Something is happening. I need to figure out my role in it. The bonding moments we once shared are getting fewer. The time we spend in conflict is getting more frequent. The feeling that you want me around or like me is even getting less frequent. I feel increasingly like a third wheel, the guy on the outside, the 70’s dad behind a newspaper who pats you on the head in the morning and asks you how your day went at the end.
Maybe it’s my health. Maybe it’s your adolescence and the natural separation of parent and child. But neither of us seem to like it. And I hope that counts for something.
You’re trying to get my attention, and I’m trying to get us closer and both of us are failing. My efforts to bring us closer involve conversation. I ask you questions. I try to understand the things you’ve said to me so I know exactly what you mean. You feel interrogated or misunderstood. You physically bombard me, animal like, usually throwing your face noisily into mine (among other physical disruptions). It shuts me down like a frightened pill bug. And that only makes you try harder.
But hey. I’m 43. You’re 11. This is all on me.