Anger Management
Being raised by someone with undiagnosed bipolar teaches a kid some unusual lessons. Cool dad was always taking on new projects. He'd have an idea and he'd make it happen. He never ever doubted himself and would follow through on whatever ambitious task he took on until either the pendulum swung low or until the task was finished.
This complete faith in his own ability to accomplish anything so long as he put forth the effort was extended to his family. When I was 12 and told cool dad I wanted to compose a song, he told me to go ahead and do it. When I then reported that whenever I tried to "find new songs on the keyboard," I only came up with old songs, he told me at least I tried and now I can try something else. There wasn't ever any failure in his eyes, just attempts that told us to try something different.
Crazy dad was another story. His trademark was his rage and his frightening silence. Not ever knowing why the pendulum swung low and usually thinking it must have been something I did, I tried to coax cool dad back out by regaling crazy dad with stories and jokes I heard at school. This was ineffective, but I tried anyway. When I was a teenager getting pissed and offended by crazy dad's behavior, I was petrified of confronting him, because I didn't trust crazy dad at all. But I learned that anger was a pretty good tool for pushing my terror back and if not ceasing crazy dad's stormfront, then at least forcing him to go take a nap and sleep the mood off so the rest of the family could have the living room back. These small "wins" were empowering. I never liked to cower. And he really did need to sleep that shit off instead of being a jerk and sending all the rest of us to the emergency exits.
Crazy dad left odd surprises in his wake, like when I had a male roommate and found myself inexplicably worried about immediately cleaning up after myself. I hadn't been like that with female roommates, but with easygoing, never angry Stephen I found that my heart pounded too hard in my chest as some long-forgotten memory of crazy dad urged me to make everything perfect so as not to bring out something crazy and angry in Stephen. But the beauty of life is once you can point a finger at whatever it is that's causing some unwanted neurosis - preferably your middle one - you can let go of it. And that is a scientific fact. It isn't instant, like a genie granting a wish or like Britney grabbing a drink, but your brain starts the process and you reach that point of no longer being freaked out over the idea of a grown man seeing a dirty glass in the sink.
Crazy dad was obviously kind of a pain in the ass, but I'm convinced he also left me something which I believe saved my life.
I'll preface this story by saying this took place the same week my parents were moving from Lakeville to Hayward. They'd opted out of hiring movers, so that week my dad and I packed a U-Haul and made the three hour drive out. I was planning a trip to Vegas the following month and my dad expressed some concern because there was some rumbling in the news about terrorists targeting Vegas. I said I wasn't too worried about it, because Vegas is probably the most secure city in the world. Cameras, cops, security personnel, bouncers, there are tons of people protecting casino money and thus protecting us. Dad asked what about the planes? We talked about that for a bit, wondering what we'd do. Dad likes to say, "It isn't their plane, it's my plane, and nobody's fucking with my plane." I pondered it for a moment and then said, "You know, I think it sucks that bad guys just know they can victimize people. I would never approach somebody with the intention of doing them harm because I'd expect them to kill me. Maybe the best defense is a good offense. Show them fucking with you was a mistake and act like a crazy person so they're the ones who're afraid." My dad laughed and acknowledged this could be an effective strategy.
Fast forward three days later, when I attended a happy hour after work. Happy hour ended at 10ish and my friend Alexis and I enjoyed our evening stroll from Drink back to the building where our cars were parked. The weather was utterly perfect. We enjoyed it so much we sat down on the steps of the building kitty corner from ours to continue our chat. Given security guards for both the Campbell Mithun building and our own building regularly stroll outside, and given we were gabbing only two blocks from a police station, the act of relaxing on a city street only two blocks in another direction from a bad neighborhood did not seem unwise to us. Not to mention we're two suburban girls. It's easy to wander through life assuming nothing really bad will ever happen to you when so far nothing really bad has ever happened to you.
