I just spent the last hour typing up a post to put in !squaredcircle@lemmy.zip about how I observed a beautiful moment with a father and his 3 year old son.
The son was a fan of a wrestler named L.A. Knight. And he was set to make his grand entrance, and have his match, live in front of 57k people.
We were in the stadium, in line for merchandise. The line was really long. So the dad realized they would miss L.A Knight’s match.
Logically the smart thing to do is bring your son back to your seats. Give up your place in line, and try later. Or evdn online later.
Instead, this dad, who was clearly also a fan of L.A Knight, and wanted to see him asked his son: “Do you want to stay in line? Or go see L.A Knight?”
And the kid picked staying in line. The dad confirmed with him “If you stay in line, you’ll miss L.A Knight in the ring. He’s coming out now.”
And the kid chose to stay in line to get L.A Knight merch.
And the whole moment was beautiful to me. The idea of a dad respecting his kids opinion is foreign to me.
I grew up with my dad telling me to shut up and do it his way. Always his way. Still to this day, it’s always his way. My mom left him because he was controlling. My sisters (who are not his kids, but he helped raise them) don’t talk to him because of how he treated them.
I’m 40, and now he’s elderly, and I barely talk to him. Sometimes I feel guilty until moments like this. Where I’m reminded that still to this day I don’t speak up when I should. I don’t ask for help when I need it. I just suffer in silence, just as I always do.
There have even been times in the past where calling 911 for someone else having an emergancy was the right thing to do. Hearing gunshots on your street. Seeing a woman hanging out of a car screaming for help. But not calling 911, because nobody wants to hear what I have to say. Nobody wants to hear from me.
And at Summerslam, I see this kid saying he wants to stay in line. And the dad just confirms, and explains the consequences that he’ll miss L.A Knight, but the kid insisted on staying in line. Despite it not being the smart choice. It was the “wrong” choice. If I were in that position, my dad would have ended it with zero input on my end. But here this dad was respecting his sons choice. His three year old son.
And as I typed to a wrestling community what I intended to be a beautiful story, I realized it’s only beautiful to me because of my own repressed perspective. Everybody else just would hear a story about a normal dad doing normal dad things. Loving his son. Respecting his son.
And nobody would get why that would make me cry.
So I deleted the story before I posted it, and began to realize that even though I’m 40, and should be past all this, it still hurts, and I’m a deeply broken person.
And now I’m wondering, has anyone else had these moments where they realize that they’ve just been repressing pain for 30 years to the point where a normal loving relationship can cause jealousy, but also an intense heartwarming moment?
I don’t know how to describe it. That moment was just 10 minutes out of this kids life that he’ll not remember. The dad won’t deem it important, so he won’t remember this by now. It was a meaningless moment that in a loving relationship happens everyday. But to me, the idea of a dad respecting his son making a “wrong decision” had me supressing anger, sadness, and heartwarming joy, but also knowing how weird I was for that. And so I shut up, and repressed it. Only in trying to retell a heartwarming story did I realize it was coming across as bitter and jealous, and thats when I realized thats MY issue. And I don’t know where to go from here.
Have you ever had a moment like this?
You aren’t broken. It sounds like a broken man raised you.
I grew up without a father; no positive male influence. It took me a long time to reach a point where I could accept it wasn’t me that was broken, it was the negative thought cycle I was habitually stuck in.
Taking a step back and seeing the good in the world, the small moments, for what they are (which I think you are doing?) Rather than viewing positive moments as a reflection of my own negativity, I am learning to view these positive moments as positive. Realisations of what I didn’t have but knowing I am living my life better than the ones that came before me.
A deeply personal anecdote - I am an alcoholic. I’ve been in AA for a while now, and have been sober for that time. I’ve grown and moved on from needing alcohol to feel normal.
My fathers side of the family, including him when he was alive, are unrepentant alcoholics. I don’t feel bitter or hateful anymore - instead I see it as being the only one in that family tree to actually break out of that cycle.
I have needed to spend a lot of time in therapy to help me reach this point.
Best of luck - you aren’t broken. just hurt
You aren’t broken. It sounds like a broken man raised you.
I love this. It is so true too. My father and my husband were both raised by broken men and they both rose above it. My Dad still struggles with it, but my husband has been able to forgive and move on
What a lovely post. Thank you for sharing it.
