When I was little my parents fought. A lot. Fueled by their mutual love of drink. Understandable, since my grandmother claims she introduced them in a bar. There are old pictures of me sitting on bar stools and feasting on lemon wedges at various bars. Once, when my parents separated for a time, we moved in with my mom's boyfriend, in a little apartment above a bar. Yes, I do have issues now with bars and drinking, thanks for asking. Anyway, the parental units had plenty of house wrecking fights back in the day. They never hurt one another, just found it necessary to scream and break things. Maturity at it's best, I tell you. One Friday night many years ago, I was at my Grandmother's house and I begged her not to send me home. Told her my parents were just going to fight all night and it scared me. I begged and cried until I made myself sick. My mother was terribly embarrassed when she picked me up, because I was really making a scene. They didn't fight that night though.
What's it like to be the family members who watch this stuff, but don't feel like they can intervene? If you had a little kid clinging to you and begging you to let her stay, and not send her home to listen to the Friday Night Fights, wouldn't your natural instinct be to agree?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I had a terrible childhood or anything. That was just one aspect of it that sucked, that's all. Overall, it was pretty darn happy.
Today is Friday, and my kids are excited that I get to stay home from work tomorrow, and that we're all going to the movies on Sunday when Daddy's off work. They think weekends at home are great.
And that makes me incredibly happy.