EPTThe reason I have been hesitant to share these thoughts is that I am afraid of how people judge me. Even hiding behind the veil of anonymity, I am very sensitive to others’ criticisms and responses. That is one reason I have never tended to reply to comments to my posts. I am actually scared to read the comments - I still very much am. This reveals my extreme shyness. Furthermore, why would anyone bother to read what I write? How is it even worthwhile to them? Then I realized that some people may enjoy reading posts like this for the very same reason that I often enjoy reading posts like this.
My reluctance in talking about this area is further compounded by the fact that not only does it involve me, but my family is dragged into it as well. As commonly suggested, being raised in an Asian (Chinese) culture makes me very family-oriented. Subsequently, we strive for a model family life where everything is loving and functional. Problems are seldom discussed in the open because failures in the domestic environment tend to be points of shame that bring disgrace to the entire family. These sentiments can also be understood in any culture.
I have alluded to the domestic problems I faced in previous posts. The main issue was my parents’ fighting. No physical altercations, but the verbal arguments became very hurtful and scary. In more violent cases the scene might end up with broken plates and upturned tables. The worst incidents were a smashed guitar and laptop, but these were actually during fits of rage from my dad at my older brother. As teenagers, my two brothers also had episodes of punching holes through walls, which I figure is actually a very common incidence among boys growing up. I managed to be the one to control my temper, bottle up my anger and usually be free of fault.
But back to my parents’ fighting. I did not have a perfect comparison with other households because that was of course the only one I lived in. However, being the smart little boy I was, it wasn’t too hard to conclude the degree of disorder was abnormal. Although I knew no family was expected to get along perfectly, the stress levels during heated arguments were clearly intolerable. Even as a little boy, I could see that the source of argument was often such a minor misunderstanding, some trivial point of contention or classic case of miscommunication that did not nearly deserve as much rage as it incited. I suppose it was usually a culmination of pent up frustration that led to the explosive outbursts.
The general pattern of incidence development was predictable. My dad would go about his business as usual, while my mom might make small complaints and nitpicky things. He would shoulder them in stride until eventually one remark taken the wrong way would lead to a flare of vehemence. Alternatively, my dad might have a bad day at work and come home in a sour mood, which would put my mom in a poor mood as well. Once she made an out of place comment at the wrong time, my dad would get massively pissed off for an extended time. The most frustrating part was I could see exactly what was going on. I could see the series of careless comments that got misinterpreted, the dwelling on unimportant hyperboles or verbal slip ups made in the heat of the moment, and the miscommunication between them. I knew how to avoid these problems and make the house a peaceful place. They were trivial matters that I could resolve easily, but seemed out of hand for the adults.
So what did I do? Nothing. Sit in my room and play Starcraft. Pretend I didn’t hear anything. Surf the web, play Team Fortress Classic and Diablo II. Why didn’t I do anything? I continue to ask myself this question today, but have come to some key realizations and justification for my reaction. I think most advice writers, social workers and domestic psychologists would recommend the child stay of these altercations, and let the parents sort it out. Getting in the way may easily escalate the situation and cause greater grief. Siding with one parent might really hurt the other and damage the family relationship. None of my other two brothers ever took any action either, and in fact we don’t even acknowledge or talk about it amongst ourselves.
Once I moved out of home for university, and in fact one year later when my younger brother also left home to leave my parent as true empty-nesters, there was a very noticeable difference in the pattern of aggression. The fighting subsided noticeably. Of course, this might just be a simple perspective bias because I was not around them any more, but I am quite confident in my observation. They clearly got along much better without their children in the house. Evidently, our presence was a major factor in how they related to each other and set them up to argue.
Eventually, though, they hit one huge point of contention that seemed unsolvable. It would be brought up recurrently and did not seem to vanish by itself like many of the other problems they had faced. My father owned a business and had been making annual payments of a material amount to my mother’s side grandfather as a form of income splitting to reduce tax. To his understanding these payments were nominal only and he could access these funds when needed. My mother did not work, but was responsible for managing the household finances. By her account those funds were used to pay for daily miscellaneous expenses, as well as living expenses for her own parents. The funds were not really accessible, to my dad’s surprise, because they had been mostly spent. My mom could not account for exactly where the money had gone because she simply failed to keep records. Now my dad was put in a difficult situation. He really wanted to know where his hard earned money was flowing to, and it was disconcerting to think it was leaking away to unnamed sources.
Then the issue expanded to accusations of him not willing to support my mother’s parents or giving them some basic living expense allowance. It sounded bad that he was concerned that they didn’t need that much money, which really upset my mom, but the ultimate fact was he wanted to know where his money went. My mom tried but continued to fail to come up with decent accountability, and now she was beginning to look like the shady character. In addition, my dad’s side family was wealthier than my mom’s side family. His dad (my grandfather) had his other children looking after him, supporting him financially with a comfortable lifestyle. My dad felt uncomfortable knowing he was paying so much every year supporting my mom’s parents, while contributing barely anything at all to his own father. His sense of filial piety was threatened. My mother felt helpless as well, struggling against the needs of her parents and her lack of accountability. She did not go out to work, yet she handled her other chores and duties seemingly with great sloppiness. She was being pressed with accusations she had never foreseen nor had intended for.
At this time, I was still in university but living at home for co-op. My dad confronted me first with this conflict. He asked me to give him my input on the matter. I gave him some of my sageful advice, but after more time passed and the issue continued to worsen, I finally stepped in. I was taking on significant personal risk, both for the possibility of further worsening the confrontation and damaging my relationship with either or both of them if things went horribly wrong. We sat down at the table and sorted things through. I corrected them on hasty accusations that no one meant, that were thrown out purely as defensive mechanisms. I screened each person’s comments and picked out the salient facts relevant to the matter. I stopped them from talking when they began to fly off on a tangent and get off track. I directed them out of dead ends when they became caught up in specific miswordings and misunderstanding. I clarified issues when things weren’t clear. Finally, after around two sessions over two days, both parties had a clearer understanding of the stalemate and their minds felt more at ease about the matter. They could move on, learn from this ordeal, and hopefully avoid this confrontation in the future.
In retrospect, it was quite remarkable I was able to take them through that from my position. I had an extremely personal stake in the matter. I previously avoided taking on this role for fear of feeling awkward, lecturing my parents who I mostly respected as very competent people. Their flaws and shortcomings were so evident and so easily avoidable viewed from the perspective of my cool nature. I guess that is truly a testament to my aloofness, even towards my own family.
I was proud of what I was able to do. However, there were some serious risks. If the talks were unsuccessful, any future repercussions from this failure, perhaps even up to break-up and divorce, could potentially be regarded as my own personal fault for worsening the situation. This was a difficult choice. By becoming involved, I might make things worse, but I could make things better. By standing back, my influence would be absent and the fault would instead be on my deliberate choice to stay away, even when I knew I might be in position to improve the situation.
That ordeal was a couple of years ago, maybe. I am unable to share this experience with anyone I know personally, for the private shame it may invoke not only on me but my entire family. But it can be therapeutic and feels good to share the story.