I’m 60 years old, my father passed many years ago. I have still not come to grips with all the complexities of our relationship. My wife knows that if we ever see a film or TV show where a parent, but particularly a father shows any form of approval for something their son did, I will turn into a blubbering mess.
That said, more rational me knows that there were many ways in which my father was a good dad, if am willing to take the time to look for them.
I have three sons and a daughter, my greatest hope in life is that they won’t have the same issues with me as a father that I did with my own dad.
Thanks again for this amazing story about how even small things we do can have a great impact, and not necessarily on those we expect them to.
“Have you ever realised just how broken you are?”
This question implies the experience of some kind of epiphany, but I’ve had a life-long keen awareness of exactly how fucked up I am as a result of having a shitty father.
My longest held ambition was to be a better father than my father was.
Yep. I respect my father in as much as he gave me a shining example of what not to be if I want to respect myself. I would be a different person without that “guidance”.
I’m in my 50’s. Both my parents passed this year. I didn’t go to either funeral. I felt nothing but anger at them. I did finally start going to therapy. My parents were different in their abuse but the same in that they never once in my life apologizes for any wrong they committed. It was physical abuse until I became physically stronger. Then it was nothing but mental abuse for the rest of my life. Admitting it hurts and admitting that its the source of your anger is good for you.
My parents like many didn’t “believe” in therapy. For good reason as it turns out. They knew they are guilty of abuse and feared exposure. Give it at least a couple of tries. If you don’t like the therapist you see. See another one. Be prepared to hear things you will not like. Acknowledge your pain is driving negative emotions and keep trying to not let it rule you.
The best luck is the luck you make.
FWIW, that father may have grown up with a father just like you. He just made different choices. Just like you can see that those are different choices. You could and probably will make different choices too, it’s the only way we ever change. It’s not by retroactively having perfect circumstances. It’s by choosing to be better each day moving forward.
Also, as a 40+ year old myself it’s always important to take a clear stock of the ways you’re similar to your parents (I find more every day) and also the myriad ways you are your own individual.
A lot of us have stories like that.
When i was 4 or 5, i had a Tender Heart carebear that i LOVED. I took it everywhere with me. One of my first memories ever is my dad calling it “slender fart” to the point of me bawling my eyes out. He has never accepted that this fucked me up in a very deep way. The person i looked up to for protection was hurting me. For fun. I’m in my 40s now, and anything i start to develop an interest in, even to this day, comes with a sense of dread. “How can this be used against me?”
Irony of ironies, my dad now has in inoperable brain tumor. I’ve basically retired early and moved back in with my parents in order to be around if they ever need anything, which is every day. It’s crossed my mind more than once to return the favor and fuck with his addled old brain, but then, would i be any better than him? No, that misery he tried to breed in me stops and dies with me.
A few weeks ago, a mom was at the hardware store with her young son – he was about five years old.
For some reason, we crossed paths a few times, And each time she was talking with her son about the things they were buying in the projects that they were buying them for. But what Caught my attention first was he asked her ‘What if we can’t do it?’ and she responded with ‘Well then we learned how because we can figure it out.’
This woman was endlessly, encouraging towards her son, and it was clear that she was setting him up to have an attitude of feeling like he was capable of tackling things in life. Which is something that I didn’t get us a kid - I was often told that I couldn’t do things or the things were beyond my capability and that if my mom didn’t know how to do something that it was basically impossible for me to figure out how to do it as well.I was so impressed by their interaction, that when I saw her later while I was checking out, I actually said something to her and after she figured out I wasn’t trying to pick her up, she took a moment and like… just looked satisfied. I was happy with the interaction.
Beyond the fact that I mostly grew up without a father and my mother was very self focused to the point that it was pretty detrimental to me, I also grew up with undiagnosed ADHD that I only learned about in my early 40s. I am constantly discovering ways that I feel broken in the world, so you are not alone.
Yes, I can relate. Not only that but it’s more common than you think.
Broken is a good word to describe the feeling, but not the reality. If you can afford it, taking with a good psychotherapist (I would choose a psychodynamic one as opposed to something like CBT), can help you use the unbroken in yourself to heal that feeling and the perspectives that emerge from it.
It’s important because the perspectives that emerge from it create even more unpleasant feelings. It’s like a cascade.
