7 October, 2009  |   1 Comment


Spring BreakBaby, my dad was a man with a mean, mean temper. My other siblings didn’t get to experience his full wrath with the frequency and intensity that I did, but boy, let me tell you, it was brutal.

I took that as a lesson.
I learned that the way to get respect was to scare people, to bully them into doing what you wanted.
I was all of 17.

I yelled at my boyfriend, my sister and my mom.
I bullied my friends, my acquaintances, my teachers.
I was known for having a short fuse and for flying off the handle.

What a mess we created.

Before college, I’d decided I wasn’t going to be known as the “girl with the temper” anymore. I didn’t like being that girl. I was going to be nice, damn it.

And as easy as that, I became nice.

I tried on a new personality with a new group of friends, a group that wouldn’t have believed my previous anger.

Now that I have you and your sister in my life, I realize that some of these traits run a little deeper. Please forgive me if I lose my temper. Your even-keeled father is here to help me out and we’re committed to raising you coolly, calmly and happily. But even I can feel that familiar lick of fire in my chest.

It’s a daily struggle.

One thought on “Temper

  1. 1
    surcey says:

    This story sounds all too familiar. My father taught me the burden of anger. It was less of a fuse and more of a slow burn in the sense of cruel one-upmanship, defensiveness, the need to be right- always. It took me until I was 27 and he was literally dying for me to understand I didn’t want to be that way anymore. How awesome is it to have the gift of change? Just that simple.

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