We ended our marathon chat at the ridiculous hour of 3 AM and walked across the street towards our cars, pausing to wrap up our thoughts on the Da Vinci Code. I looked beyond Alexis and saw a guy approaching us. He looked normal enough, wearing khaki cargo shorts and a nice white Polo shirt, and he would have been easy to ignore entirely except for the fact that he was staring up at the sky and mumbling to himself as he ambled along.
I figured since he was in the midst of his riveting self-conversation that he'd walk right on by. But he didn't. He stopped. Still looking up - and since he was now so close I could see his eyes were moving back and forth like he was watching a ping pong match in the sky - he mumbled something almost entirely incoherent. All I really caught was "money" and "charity."
Alexis paused in the middle of her sentence without even turning around. Then she resumed talking as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, keeping her back to the stranger. I admired her obvious streetsmarts, the way she felt no need to be even remotely polite to some strange guy at 3 in the morning. I tried to refocus on our conversation, but the guy was still babbling and still watching his private ping pong match in the sky, so I looked right at him, smiled, and said, "I'm sorry, we don't have any money." I thought this would encourage him to move along, but instead his tone became more insistent as he continued babbling. When he took another step towards us Alexis pointed at the sidewalk behind me and said, "Let's walk."
I didn't hesitate, just turned on my heel and started striding away, Alexis falling in step on my right. Guy suddenly became very articulate as he said, "Oh no you don't. Now I know you got some money for me and I want that money." We were walking on 3rd parallel to the CSC on the sidewalk across the street, heading south. Guy got right up behind us, I could feel him against my skirt every couple of steps. He said, "Don't you understand? I can take whatever I want from you. I can throw you down in this parking lot here. It's dark, there isn't anybody around. I can..."
At this point, I stopped hearing him. Something in my head turned into a tea kettle on a stovetop. I knew he was still talking, but I wasn't hearing what he was saying anymore because the only thing that mattered was that we were in trouble.
All of my attention narrowed down to the feel of him right behind us and the way the sound of his voice told me he was becoming very confident in his ability to follow through on the terrible things he was promising he could do to us. He was testing us with his words first to see what we would do, and all we were doing was walking. Not running, not reaching for our cell phones, not screaming. Just silently walking along. He was in charge.
The tea kettle in my head started its whistle as I rifled through my mental files, throwing things around, desperately seeking any small thing I'd ever learned about how to handle a situation like this. This wasn't even supposed to be happening. I was with somebody else, we were right across from our work building and two blocks from a police station. How the fuck was this even happening? File after file after file, I remembered my mother warning me about dangerous dogs and how they'll often attack because they can smell your fear. The tea kettle's whistle got louder, escalating into a shriek. My brain was substituting Asshole's words with its own internal warning system so I could figure this shit out, but the louder it got the less time I had before Asshole stopped talking and did whatever he wanted to do. I was afraid, but I had a built-in defense mechanism to handle my fear, thanks to crazy dad. My anger. Rage started blossoming in my gut, chasing away the weakness that was overwhelming me, taking away the rubbery feel in my muscles and filling me up with something red and hot and making me stand taller, reminding me that this fucking bullshit is unacceptable. The bad guys should be fucking afraid of us.
I very abruptly turned around, leaned into Asshole's face, and screamed at the top of my lungs, "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM US, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!!"
Asshole recoiled as if he'd been punched, but recovered himself quickly to lean into my face. Asshole was a lot taller than me and he was so close I could feel his eyelashes on my forehead and smell his breath. Asshole said, "Nobody talks to me like that." This was supposed to be very intimidating, but what Asshole didn't know was I'd been in that position a thousand times before with crazy dad. Somebody leaning into my face doesn't intimidate me, it just pisses me off even more. And I was fucking furious. What Asshole didn't know was in spite of my short black skirt and pale pink blouse and high heels and hair piled on top of my head, I would absolutely love the opportunity to beat the piss out of him. Because as far as I could tell, there was no cool version of this guy that I needed to hold out for. Just an Asshole who needed a lesson in what happens when you threaten to rape a woman. It didn't matter that I hadn't ever been in a fight, or that I was in heels or that he was obviously bigger and stronger than me. I was willing to bet that I was a lot more fucking mad than he could ever be and that my anger was enough. I was ready for him to make a grab for me or hit me because I really wanted the opportunity to try to kill him.
