rounded man I knew. Everyone admired him.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said the stylist. She started laughing. “You think I’m the one who’s messed up?” Sitting together in the back seat of a car on the FDR, headed to a chemo appointment, I told him what I thought was good news. “I got you a second opinion,” I said. I’d been working every connection I had to find him help, and I was so proud to present this to him. I thought my resourcefulness would save his life.
But after all these years, my instinct wasn’t sympathy — it was fear. Tears sprang to my eyes. I felt like I’d messed up all over again. Handed him the wrong fork. Forgot to do my chores. I felt like a stupid idiot. Once, I called my daughter an asshole in a Home Depot parking lot for pushing the cart into my butt. Once, when I was driving upstate in the middle of the night, one of my daughters threw up, and her sister, claiming the smell was so disgusting, threw up on top of her sister. “I can’t handle this!” I screamed, storming out of the car.
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