When parents turn into rebellious teens
My dad thinks I’m a nag.
Some women, including yours truly, vow never to turn into their mothers (God forbid!). Yet, I occasionally find myself uttering my late Mum’s words to my almost 80 year old father.
For instance, I’d say “take an umbrella with you” when I notice Dad stepping out to abysmal weather. His response? A defiant “no need”, a reply that my once petulant teenage self would provide.
This is just one of many examples where Dad erroneously thinks I am treating him like someone who is incapable of looking after himself. Other occasions he has quoted as instances when I’m cramping his style include the time when I reminded him of his annual medical check up. Or when I gave him a call upon learning from my siblings that he wasn’t feeling too well.
Now before you think I’m a control freak, let me explain.
After Mum passed on, Dad decided he’d continue to stay in the residence we grew up in. Alone. In a home that used to house five other family members. In a city where break-ins are common. Despite one of my siblings asking him to move in with him, Dad insists he’s more comfortable staying put.
While I understand Dad’s request to remain independent, his actions seem to go against all precautionary measures to keep him safe. When I saw him using an unstable stool to reach up to a clock (one of eight other timekeepers he’d installed in our home) he’d placed above the top shelf in the kitchen, I pointed out that he could fall and hurt himself, only to be told off by him. I received the same retort when he insisted on perching precariously on the bed frame to put up a fresh set of curtains in the bedroom.
I’m cognisant that death is inevitable and no matter how much it hurts to lose a loved one, I have to accept that everyone’s time on this earth is finite. And yes, Dad has the right to make his own choices but am I the only one who thinks that life’s too precious to live recklessly?
I’ve tried all sorts of approaches with Dad:
· Highlighting the dangers of his action or inaction.
· Asking him how he’d feel if he knew my siblings or I have been putting ourselves at risk.
· Telling him a story about the less than pleasant consequences when someone else made the same decision as he had, hoping he’d take the hint.
· Requesting that one of Dad’s siblings speak to him about our concerns.
None of these tactics have worked.
Initially, I thought Dad’s stubbornness was unique to our family. Upon sharing my frustrations with some friends, I discovered that they too had parents who placed their pride ahead of common sense. And like me, my friends have all but thrown their hands up in the air.
So how do they keep their sanity intact when they see their parents behaving like rebellious teens with little care for their own wellbeing? Their advice to me was to accept Dad’s choices and that there was nothing I could do to change the way he thinks.
Consequently after many years of worry and tearful arguments, I made the conscious decision to stop calling. Before I did that, I wrote Dad a note, explaining that all I’ve wanted to do each time I fly home for a visit was to make memories with him, just like I did with Mum [1]. I also said I’d be more than happy to take his call whenever he felt like chatting.
It’s been close to five months since I checked in with Dad. It was hard at first especially since I was brought up in a society which espouses the virtues of filial piety.
I’m gradually letting go of the feelings of guilt and I’m glad I’m not alone in facing this challenge with my father. In her article 5 success tips with difficult aging parents, Carolyn Rosenblatt advises us kids who try our darndest in taking care of our resisting parents, to give ourselves a pat on our backs for trying.
I’m putting Carolyn’s advice into practice and making peace with my decision to stay out of Dad’s life for now. Perhaps being incommunicado would help Dad and I gain some perspective and to truly put ourselves in the other party’s shoes. Whatever the outcome of this period of silence, I hope we can be better for each other at our next interaction.
Meanwhile, if you’ve been in a similar situation and have tips to share on what’s worked for you and your parents or someone you care about, please let me know. I’ll be happy to give your advice a go!
[1] Mum and I were strategising on how we could chase out a playful rodent which had been playing hide and seek with us in our home.
