The scenario is also a routine one in this household. Tommy's focus and interests lean dramatically away from maintaining what I consider good grades. Instead, he immersed himself in a few projects related to Instagram ads, video productions, and now, drop-shipping. I respect his skills and desires around pursuing all of these. He's good at this stuff, and there's an entrepreneurial aspect of his engagement in these endeavors that is both impressive and inspirational.
Yet, as a parent, seeing the grades tanking is a red flag. And with him, perhaps more of a rotating flashing red beacon. He does this. And I have little or no leverage or control over it, which I keep forgetting until I try and enforce his doing so with threats or consequences. Not being allowed to drive doesn't help, and he's too old to 'ground,' either. As the topic arose this morning as he was lobbying for my help obtaining a business license, I said his priority needed to be getting his grades back up and that I would not help with anything until they were.
The triggers between us are, sadly, common: perceived disregard and disrespect. The responses are as well: dismissive retorts and escalated posturing. Both occurred. And in a manner of only a few exchanges, things got ugly. I made threats to alert the hockey place that video shoots were to stop until grades came back up. The response, threatening to make sure I would regret that, brought about a mental 'snap' for me, and I went off.
I am not proud of this. I don't particularly relish admitting to losing my shit. I do so here because I want to work it out in writing, learn from it, and acknowledge my regrets. I tried to convey this while driving him to his mom's after and through text exchanges, to no avail.
My dad never lost his shit as I can. Then again, I never threatened him, called him names, scoffed at his authority or advice, or made him feel like a jerk a good deal of the time, which is something my son does to me. I don't think he realizes how he makes me feel, or his mom or sister for that matter. I don't think it's intentionally as cruel and upsetting as it is or that he has fully developed that insight and awareness.
I swore, I called him names. I said he should get the fuck out of my house. I followed him into his room as things escalated. I said he should go back to his mom. He held his arm out to keep me from 'walking upon him,' as he put it. That's when I slapped his hand off my chest and threatened to knock his teeth out.
That was awful. I know that. I was furious on so many levels, but it was wrong. It is as heartbreaking for me to realize I said that as it was for him to hear it.
My older brother and my dad sparred in our later teens. Verbally and at least once that I vividly recall, physically. In a wrestling fashion, though, nothing more violent. At times I feel haunted by the ghost of my father trying to control his son. I stumble over this far too often. Each time I do, I swear I'll watch my step going forward until I'm not paying attention and do it again.
Things continued like this for a while, inside and outside the house, as he gathered his stuff. I drove him to his mom's, and although I tried to quell the tensions, he remained obstinate. That has lasted throughout the day, and even though he returned after 6 pm, it remains.
I can't condone my aggressive responses. I attribute my crackling at that moment, in part, to quarantine stressors, job insecurity, financial concerns, keeping my mom safe, and other worries. However, the fact remains that his typical behavior borders on oppositional-defiance, an almost reflex need to be antagonistic, to feel the charge and control that comes with conflict.
Control issues are a pattern and a struggle between us, much like my brother and father. It's something I am striving to resolve. I have succeeded far more than I've failed over the years. We both own how we interact with each other. It's difficult for me to ignore his slights and jabs, but responding in kind is anything but kind or productive.
I have to accept the window of influence I have to control him has closed, while the opportunity to model will always be a choice I can make.
Yet, as a parent, seeing the grades tanking is a red flag. And with him, perhaps more of a rotating flashing red beacon. He does this. And I have little or no leverage or control over it, which I keep forgetting until I try and enforce his doing so with threats or consequences. Not being allowed to drive doesn't help, and he's too old to 'ground,' either. As the topic arose this morning as he was lobbying for my help obtaining a business license, I said his priority needed to be getting his grades back up and that I would not help with anything until they were.
The triggers between us are, sadly, common: perceived disregard and disrespect. The responses are as well: dismissive retorts and escalated posturing. Both occurred. And in a manner of only a few exchanges, things got ugly. I made threats to alert the hockey place that video shoots were to stop until grades came back up. The response, threatening to make sure I would regret that, brought about a mental 'snap' for me, and I went off.
I am not proud of this. I don't particularly relish admitting to losing my shit. I do so here because I want to work it out in writing, learn from it, and acknowledge my regrets. I tried to convey this while driving him to his mom's after and through text exchanges, to no avail.
My dad never lost his shit as I can. Then again, I never threatened him, called him names, scoffed at his authority or advice, or made him feel like a jerk a good deal of the time, which is something my son does to me. I don't think he realizes how he makes me feel, or his mom or sister for that matter. I don't think it's intentionally as cruel and upsetting as it is or that he has fully developed that insight and awareness.
I swore, I called him names. I said he should get the fuck out of my house. I followed him into his room as things escalated. I said he should go back to his mom. He held his arm out to keep me from 'walking upon him,' as he put it. That's when I slapped his hand off my chest and threatened to knock his teeth out.
That was awful. I know that. I was furious on so many levels, but it was wrong. It is as heartbreaking for me to realize I said that as it was for him to hear it.
My older brother and my dad sparred in our later teens. Verbally and at least once that I vividly recall, physically. In a wrestling fashion, though, nothing more violent. At times I feel haunted by the ghost of my father trying to control his son. I stumble over this far too often. Each time I do, I swear I'll watch my step going forward until I'm not paying attention and do it again.
Things continued like this for a while, inside and outside the house, as he gathered his stuff. I drove him to his mom's, and although I tried to quell the tensions, he remained obstinate. That has lasted throughout the day, and even though he returned after 6 pm, it remains.
I can't condone my aggressive responses. I attribute my crackling at that moment, in part, to quarantine stressors, job insecurity, financial concerns, keeping my mom safe, and other worries. However, the fact remains that his typical behavior borders on oppositional-defiance, an almost reflex need to be antagonistic, to feel the charge and control that comes with conflict.
Control issues are a pattern and a struggle between us, much like my brother and father. It's something I am striving to resolve. I have succeeded far more than I've failed over the years. We both own how we interact with each other. It's difficult for me to ignore his slights and jabs, but responding in kind is anything but kind or productive.
I have to accept the window of influence I have to control him has closed, while the opportunity to model will always be a choice I can make.