When Asshole leaned down like that, I didn't lean away. I said, "Fuck you. You started this."
There was a long pause, with neither Asshole nor myself moving. Finally I said, "Alright, I think I've had enough of this bullshit." I reached into my purse for my phone. Asshole leaped away from me as if I might have a gun in there, managing to put about 20 feet between me and him in about four seconds flat. I was so startled by this that I actually stopped what I was doing to stare at him. Asshole demanded, "Whatchoo got in there?" I said, "A fucking phone, you fucking asshole." He said, "Oh yeah? I'm gonna call the cops on you!!" He tapped one of his pockets confidently to suggest he too had a cell phone.
It was at this point that I knew any danger we'd been in was over. Now I was just dealing with a common thieving motherfucking asshole idiot. I glanced over at Alexis, who also had a cell phone, but she hadn't reached for it and was only standing there in complete silence, looking like she could really use a cigarette. I wondered if I was misreading the entire situation, if I'd overreacted and we weren't ever in any real danger. Alexis didn't look remotely alarmed, just mildly uncomfortable, like it was kind of embarrassing to watch Jen act out and she'd sure be glad when it was over and she could have a smoke. I didn't want to make even more of a scene by wasting time for the police, so I didn't take my phone out of my bag. But I also didn't take my hand out. I kept it there, because Asshole's worry over what might be inside seemed to be working to my advantage. I laughed without humor and asked, "Oh? And what will you call the cops for?" He paused for a moment to think and then said triumphantly, "For insubordination. I'll tell them about your insubordination!"
This time I really did laugh. I laughed and laughed and asked, "Are you fucking serious? Do it. Call the cops on me and you tell them that I wasn't being cooperative when you attempted to mug and rape me. You let them know, they'll be right over to save you from me."
Asshole slouched, stuffed his hands in his pockets and complained, "I don't need this shit." I stepped towards him and watched him immediately take two steps back. Encouraged by the shift in the power dynamic, I yelled, "THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!! BEAT IT!! GO!!" He started walking away through the parking lot, tossing a "Whore" over his shoulder, to which I called back, "FUCKING LOSER!" Alexis and I resumed walking. Unbelievably Alexis resumed her Da Vinci Code thought as she lit her cigarette and as I looked around like a secret service person, ready to take on anyone else collecting money for a fake charity.
Of course by the time I got home that night all the anger and adrenalin was gone and I cried and trembled violently over the whole thing. I kept thinking through the evening, how fucking smart that guy had been, approaching as if he was on something or maybe mildly retarded so he'd seem especially innocuous and could get as close to us as he did. How he'd had the good sense to get some distance between him and me because he had no idea what was in my purse, while I didn't even think to worry that he might have a weapon in one of his pockets. The following Monday I emailed Alexis and asked, "Were you scared? Or did I overreact?" She replied, "I was terrified. I was so glad you did something because I couldn't move."
My dad was horrified by the entire thing, especially when I told him that I'd turned around and screamed at Asshole because of the conversation he and I'd had about letting the bad guy know it was a mistake to fuck with you. Dad was imagining all the horrible scenarios that weren't, like Asshole having a gun or a knife or just killing me by slamming my head into the curb. But my younger brother was elated and proud, passing on the story to his Army buddies and letting me know how awesome they all thought I was. Jeff said, "They count on people being too afraid to act. You did the right thing."
Later that summer channel 9 interviewed and surveyed rapists in Minnesota prisons. They asked them if they had a weapon. 98% of them said no, that they didn't even need a weapon. All they had to do was threaten. They used their victims' fear to get them under control, not a gun or a knife. They said when people get scared, they often don't know what to do and they freeze up. When asked how they choose a victim, they said they go for women who won't put up a fight.
