Sunday, October 25, 2015
31 Days, day 25: Crash.
It wasn't just a crash. It was kind of a crashspringinnginng tumble crash bam, followed by an awful silence.
The girls scampered down the hall to their room, barely needing to be told to clear the area, and your dad marched straight down the hall to your room, his jaw set.
The dulcimer lay still, face down after its tumble from the wall. My hand shook a little as I turned it over, but there was only a tiny chip missing from one side. The strings were all still attached, none of the pegs broken.
How hard does a boy have to slam a door to make a dulcimer fall from the wall in the next room? There's probably a way to calculate the necessary force, and maybe one day, you will do the math. Until then, I'll be holding my breath every time you stomp off to your room, waiting to see if this explosion will register high enough on the scale to knock things from the wall.
There's nothing quite like confronting my own shortcomings in my children. When I see you standing there, your anger rising until your hair stands on end, I can almost measure the electric air that roots you to the spot. I brace for the outburst (though sometimes I'm not sure if yours or mine will come first).
Mine shouldn't ever come. Not first. Not at all. I'm the grownup, after all. And I'm sorry you've received a double dose of the bubbly, lava-hot temper from me...there's definitely a genetic part there on my side of the family, but you've certainly seen it in action, too.
Tonight, the sound of a dulcimer crashing to the floor was the sound of generational sin in action, and it scared me. I've got to do a better job helping you get a handle on anger...but first, I need to figure out how to get a handle on it myself.
Lord, have mercy.