Me and the Men in My Life

My relationship with my brother and my dad (two different people -- I am NOT "my own grandpa." Or grandma.) -- page 1. (Just kidding.)



To save time and space, let's just say that my dad is moody and confrontational, and he tends to create his own momentum to feed his tirades at times. That is not to say that he is always wrong (although the degree of his emotion and "constructive" criticism might be). My dad is the one person that I can -- and cannot -- stand up to, paradoxically. When backed into a corner unfairly and rather loudly, I tend to take on the characteristic fury of a bear with the seeming lack of reason. (Though his violent temper scares many people, I guess I try to protect myself by in matching him tit-for-tat or shout-for-shout.) We become angry, nonsensical, mirror images of each other, and nothing gets solved. Usually, I end up walking away in some shape or form, and then I avoid him until he apologizes, albeit still critically. I won't put up with his tirades, but, sad to say, it seems that I always "stand up for myself" with matching emotion and enthusiasm. It's an endless cycle.

I don't respect him enough. I'm not thankful enough for the good things he does for me, nor do I express my gratitude well (often, coherently) to him. I don't really encourage the good aspects of his character, and I dwell on the negative and hold a grudge against those things, synecdochizing them as his entirety. I'm so afraid of his reactions that I don't tell him anything, often hiding the true negativity of my finances or my grades. Conversely, he attacks them when I do share, unless Cody has already stepped in to warn him to play nice.

My brother is not my dad, as much as he doesn't always see this. He is much more even-keeled, though he will relentlessly attack in order to prove a point or point out statements that either don't make entire sense or don't contain the entire truth. (I'm not trying to be "grey" here, just discussing those simple cause-effect relationships and such that are never so cut and dry except when we want the cause to be something other than ourselves.) He basically acts almost as a parent at times, stepping in between my dad and I in our disagreements, making sure that I do things in a punctual, commonsense manner (both of which do not come natural to me). He resents it, and, while I resent it, too, I kind of rely on it.

We help each other out when the other is in a jam, and I continually say and do the wrong thing around him, something that both amuses and immensely irritates him, and which usually embarrasses him in some public form. I really try, though. I just don't have . . . I don't even know what. A filter, for one. It kills me that I embarrass him. It kills me that I just make things awkward around him. And, although I love to try to help him out with advice or a good home-cooked meal or whatever, I know deep down that he wants me around when he needs something. He has a tremendous heart, though, and he has a habit of coming in to save the day when I don't even expect it. I can't truly fault him for this use-it-or-lose-it mentality when he does so much for me out of random moments of . . . I don't know what. Compassion? Friendship? Siblinghood? (Is that even a word?)

He has all this random wisdom of his own, and I really respect it. I'm way too critical of him, though. I want him to be the best person that he can be (and not get a big head in the process). I don't feel like I can tell him emotional, wishy-washy things (read: feminine things) that affirm his positive attributes, though, because, for one, I don't think he likes emotional, sappy talk. For two and three, I am not that coherent of a person when I'm trying to put something big into (verbal) words, and I feel like those words fall on deaf ears when I do throw them out there. Every once in awhile, we have a big conversation where we really open up to one another, and we can talk honestly and vulnerably about our hopes and dreams for ourselves, as well as our admiration and concerns for/about each other. I remember things that he tells me that I doubt he remembers even saying. I hold onto those things, albeit silently, just hoping to hear one again.

I don't handle conflict well with the men in my life. I don't handle emotion, or femininity well with them, either. I continually send my incompetencies their way, and they take care of it, although not always so happily. I run from justly deserved criticism, getting angry at its senders. I ache for affirmation, positive attention, affection, though I never say it. I guess I'm just as screwed up as the next guy. I don't know what this says about me; all I know is this: here I am as I stand now, honestly, but, I'm sure, replete (I like that word) with my own biases.