What I learned from this ordeal was how important it is to have a plan in your head. Have SOME idea of how you'd handle a situation. Having an idea stops the fear from freezing you and allows you to act.
This complete faith in his own ability to accomplish anything so long as he put forth the effort was extended to his family. When I was 12 and told cool dad I wanted to compose a song, he told me to go ahead and do it. When I then reported that whenever I tried to "find new songs on the keyboard," I only came up with old songs, he told me at least I tried and now I can try something else. There wasn't ever any failure in his eyes, just attempts that told us to try something different.
Crazy dad was another story. His trademark was his rage and his frightening silence. Not ever knowing why the pendulum swung low and usually thinking it must have been something I did, I tried to coax cool dad back out by regaling crazy dad with stories and jokes I heard at school. This was ineffective, but I tried anyway. When I was a teenager getting pissed and offended by crazy dad's behavior, I was petrified of confronting him, because I didn't trust crazy dad at all. But I learned that anger was a pretty good tool for pushing my terror back and if not ceasing crazy dad's stormfront, then at least forcing him to go take a nap and sleep the mood off so the rest of the family could have the living room back. These small "wins" were empowering. I never liked to cower. And he really did need to sleep that shit off instead of being a jerk and sending all the rest of us to the emergency exits.
Crazy dad left odd surprises in his wake, like when I had a male roommate and found myself inexplicably worried about immediately cleaning up after myself. I hadn't been like that with female roommates, but with easygoing, never angry Stephen I found that my heart pounded too hard in my chest as some long-forgotten memory of crazy dad urged me to make everything perfect so as not to bring out something crazy and angry in Stephen. But the beauty of life is once you can point a finger at whatever it is that's causing some unwanted neurosis - preferably your middle one - you can let go of it. And that is a scientific fact. It isn't instant, like a genie granting a wish or like Britney grabbing a drink, but your brain starts the process and you reach that point of no longer being freaked out over the idea of a grown man seeing a dirty glass in the sink.
Crazy dad was obviously kind of a pain in the ass, but I'm convinced he also left me something which I believe saved my life.
I'll preface this story by saying this took place the same week my parents were moving from Lakeville to Hayward. They'd opted out of hiring movers, so that week my dad and I packed a U-Haul and made the three hour drive out. I was planning a trip to Vegas the following month and my dad expressed some concern because there was some rumbling in the news about terrorists targeting Vegas. I said I wasn't too worried about it, because Vegas is probably the most secure city in the world. Cameras, cops, security personnel, bouncers, there are tons of people protecting casino money and thus protecting us. Dad asked what about the planes? We talked about that for a bit, wondering what we'd do. Dad likes to say, "It isn't their plane, it's my plane, and nobody's fucking with my plane." I pondered it for a moment and then said, "You know, I think it sucks that bad guys just know they can victimize people. I would never approach somebody with the intention of doing them harm because I'd expect them to kill me. Maybe the best defense is a good offense. Show them fucking with you was a mistake and act like a crazy person so they're the ones who're afraid." My dad laughed and acknowledged this could be an effective strategy.
Fast forward three days later, when I attended a happy hour after work. Happy hour ended at 10ish and my friend Alexis and I enjoyed our evening stroll from Drink back to the building where our cars were parked. The weather was utterly perfect. We enjoyed it so much we sat down on the steps of the building kitty corner from ours to continue our chat. Given security guards for both the Campbell Mithun building and our own building regularly stroll outside, and given we were gabbing only two blocks from a police station, the act of relaxing on a city street only two blocks in another direction from a bad neighborhood did not seem unwise to us. Not to mention we're two suburban girls. It's easy to wander through life assuming nothing really bad will ever happen to you when so far nothing really bad has ever happened to you.
We ended our marathon chat at the ridiculous hour of 3 AM and walked across the street towards our cars, pausing to wrap up our thoughts on the Da Vinci Code. I looked beyond Alexis and saw a guy approaching us. He looked normal enough, wearing khaki cargo shorts and a nice white Polo shirt, and he would have been easy to ignore entirely except for the fact that he was staring up at the sky and mumbling to himself as he ambled along.
