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thehefnerLong post. Please, by all means, read if you're interested.
He tells me last week to call him up once I got back to college from the RMs party, and I say ok. I slept over at the party, made it back to school at about 3:00. Just when I was about to call him up, I find that he's left four messages for me, each more furious than the last. Before I left his house for the party, he gave me a check for $200 to help me through, and I was so touched by that. That was so generous of him. We really had a wonderful time together for Thanksgiving. For the first time in a long time I was really enjoying my father's company. And then I hear those messages, each one angrier and drunker than the last, "why haven't you called? You promised you'd call," "You broke your promise!", and the last one saying, "John, I'm stopping payment on that check. You've fucked me over for the last time." And so on.
I called and quickly explained that I did nothing wrong, that I did not break our promise, and he, realizing the mistake, explained that he didn't know I was going to sleep over. He thought I was going to drive up at, like, 1:00am to C-Town in a car with a blinking warning light (the air bag light has been mysteriously bugging me, and the Honda dealership is stumped). He was scared and worried that, since I didn't call him, I was in an accident or something. "I thought you were lying dead on the side of the road," he said, among other things. He settled down but tried to tell me how much I scared him, but I was in no mood to take his shit. I knew he was upset, but I was not about to let him make me feel bad because I broke no promise, I did nothing wrong, and he knew it. And when he started to guilt trip me, I shut him up. Cold, inarguable logic. His misunderstanding, not mine. His fault for not being clearer, not mine. And he knew it.
The next day, that being last Monday, he called me up again, drunk and pissed. "I'm calling because you don't understand how important it is to keep your promises. You promised you would call me when you got back from the party and you did not." "Yes, I d-" "No, you didn't." "You didn't understand me," I say, "I never said blah blah blah..." And to everything I say, every bit of logic I bring up, his every response is according to this belief system of how things went: "You promised me you would call me when you got back from the party, and you did not. You had me scared shitless. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. You have no idea what you did to me, what you're still doing to me."
And here's the kicker. "John, are... are you trying to kill me? Is that what you're trying to do? Because if that's what you're trying to do, why don't you just put the gun to my head and pull the trigger. It would be more merciful, it would be quicker, than what you're doing to me."
Back when I was very little, from the earliest days when he pulled this shit on me, I would completely and totally capitulate and apologize, with tears in my eyes. Later, I learned to play the game, telling him what he wanted to hear but no longer really believing it. For many, this could be the best way around an impossible situation. But ever since coming back from London and meeting certain people, I've had no tolerance for games. When he began to pull shit on me, I threw it back in his face and shut him up. It felt wonderful. I should have just said I was sorry the second he called me up. I should have just told him what he wanted to hear. There was no way for me to win this. But I'm just so tired of games. I hate them. I don't want to dance around subjects, I want to face them, to confront them. I should have just given up sooner than I did, but damn it... I didn't want to. Not anymore.
Next time, Part 2: Lessons I've learned from this and previous encounters, and how this affects the ways I deal with problems today.
He tells me last week to call him up once I got back to college from the RMs party, and I say ok. I slept over at the party, made it back to school at about 3:00. Just when I was about to call him up, I find that he's left four messages for me, each more furious than the last. Before I left his house for the party, he gave me a check for $200 to help me through, and I was so touched by that. That was so generous of him. We really had a wonderful time together for Thanksgiving. For the first time in a long time I was really enjoying my father's company. And then I hear those messages, each one angrier and drunker than the last, "why haven't you called? You promised you'd call," "You broke your promise!", and the last one saying, "John, I'm stopping payment on that check. You've fucked me over for the last time." And so on.
I called and quickly explained that I did nothing wrong, that I did not break our promise, and he, realizing the mistake, explained that he didn't know I was going to sleep over. He thought I was going to drive up at, like, 1:00am to C-Town in a car with a blinking warning light (the air bag light has been mysteriously bugging me, and the Honda dealership is stumped). He was scared and worried that, since I didn't call him, I was in an accident or something. "I thought you were lying dead on the side of the road," he said, among other things. He settled down but tried to tell me how much I scared him, but I was in no mood to take his shit. I knew he was upset, but I was not about to let him make me feel bad because I broke no promise, I did nothing wrong, and he knew it. And when he started to guilt trip me, I shut him up. Cold, inarguable logic. His misunderstanding, not mine. His fault for not being clearer, not mine. And he knew it.
The next day, that being last Monday, he called me up again, drunk and pissed. "I'm calling because you don't understand how important it is to keep your promises. You promised you would call me when you got back from the party and you did not." "Yes, I d-" "No, you didn't." "You didn't understand me," I say, "I never said blah blah blah..." And to everything I say, every bit of logic I bring up, his every response is according to this belief system of how things went: "You promised me you would call me when you got back from the party, and you did not. You had me scared shitless. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. You have no idea what you did to me, what you're still doing to me."
And here's the kicker. "John, are... are you trying to kill me? Is that what you're trying to do? Because if that's what you're trying to do, why don't you just put the gun to my head and pull the trigger. It would be more merciful, it would be quicker, than what you're doing to me."
Back when I was very little, from the earliest days when he pulled this shit on me, I would completely and totally capitulate and apologize, with tears in my eyes. Later, I learned to play the game, telling him what he wanted to hear but no longer really believing it. For many, this could be the best way around an impossible situation. But ever since coming back from London and meeting certain people, I've had no tolerance for games. When he began to pull shit on me, I threw it back in his face and shut him up. It felt wonderful. I should have just said I was sorry the second he called me up. I should have just told him what he wanted to hear. There was no way for me to win this. But I'm just so tired of games. I hate them. I don't want to dance around subjects, I want to face them, to confront them. I should have just given up sooner than I did, but damn it... I didn't want to. Not anymore.
Next time, Part 2: Lessons I've learned from this and previous encounters, and how this affects the ways I deal with problems today.
