FREE Download - Jan Johnson

As the day wore on, I began to remember my dad talking about how Grandpa used to drink.
Later, by the copy machine, I quizzed my pastor/boss/friend: "Would it affect me if my
grandfather drank a lot?" He said that it could, depending on how my father reacted to his
upbringing. Oh great, I thought, now we were getting knee-deep into psychology!
When I asked what he meant, he said that if my dad imitated his father's erratic attitudes
(even though he didn't drink), I could have picked up those tendencies from him.
I sat at my desk and pulled out the material I had typed. I thought about my problems with
my son and I saw that if I were honest, the material described me: seeking approval, judging
myself without mercy, struggling with intimate relationships. This wasn't, however, the "me"
that my church friends knew. They knew me as an efficient good deed doer who whizzed
through projects, who never made typing errors and always stayed late to finish her work. They
would never guess that I was still so keyed up when I got home that anything my husband or son
said set me off. I often took my husband's simple question, "Are there any clean shirts?" as an
attack on my selfhood. Many times he did the laundry to keep from stirring me up.
But I was never pacified. I constantly got angry with my husband and son and I felt
discouraged about it. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, happiness and contentment were
only temporary. I would never be that terribly nice Christian I wanted to be.
That day in the office I began to wonder if my dad felt the way I did. He had been an only
child, abandoned in infancy by his mother. He was raised by his stern grandmother and his
alcoholic father.
Dad could be warm, kind and caring much of the time, but he was quick to explode. He
could be talking gently to me, handing me a glass of iced tea, when Mom might ask, "Why didn't
you fix me a glass of tea?" Then he would start yelling. I was scared and unsure of what would
happen next with him.
Mom was also an only child. She grew up in a loving, but strict, legalistic home. She had
to tow the line at all times and she treated my brother and me the same way. I learned early that
if I talked back, I would get slapped or have my mouth washed out with soap. I learned that it
was not OK to express real feelings -- only what was acceptable to others.
As an adult, I unloaded this anger at my husband and son. I acted just like my father --
swearing, slamming doors, spitting out sarcastic put-downs. It was so ironic. I had promised
God I would never treat my son the way my parents treated me, but I did it anyway. I disciplined
my son unfairly and made unreasonable demands on him -- that was the only way I knew how to
be a parent.
After that day at work, I read the books my boss recommended and I even went to a support
group. After the first meeting, I told my husband, "These people are a bunch of whiners," but by
the next Tuesday I wanted to go back. I saw that they weren't whiners, just more open than most
people at church. That honesty and acceptance drew me until I became one of them, sharing my
true self.
After several years of looking at myself, I've discovered more appropriate ways to express
my anger. I've learned not to be so controlling of people. The other day, my now twenty-two-