In which I had a toddler tantrum at my dad...

...because there came a point where I couldn't handle his utter lack of common sense.

Note: I drafted this at my parents' house around xmas, and then let it go. But I keep thinking about it, so here it is:

We took two cars to the mechanic's so that we could leave one there and go elsewhere. By the time the car was ready to be picked up, lots of snow had fallen and stuck (but none had been plowed or salted), and driving conditions were bad. The car I was driving skid just at the end of the first block (luckily, I left myself lots of room). Then, it was fine, at least on the bigger roads, but as we got closer to home, my dad idiotically took the scenic route and I idiotically followed him (primarily so that he wouldn't worry), and the car would skid a little almost every time I braked. So I drove slowly (and got annoyed every time I saw that dad had stopped to wait for me--it was obvious by then that I knew the way back--as I didn't want a car in front of me. Finally, I made it to the driveway and backed in. But dad felt the need not only to get out of his car and signal, but to get right up next to the car. So I felt the need to roll down the window and started screaming at him.


A.: GET AWAY FROM THE CAR.
Dad: Must you scream?
A.: GO GET BACK IN YOUR CAR.
Dad: What is the problem?
A.: GO AWAY. CAN'T YOU TELL THAT THESE TIRES AREN'T HANDLING WELL IN THE SNOW? GET AWAY FROM THE CAR.

He finally got back in his car, I finally parked. The argument continued inside the house.

Dad: You have your mom's temperament.

I wanted to say, "it's things like this that make me see mom's side of things."

A.: First of all, why did you turn into the small streets?
Dad: I didn't realize they would be that bad.
A.: Did you not see me skid even at the first intersection? The Corolla does not handle well in the snow.
Dad: It's the tires.
A.: I don't care what it is. That was scary. And then why did you have to stand next to the car, knowing that the brakes/tires weren't handling well?
Dad: I was at a safe distance.
A.: Who knows what a safe distance is, in these conditions!

And so on.

It was an interesting case of conflict management. I still feel that I was right on substance; dad was needlessly endangering himself, and egging me on by not stepping away when I asked him to. One thing I know about myself is that I very rarely get angry over mistakes; I get angry when I'm not being heard. The fact that dad was not listening was pissing me off more than the fact that he wasn't using his head. Then again, I could have seen that screaming wasn't getting him to listen, so I could have adapted my style, maybe just said that I wouldn't move until he stepped away and got back in his car. It was a real standoff.

I told this story to a few people at work; I half-expected them to dismiss me as a horrible, shrewish person, but they got it: I was agitated. That doesn't mean I behaved well or productively; it just means that acting out out of stress and frustration is not a sign of character apocalypse.