The Other Side of the Story Part Three

Now to a resentment which I've long ago let go of--but which I haven't yet looked at my part in--the one about the time when our six year old son was starting to show the first major signs of the emotional trouble that would overtake him in a big way at age thirteen, the time when my wife, frustrated and at her wits end, struck him pretty damn hard across the face, leading to the cops at our door and all kinds of craziness. It's twelve years ago now, my son's doing great, he and my wife are super close, but: where was I in this?

In my office, working, head in the sand. Hoping it would all go away. Cleaning up his room instead of making him clean it up because it was easier that way. Telling everybody that peace was more important than victory. I think that's what Chamberlain was thinking in 1938 when he flew to Munich to tell Hitler it was just fine if he marched into Czechoslovakia and then flew home to England and said "I have secured peace in our time."

Peace. Right.

I was a F***ING SCARED WIMP who couldn't hold my son to a responsibility, who in the name of being "the good guy" left my wife to face the onslaught on her own.

I've forgiven her a long time ago for the slap. I hope when I get to the amends stage in this process that she forgives me---most of all for waiting this long to look at the other side of the story.