A couple of months ago, I made my oldest son cry. Not just a few tears, but full on balling as if he’d been told his mom had died. It started in the car after I picked him up from tennis practice. I arrived a little early so I could watch, and let’s just say I expected more from him. I found myself getting frustrated with his effort and was convinced he wasn’t trying his hardest, not even close.
As we walked back to the car I peppered him with questions. Why wasn’t he running faster, swinging harder, more focused? I guess I wasn’t satisfied with his answers because I kept at it once we got in the car. Eventually I snapped, my frustration boiling over into anger, and I started saying all kinds of things he didn’t deserve. The next thing I knew he was crying harder than I’d ever seen him cry before.
I rarely yell at my sons. They’re both great kids, well behaved and smart. So I can only imagine my anger must have caught my son totally off guard, like I was no longer his loving dad that he was always used to and had suddenly become some kind of monster.
Seeing him cry like that filled me with shame, and that evening I did a lot of soul searching. I wanted to understand why I’d gotten so angry with him, and why I’d said the things I did. The best I could come up with was that I see so much of myself in him, that in that moment, it was as if I wasn’t yelling at my son, but at myself.
Maybe that sounds crazy, or like some lame excuse, but hear me out. I have two boys, three years apart, just like me and my own brother, who is three years younger than me. People have been saying my oldest looks exactly like me since he was a baby, and as he gets older, the resemblance only seems to grow stronger. After all, he’s my son. But it doesn’t stop there. He reminds me so much of me in every way, while my youngest reminds me of my little brother in many ways. Everything from their personalities, to their mannerisms, and even the same bad habits I used to have as a kid, which is crazy since I broke those bad habits long before my boys were born. Like the way I used to bite my straws, or pick at my nails, and how growing up I was more moody and selfish versus my little brother who was always the sweeter and more affectionate one between us. It’s the same dynamic for my boys now, and sometimes I see so many similarities that I’ve told people it’s almost like I can see their futures.