I figured since he was in the midst of his riveting self-conversation that he'd walk right on by. But he didn't. He stopped. Still looking up - and since he was now so close I could see his eyes were moving back and forth like he was watching a ping pong match in the sky - he mumbled something almost entirely incoherent. All I really caught was "money" and "charity."
Alexis paused in the middle of her sentence without even turning around. Then she resumed talking as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, keeping her back to the stranger. I admired her obvious streetsmarts, the way she felt no need to be even remotely polite to some strange guy at 3 in the morning. I tried to refocus on our conversation, but the guy was still babbling and still watching his private ping pong match in the sky, so I looked right at him, smiled, and said, "I'm sorry, we don't have any money." I thought this would encourage him to move along, but instead his tone became more insistent as he continued babbling. When he took another step towards us Alexis pointed at the sidewalk behind me and said, "Let's walk."
I didn't hesitate, just turned on my heel and started striding away, Alexis falling in step on my right. Guy suddenly became very articulate as he said, "Oh no you don't. Now I know you got some money for me and I want that money." We were walking on 3rd parallel to the CSC on the sidewalk across the street, heading south. Guy got right up behind us, I could feel him against my skirt every couple of steps. He said, "Don't you understand? I can take whatever I want from you. I can throw you down in this parking lot here. It's dark, there isn't anybody around. I can..."
At this point, I stopped hearing him. Something in my head turned into a tea kettle on a stovetop. I knew he was still talking, but I wasn't hearing what he was saying anymore because the only thing that mattered was that we were in trouble.
All of my attention narrowed down to the feel of him right behind us and the way the sound of his voice told me he was becoming very confident in his ability to follow through on the terrible things he was promising he could do to us. He was testing us with his words first to see what we would do, and all we were doing was walking. Not running, not reaching for our cell phones, not screaming. Just silently walking along. He was in charge.
The tea kettle in my head started its whistle as I rifled through my mental files, throwing things around, desperately seeking any small thing I'd ever learned about how to handle a situation like this. This wasn't even supposed to be happening. I was with somebody else, we were right across from our work building and two blocks from a police station. How the fuck was this even happening? File after file after file, I remembered my mother warning me about dangerous dogs and how they'll often attack because they can smell your fear. The tea kettle's whistle got louder, escalating into a shriek. My brain was substituting Asshole's words with its own internal warning system so I could figure this shit out, but the louder it got the less time I had before Asshole stopped talking and did whatever he wanted to do. I was afraid, but I had a built-in defense mechanism to handle my fear, thanks to crazy dad. My anger. Rage started blossoming in my gut, chasing away the weakness that was overwhelming me, taking away the rubbery feel in my muscles and filling me up with something red and hot and making me stand taller, reminding me that this fucking bullshit is unacceptable. The bad guys should be fucking afraid of us.
I very abruptly turned around, leaned into Asshole's face, and screamed at the top of my lungs, "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM US, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!!"
Asshole recoiled as if he'd been punched, but recovered himself quickly to lean into my face. Asshole was a lot taller than me and he was so close I could feel his eyelashes on my forehead and smell his breath. Asshole said, "Nobody talks to me like that." This was supposed to be very intimidating, but what Asshole didn't know was I'd been in that position a thousand times before with crazy dad. Somebody leaning into my face doesn't intimidate me, it just pisses me off even more. And I was fucking furious. What Asshole didn't know was in spite of my short black skirt and pale pink blouse and high heels and hair piled on top of my head, I would absolutely love the opportunity to beat the piss out of him. Because as far as I could tell, there was no cool version of this guy that I needed to hold out for. Just an Asshole who needed a lesson in what happens when you threaten to rape a woman. It didn't matter that I hadn't ever been in a fight, or that I was in heels or that he was obviously bigger and stronger than me. I was willing to bet that I was a lot more fucking mad than he could ever be and that my anger was enough. I was ready for him to make a grab for me or hit me because I really wanted the opportunity to try to kill him.
