The fun never ends...
Just when you think you've come to an understanding with your father, everything goes to hell in a matter of minutes over a ridiculous conversation. It constantly amazes me how often that man says something without thinking and then is genuinely surprised by the response his words receive. That surprise and the frustration that comes along with being misinterpreted and assuming everyone always knows exactly what he's talking about turns into anger and that's when it gets ugly. My mom is convinced that all men communicate the same way (or rather that they are unable to communicate effectively) and that's why we end up arguing. I think part of why we argue is this: I don't find that my ability to think and speak logically is impared when I'm frustrated to the point of tears (when I'm crying, that's when you know it's bad) and I am able to stop for a second, take a breath, and try a different tact to make myself understood; when my father gets frustrated, the connection between the logic circuits in his brain and his mouth apparently experience interference from the testosterone circuits and the result is mean, vengeful, non-constructive, condescending and ultimately makes it very difficult to like him. I love him because he's my dad, but I really have to work at liking him as a person. You can only help people who are receptive to it and while he says he is, his behaviour doesn't reflect that sentiment. He would rather cease all communication than stay in the room long enough to find common ground. He lacks the self control to calm down when he starts to get angry and can't seem to see any other perspective in an argument than his own. Now, I used to want to help him be a better communicator - better communication skills = less arguments and stress - but you can only give and explain and care to the point of being hurt for so long, and at some point, you have to say enough is enough. Since I'm creeping towards 28 years of this crap, I'm starting to wonder when I'm finally going to say enough...
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