Never knowing my father, i was raised by a stepfather. He never spoke to me. Other than to demand i perform some task and then explaining how badly i had completed it… He never spoke to me. He never taught me how to. Ride a bike, throw a ball, shave, drive, or any of the things a dad should teach a son. I know almost nothing of his life… He never spoke to me
My man - thanks for sharing your story with us. You made my day better for it.
And as I typed to a wrestling community what I intended to be a beautiful story, I realized it’s only beautiful to me because of my own repressed perspective.
It was a wonderful story even without the full context. I don’t know what the online wrestling community is like, but unless they’re a bunch of jerks they’ll enjoy it too; whether you decide to share it with or without your personal context.
We would enjoy that story, I can assure you
My dad broke the cycle. Late in life he told me a story about myself.
We were in a park. I ran up and asked for something and he said no. I ran off and then came back, asking again but in some other way, this time he let ne do whatever it was.
His mother, a deeply religious schoolteacher, was sitting nearby, and after I ran off she criticized him for changing his mind, told him parents should never do that.
I think he told me that story for at least one reason.
Any person’s awareness can benefit others.
Those who break the cycle are often the only ones aware of its existence in the first place. We aren’t broken, friend; we merely bear the weight of generations of broken men who’ve been falling downwards on top of those who come after.
It’s important to remember, though, that everyone has their demons. Childhood trauma caused by an abusive parent who was broken because of the war. Stuff like that. It’s an echo.
I learned of my father’s death weeks after the fact. My involuntary reaction was an emotionless, “huh.” I think I was forty eight years old at the time.
I hadn’t spoken to him for over thirty years, and had suffered decades of nightmares that he’d found me.
After learning he had passed, the nightmares finally ended, but the lifelong fight or flight tendency to keep to myself and never rock any boat remains.
My sister has said that she’s jealous of my daughter because we have a pretty close father/daughter bond - something my sister never knew and never will.
In my fifties now, I generally avoid human interaction as much as is physically possible. While I could cite other reasons as to why I’m this way, I can confidently point a rigididly extended index finger at dear old dad as the foundation of it all.
My parenting duties complete, I mostly just exist waiting for the sweet sweet embrace of death when I’ll no longer have to go make money for the man or pretend that I enjoy the saccharin sweet small talk of co-workers who don’t give two shits about me or anybody else, but professional decorum for the win, right?
I don’t even look forward to weekends because those are just two day stints of solitude doing chores so I’m ready to go make more money for the man on Monday.
You are not a machine and you have the right to happiness. I hope you find it.
I recommend therapy, if you haven’t tried it, and if it’s not working, I suggest different therapists, or different types of therapy. It’s okay to tell a therapist you’re not getting much out of their style/your relationship with them, and ask for their assessment of what you should be looking for. Then go look at that. Keep trying until you find something that clicks.
If it helps, in your shoes I would view it as a continuation of your parental duties. When she moves out, or maybe has kids of her own, you can continue the relationship with her and your grandchildren as your genuine, authentic, and - perhaps - happy self.I spent several months last year actively looking for a therapist. I’m not talking a single casual Google search and done. I’m talking months of calling, emailing, physically driving to. The only therapists I could find who were taking on new patients and would accept my insurance were magic Jesus Crystal types whose “therapy” was little more than thinly veiled proselytizing.
Given how it seems people need to go through several therapists to find the right one, I gave up after failing to secure the first.
I almost fell for that whole better help scam but fortunately it was exposed for the personal data mining nonsense that it is before I signed up.
I know it is tough, I know the process is a pain in the ass, and as someone who has been through at least five therapists, it can fucking suck. I really do encourage everyone to keep trying. Having a stranger sworn to secrecy that I can dump anything and everything on is good. The fact that she can take all that information and come up with a plan for how I can tackle everything is amazing
As a 41yr old childhood trauma survivor myself I have found a lot of help thru a specialist that is a survivor themselves, I’m not trying to promote them unless you’re interested but do know that you’re seen, valid and these moments will happen. Try to find your joy🫶🏻
I’m happy that despite deleting the original post and not posting it in the wrestling community you decided to post it here after all. There are so many people in the world and even so many different people on Lemmy. Of course there will be people who appreciate your story! I, for one, was moved by it, because what you describe as a normal loving relationship is not as common as I would wish it to be. There will always be people with a troubled past like you or troubled in a different way or people that are ok and interested in other people’s life experiences. All of them can benefit from hearing your story! Don’t hesitate to talk about your life. It can be very good both for you and for others.