When Asshole leaned down like that, I didn't lean away. I said, "Fuck you. You started this."
There was a long pause, with neither Asshole nor myself moving. Finally I said, "Alright, I think I've had enough of this bullshit." I reached into my purse for my phone. Asshole leaped away from me as if I might have a gun in there, managing to put about 20 feet between me and him in about four seconds flat. I was so startled by this that I actually stopped what I was doing to stare at him. Asshole demanded, "Whatchoo got in there?" I said, "A fucking phone, you fucking asshole." He said, "Oh yeah? I'm gonna call the cops on you!!" He tapped one of his pockets confidently to suggest he too had a cell phone.
It was at this point that I knew any danger we'd been in was over. Now I was just dealing with a common thieving motherfucking asshole idiot. I glanced over at Alexis, who also had a cell phone, but she hadn't reached for it and was only standing there in complete silence, looking like she could really use a cigarette. I wondered if I was misreading the entire situation, if I'd overreacted and we weren't ever in any real danger. Alexis didn't look remotely alarmed, just mildly uncomfortable, like it was kind of embarrassing to watch Jen act out and she'd sure be glad when it was over and she could have a smoke. I didn't want to make even more of a scene by wasting time for the police, so I didn't take my phone out of my bag. But I also didn't take my hand out. I kept it there, because Asshole's worry over what might be inside seemed to be working to my advantage. I laughed without humor and asked, "Oh? And what will you call the cops for?" He paused for a moment to think and then said triumphantly, "For insubordination. I'll tell them about your insubordination!"
This time I really did laugh. I laughed and laughed and asked, "Are you fucking serious? Do it. Call the cops on me and you tell them that I wasn't being cooperative when you attempted to mug and rape me. You let them know, they'll be right over to save you from me."
Asshole slouched, stuffed his hands in his pockets and complained, "I don't need this shit." I stepped towards him and watched him immediately take two steps back. Encouraged by the shift in the power dynamic, I yelled, "THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!! BEAT IT!! GO!!" He started walking away through the parking lot, tossing a "Whore" over his shoulder, to which I called back, "FUCKING LOSER!" Alexis and I resumed walking. Unbelievably Alexis resumed her Da Vinci Code thought as she lit her cigarette and as I looked around like a secret service person, ready to take on anyone else collecting money for a fake charity.
Of course by the time I got home that night all the anger and adrenalin was gone and I cried and trembled violently over the whole thing. I kept thinking through the evening, how fucking smart that guy had been, approaching as if he was on something or maybe mildly retarded so he'd seem especially innocuous and could get as close to us as he did. How he'd had the good sense to get some distance between him and me because he had no idea what was in my purse, while I didn't even think to worry that he might have a weapon in one of his pockets. The following Monday I emailed Alexis and asked, "Were you scared? Or did I overreact?" She replied, "I was terrified. I was so glad you did something because I couldn't move."
My dad was horrified by the entire thing, especially when I told him that I'd turned around and screamed at Asshole because of the conversation he and I'd had about letting the bad guy know it was a mistake to fuck with you. Dad was imagining all the horrible scenarios that weren't, like Asshole having a gun or a knife or just killing me by slamming my head into the curb. But my younger brother was elated and proud, passing on the story to his Army buddies and letting me know how awesome they all thought I was. Jeff said, "They count on people being too afraid to act. You did the right thing."
Later that summer channel 9 interviewed and surveyed rapists in Minnesota prisons. They asked them if they had a weapon. 98% of them said no, that they didn't even need a weapon. All they had to do was threaten. They used their victims' fear to get them under control, not a gun or a knife. They said when people get scared, they often don't know what to do and they freeze up. When asked how they choose a victim, they said they go for women who won't put up a fight.
What I learned from this ordeal was how important it is to have a plan in your head. Have SOME idea of how you'd handle a situation. Having an idea stops the fear from freezing you and allows you to act.
posted by Jen @ 4:40 AM
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