I'm Only Human

What a difference a day makes!

We all went to church on Sunday morning. The service was good. Rev. Paul’s sermons are always relevant. We had company at home later for the second time in as many days. This time, it was Clair and her daughter Lucy. They were here for a couple of hours and left before supper. Clair is one of Colleen’s dearest friends. Clair and Lucy came from their home in Bolton to pay a visit to Colleen. I like Clair. And her company always cheers Colleen. It was a good day ... until after supper.

Ivy had declared a desire for Indian food and so I drove to a nearby restaurant, picked up some food, and brought it home. Colleen, of course, could eat none of it. She joined us at the table, though, and slowly ate a half cup of soup - one tiny spoonful per minute. When the meal was done, I tidied up, washed the dishes, and then climbed the stairs to sit here at the computer and write. I hadn’t sat long when I heard the girls complaining loudly about Percy. He was nipping at their toes, a sure sign that he wanted to go out. After what seemed a long time, they finally rose to take him round the block. Colleen asked if I wanted to join them and I declined. I’d done enough lately, I reasoned. The girls went without me. Not long after they’d returned, the complaining began again. Percy was nipping at their toes again. I descended the stairs in a foul mood and switched off their television.

“What the hell is the matter with you two?” I demanded. “You sound like a couple of 5-year-olds!”

Then I noticed the mud on the leather couch. Dog tracks. LOTS of them. I’d wiped the couch clean twice already that day. Suddenly, I was overcome with anger. I began to rant.

 

“What the fuck is this mess? Ivy. Go and get a cloth and wipe the shit off this couch. Do it now. Am I the only one who does anything here anymore? I cook. I clean. I wash the dishes. I accommodate your friends, Colleen, and feed them and wash their dirty dishes. And neither of you can lift a finger to help.”

 

It was worse than that. Much worse. And much longer. But I think you get the idea. It was shameful behaviour. Shameful and disrespectful.

 

"And why is Percy still bothering you?” I continued. “Did he poo when you took him out?”

 

“No,” Colleen said, defensive now and losing her temper with me. “It's cold out there. We just wanted to get back home.”

 

“Fine,” I hissed. “I’ll take him out. You can’t even walk the fucking dog for me. I guess I’ll do that too.”

 

I fixed Percy’s leash to his collar and left mother and daughter sitting in silence when I slammed the door. I was gone about 40 minutes. And yes, Percy did his business. When I returned, I found the girls where I’d left them. The television was still off. And Ivy was in tears.

 

We talked then. The anger was gone, but for Ivy, the hurt remained. I felt my shame and regret as I watched the tears roll down her smooth cheeks.

 

“When you yell at me like that,” she sobbed, “it reminds me of the awful times with my dad.”

 

Ivy’s father is an alcoholic whose drinking often impaired his parenting abilities. Ivy was sometimes frightened by her father’s behaviour. I was different, though. I was supposed to be the good guy. I was the one who listened best, who cared the most. I was the dad who loved her. And now I’d hurt her. She was crying because of my angry outburst.

 

I apologised to Ivy, to both of them, and explained that I’d been feeling overwhelmed by the task of caring for Colleen. Despite Colleen’s objections, I’d taken on too much. I was feeling the stress of Colleen’s situation, and worrying about my lungs, and about my parents. I’d let the pressure build until it erupted in anger. I promised to allow Colleen to do a little more as she felt able. I promised to ask Ivy for help if I needed it. And Ivy promised to take more initiative and do household chores without being asked.

 

It was a painful time. But many families experience these types of things. Indeed, relationships can be strengthened as a result. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Feelings are what make us human. Sometimes we hurt the ones we love. Sometimes, we disappoint them. And they disappoint us. These uncomfortable episodes allow us to feel the fullness of our feelings, and to share them with the ones we love most. Eventually, though, reason returns. Calm prevails. Loud voices are muted. With listening comes understanding and compassion.

 

Family, at least the kind of family in which I was raised, is built on a foundation of Love. Families have their conflicts. Parents bicker. Even good dads can display bad behaviour. But real Love is immutable. Real Love is steadfast. And that’s what I hope Ivy will grow to understand.

 

I guess I'm not quite as Enlightened as I thought.

 

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