Power

My father—like a lot of fathers until about twenty five years ago, when most chose to be their kids' empowering, enabling, and emotionally uplifting best friends, averse to tarnishing their own lofty self image via unpleasant friction from hardened stances, irrespective of the entitled, deluded little humans they inflicted upon the world—was a bit of a tyrant.

Nothing awful. But he leaned into it sometimes. When a certain type of person notices power in a relationship, it's sugar to be devoured rather than medicine to be rationed with mature prudence. A house full of kids reliant for food and shelter seem like a captive audience; an experimental laboratory; a flattering array of shiny mirrors.

It was mostly tolerable. He was not a bad man, so he made real effort to constrain his considerable fury. And, per above, "yes, and..." might be a great way to do improv comedy but it's no way to raise kids. But he could get a tad drunk on petty power, and I found it scary to have no means of constraining him. An eleven year old may be immature, but he's not larval. He's a person. And those who bear power should bear in mind that personhood under unchecked authority is a harrowing experience.

I sensed that there might be a magical sentence I could break out under particular duress, but couldn't quite articulate it. It seemed to radiate toward me, amid much static, from my elder self as a message in a bottle (not surprising, because I was at the same time sending messages forward to that same elder self, many of which I've cataloged here). It was tantalizingly close at hand, but I couldn't make out the words.

In one's 60s, one re-processes one's childhood issues and confusions. And, as I do so, I find myself imagining saying this to my father:

Our roles will flip. You will decline, and may require my help and support. The dependency curve will reverse. You imagine you have unchecked authority, but your actions have consequences. Never forget that the tables will turn, and that I will remember.

Because I can be slow and foggy, it took a few years for me to realize that my occasional repetition of this polished spell was like a radio beacon broadcasting who-knows-where in time and space.


Anyone feeling powerless might take heart from that same broadcast. Tables turn. Dependencies flip. Your day will come.