Confrontation

Confrontation

By John R. Greenwood 

I was reading some constructive advice our Hubbard Hall Writing Project mentor Jon Katz was giving another member of our group recently. It pertained to one of her blog posts and it flipped a switch that initiated this post. This is a bit more than one of my semi-witty photo captions or Facebook posts. This is a deep vein. Jon is always encouraging courage; courage to open the lid and let things out. In this particular case he pokes her with a stick and tells her the story line and subjects are interesting but she seems to, “duck out at the end.” That line struck a nerve. Throughout my life I have run from confrontation. Even though the piece he was critiquing was not about confrontation it was about digging deeper. I put great effort in my blog and I lean heavy to the positive. This piece will head off in the opposite direction but they do connect at the end. I hope you hang around. 

The word confrontation brings me back to childhood and a darker side of my youth that I don’t hide or bury--I don’t embrace it either. Arguing, sarcasm, and yelling were a large part of my young life, the common denominator; alcohol. It saturated our family as far back as I can remember. It was thinned out of the picture when I married my wife. She and I vowed to remove the impact of alcohol on our young family. Although I enjoy a cold beer as much as anyone else, it was very seldom found in our home during our child rearing years and beyond.

As a boy growing up, Friday night rituals revolved around some form of alcohol and an argument. Surliness and confrontation swirled like a harsh March wind. These fights between mom and dad would intensify to the point of door slamming and dish breaking and last long into the night. There were many times when my sister and I would sit at the top of the stairs waiting for the next crash or nasty comment. Sarcasm grew with each popped top. Sleep came only by squeezing my pillow tight over my head, deep within my bed. Tears and sobbing for the real life nightmare to end were common.

Why share this story? Why open up a past that is just that? I felt a need to explain why I run from confrontation like a man from commitment. There is a world full of people with this story and many much worse. Millions drag a heavy bag and never shed an ounce. I survived just fine. I want to be very clear. I had a great childhood in so many other ways that they have taken precedent over the uglier side. My parents loved me. They taught me common courtesy and manners. They instilled work ethic and honesty. They built a strong foundation while the earthquake was shaking the house. I love them and miss them. They had cracks. We all do.

I seize up like an engine void of oil every time an argument erupts. I hate nitwit reality shows filled with finger pointing and hand waving morons. I despise politics and the useless character bashing that ensues. When a confrontation does land at my table I stammer, stutter, and collapse like an $8 lawn chair. 

What I do embrace is cooperation and compromise. I seek them out. Positive reinforcement is my motto, my mantra. It feels better. It fuels better. It makes more sense. Minds run better filled with goodness.

I will struggle to post this piece, but I will. There are others out there who have travelled a similar path. Rough and bumpy paths can lead to beautiful places. Many of them do. It is important to watch your steps as you go, someday you may need to return. We all need to remember where we came from.