My Parents Are Fighting Again

I passed out around 5:30 in the evening because I was at Hooters all day watching the basketball games. I wake up to my father banging on the wall our version of Ma clanging the metal triangle from the porch to call everybody in for supper.

I knew they were fighting when my mother took a plate from the kitchen and transferred the reheated leftovers we were eating from another plate using a spoon, and she did so without speaking to my father. He usually prepares dinner while she's downstairs on the treadmill, but she certainly has no qualms about the way he does things when we eat.

That she seemed to be giving him the silent treatment and speaking by way of food transfer, somethhing happened at work. Either she hated something he did, or he yelled at her in a way she didn't like. Whatever the case, she ate quickly and quietly. He just about did the same, although he also washes the dishes, and this time he didn't wait for me, the slowest eater.

I am an angry person, and although I think I was born that way, I definitely was raised that way too. My mom is the violent one, the one who just yells and yells and yells at you, with some threats to do bodily harm thrown in. My father is the vindictive one, the one who quietly tells you how much you suck and how much he hates you. He's also the passive-agressive one, the one who has the under-the-breath comment or the misplaced needle to pop your high-flyin' balloon, just when you're feeling good. (I'm shaking with hate and fear as I type this.) I don't like either, but I hate my father more mostly because I've argued with him more the past several years. But while I've had more arguments with him, the most intense arguments have been with my mom, who has no qualms with just firing at me with both barrels.

I wrote that last paragraph for catharsis, but also because I haven't seen my father behave like a child as obviously as he did after he washed the dishes. He went outside to dump the trash, and when he went back upstairs, he stepped on two of the steps very loudly. He knew damn well my mother was trying to sleep in the master bed. My father is a baby, but in a verbal, you-don't-make-any-fucking-sense-dipshit way. He's never pulled his passive-agressiveness bullshit physically. Now, I won't say my mother is the complete victim here, but it seems like she's more, um, acquiescent in the relationship.

When I was young, my siblings and I were raised by our Grandmother. My parents worked their asses off and didn't get back home till late. I never really saw them for dinner, so the only thing I truly remember about them in my youth was the screaming, usually by my mother, emanating from downstairs. It was her yelling, sometimes to the point of exhaustion and tears, followed by him doing one of two things: Responding/Defending himself in a whine, or giving in with gentle, hushed coos. Seriously, that's how I remember my parents when I was young.

If there are additional events, or if this affects me any closer than it does now, I'll let y'all know.