On Anger

Ten years ago my father and I went out to lunch to celebrate father's day at a burger place near his home. I ordered as he took a seat outside. I joined him shortly thereafter and for a long time nothing was said between us.

My relationship with him was difficult due to a variety of factors, but a large part was the rift between himself and my brother, which had resulted in several years of estrangement.

Unlike my brother, I chose to forgive and accept him, resulting in these occasional, often unproductive, encounters. On this particular day though, my father decided to open himself up to me.

"I am an angry man."

He said it calmly enough, but elaborated that claimed this anger had been with him for as long as he can remember. I believe he felt it defined him, and in admitting it to me, used it as a justification for his absence from my life and the broken state of our family. 

This news was not particularly revelatory.

As a child I had been witness to his rage since often, enough so that his presence terrified me. If i think hard enough I can still recall the furor of his voice, the fire red face, and the physical, as well as verbal, abuse that made quiet nights become nightmares.

I swore I would never become like him. 

But as I grew older, I found myself replicating some of his worst traits, and in my worst moments, felt the pleasure of his destructive and dangerous qualities. For a time I even embraced this aspect of myself, becoming angry, reckless, and hurtful.

A gift between generations.

Knowing that I am capable of this, I have grown to fear myself. Over the years I have tried very hard to contain and reduce this aspect of my nature. I taught myself to be forgiving and accepting.

Many people see these traits as a weakness, my father included. But I know it is harder to forgive than to fall into rage. To give in. To let go.

I too am an angry man, but I will not let it control me.