Fight! Fight!

Nothing clears the air like a good argument.  A sudden, therapeutic release of negative energy and everyone feels better.  That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?

Jeannie and I finally had it out; months of resentment and occasional snide remarks gave way to a full-on brawl, minus the physical contact. Unfortunately for all of us, it started on Father’s Day and culminated on my dad’s birthday, shedding new light on the concept of "special occasion.”

I’d mentioned beforehand that I planned to pick up my dad on the morning of his birthday for an appointment at the DMV (to replace his expired license with an ID card), followed by brunch. She heard me, but automatically assumed that she would be going as well. When I informed her on Father’s Day that I was planning to take him alone, things got ugly. “Don’t exclude me, don’t EXCLUDE me!” she cried. Besides, she added, there were a couple of errands she needed me to do, like going to the bank and the post office.

Nothing doing, I said. She hadn’t mentioned those errands earlier, so I told her she’d have to make other arrangements. And I wanted to spend some quality time alone with dad on his birthday. I imagined that would be the end of it (I have a lively imagination).

When I arrived to pick him up, they were both waiting at the door; I could see the anxiety on his face, while she was darting back and forth like a boxer preparing to lunge. Before I was halfway up the stairs, and faster than someone can say, “Happy Birthday,” the yelling started.

“I want you to know how UPSET I am at what you’re doing!” she shouted.  “This is so inconsiderate and thoughtless, and I want you to know how I feel!” I waved away an imaginary cloud of mosquitoes and said, “Let’s not discuss it now, this can wait.”

“NO IT CAN’T! I want you to know how I feel, and Gene has some things to say to you too. He’s going to talk to you about how upset you’ve made me. You’re being very selfish.” 

At this point, I decided to hit back. “Selfish? Look who’s talking! We’re at your beck and call, doing your errands every week and you don’t even think about our time and energy. And I hope you enjoyed the Father’s Day lunch we treated you too—you never even said thank you.”

More shouting ensued. I accused her of ruining my dad’s birthday; at one point I bowed deeply, saying, “Of course, your majesty, your needs are the only ones that matter,” and finally my dad and I left. My mouth was parched and I was shaking.

At that moment, my concern was for him. He slumped in the front seat of the car, and when I asked him how he was, he shrugged. “Oh, we’ve been yelling at each other for the last couple of days.” I apologized for causing the upset; I didn’t want him to be the recipient of her rage and assured him it was between her and me. But of course, it wasn’t.

Our visit turned out well. We finished early at the DMV, and I took him to the office to meet my co-workers. He perked up at the friendly attention. At brunch, I asked him if he had anything he wanted to say (or had been directed to say); but he said no, nothing. I also mentioned that he might get her to shut up by threatening to leave her, and that he could stay with us for a while. “That occurred to me,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want to do that to you.” Still, I could see how easy it would be to persuade him to leave, once and for all, at the tender age of 87.

Truce

But no. It would not be easy and we all know it. In the end, I took him back home to find that tempers had cooled considerably. We were all cordial—and the next time I called to discuss the weekend grocery list with Jeannie, the conversation was friendly, as if nothing had happened.  But it did happen, and will probably happen again unless we manage to decide calmly on an unsupervised visitation plan.