Bad Parent: Fight Club
Why my wife and I argue in front of the kids.
by Darren Taffinder
July 31, 2008
The other day my wife and I had a huge fight over money. Apparently, I'm a tight-fisted miser who is obsessed with checking our joint account (online banking has a lot to answer for). My wife, on the other hand, is an out-of-control shop-a-holic intent on driving us into the nearest homeless shelter. Three of George Carlin's seven dirty words were used, anatomically impossible head placements were suggested, and several alternatives to birth control were proposed — all in front of our eleven-year-old daughter.
An hour later, after I'd stormed off and come crawling back, the guilt started to set in. Had we psychologically damaged our daughter for life? After all, when it comes to arguing, isn't the cardinal rule: not in front of the kids?
Whenever I think of parental blow-outs, I always think of my fifth birthday, when my parents had their famous "birthday cake" argument. My wannabe Martha Stewart mother had baked me a huge soccer-themed cake, complete with players, two goals, spectators, and even a scoreboard. It was spectacular.
My parents have always been happy together, but on occasion, they liked to have a good old row.
What happened next, even after thirty-one years, is still clouded with controversy.
After my birthday party, about half of the cake was left. According to my mother, my dad was instructed take it to my Granny's and share a few slices of it with her and my extended family, and then bring the rest of it back. My dad contends that he was told specifically to let them have the rest of the cake. The one undisputed detail is that my dad returned without the cake. To put it mildly, my mother got a little upset. Tempers were lost, followed by one of those epic full-on screaming matches that seemed less like an argument and more like a clash of civilizations. My dad spent a rather uncomfortable night on the sofa. My reaction to losing my birthday cake is not remembered.
My parents, on the whole, have always been a happy couple. I didn't grow up in a house full of constant resentments and sniping. Plates were not broken on the kitchen floor. There were no court-imposed anger management classes. But on occasion, they liked to have a good old row.
©2008 Darren Taffinder and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Darren Taffinder is a freelancer writer, and lives in New York City with his
wife and daughter. He is working in his first novel. |
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