She wasn’t being reasonable.
At least, in my eyes she wasn’t. There were tears, there were sobs, there was a lack of oxygen. Teenagers can be that way when their world is seemingly on the verge of collapse. It meant everything to her; why couldn’t I see that?
I have a way of casually dismissing things when I can’t find the importance of it. It could be anything from my daughter’s reaction to a negative comment she got on social media to my wife asking me which earrings I like better (which, by the way, you’d think I could pick correctly more often with a 50/50 shot)…”who cares?”
That’s my common thought when these seemingly trivial matters present themselves to me. Who actually gives a crap!
So, how does an aging dad, who is gradually losing his ability to be cool in the eyes of most, teach the ones he loves to deal with these seemingly little things of life by not caring?
The caring should go into things that really matter…like friendship, connection, being a good, respectable person.
But, how do I get my kids to let shit go?
If only I could take them back in time, like in a DeLorean. Let’s just say I could take them back to that time when I was in middle school. Danielle something or other had just broken up with me. I was on the top bunk, tears in my eyes and heartbreak in my soul. I felt like no one on earth understood my pain…and at the time, they didn’t!
I wish they could see that scene and the utter waste of energy it was. I can’t even remember her last name for fuck’s sake! In the grand scheme of my life, that juvenile break up was nothing.
Or was it?
Perhaps the heartbreak I felt that day or week or however long it lasted, prepared me just a little more for the next one I incurred. Or maybe the pain of that heartbreak made me a better boyfriend in the next relationship. Maybe the pain I suffered at the hands of Danielle allowed me to appreciate more intensely what it felt like to be loved.
I might not know or feel any of the good stuff the way I do today, without the devastating blow I was dealt at the ripe old age of 13.
And if that’s the case, maybe I’m the one that needs to let go.
Maybe I need to let go of wanting to fix everything for them so they feel better when they hurt. Maybe I need to let go of forcing my will on how they should prioritize the events of their lives. Maybe I need to let go of my expectations for how they should feel when they are dealt inexplicable blows.
Like a fish I stalk, with intense observation to understand it’s feeding ways, to the careful choosing of the right fly, to the soft presentation of said fly, to the perfectly timed hook set, to the skillful play of the fish as he runs and tires, to the cautious netting and unhooking of the fly, to the admiration of such an incredible thing…to the gentle, supporting safe release when I let it go.
Perhaps my family needs me to do the same thing.
