Associations

It was a Sunday morning. Usually we’d be headed to church, but we decided to take the morning off. Our daughter crawled into our bed and hugged me. “I love you daddy,” she quietly whispered in my ear. Those words were just what I needed to hear. I fumbled out of bed and reached for my glasses. My mother-in-law had breakfast ready. I could smell the eggs and bacon. I sleepily stumbled up the stairs. “Stop looking at me!,” he sharply exclaimed. Yep, our son was in one of his moods. “You’re so weird,” he continued as he nestled up to his Nana. Usually, I could handle it. I had concluded that ignoring the comments was the only reasonable option. Any response was fire on fire. Sometimes the ignoring would go on for hours or days. I had developed an iron gut. Eventually he’d stop - only to find another button to push. It was exhausting and today, I especially didn’t want to deal with it.

I love our son dearly, but he can be a handful at times. ADHD has its challenges - but add to that oppositional defiance disorder and trauma from abuse. Slamming doors, meltdowns and destructive words are commonplace. Of course, our son is fine at school. He’s usually fine with his friends. But at home, it’s a different story. Every step is a potential land mine. Every movement is a cracking eggshell. As one mother put it, living with an ADHD child is much like living with an abusive spouse. You never know what you’re going to get. So often, my wife and I go to bed drained from the dice rolls, the drama and the mind games.

We’ve tried every trick in the book. We’ve been the tough parents with consequences. We’ve been the chill parents who let things slide. Sometimes, it feels like it doesn’t matter what we do. Consequences are not a deterrent from bad choices. Rewards do little for long term motivation. After much exasperation, we’ve narrowed our focus to what we can change - our own attitudes and reactions. On the other hand, some days do go well - the weekend afternoons at the pool, the nights when we ride our bikes together, the moments when I watch our son play his drums or his favorite video game. These are precious times and I’ve learned to soak them up. Our son can be very thoughtful and caring. I love seeing my son happy and I love being a positive influence in his life. He’s an amazing leader. He’s a tech genius. He’s beyond his years in many ways. He’s a great kid with a good heart. Yet again, so many days are filled with conflict and hurtful words - "You’re weird!"…"Why do you ask so many questions?"…"Leave me alone!"…"Stop talking to me!”…and if he’s in trouble, the comments get even sharper…“I hate you!”…and worst of all, “You’re Pepe'!” This is the deepest twist of the knife. I’m not Pepe’ nor do I want to be compared to Pepe’.

It had been several weeks since my son and I had met with our therapist. “Do you know how your dad felt when he found out what his dad did to you?”, she asked. “Yes I remember - my dad was very upset.” After that meeting, things started to get better. And that’s why this Sunday morning took me off guard. My son and I were both running from my dad. We tried to get rid of things - the brown mugs which my dad used for cappuccinos, the office chair which had been at my parents’ house in the room by the computer where “it” had happened, the paintings and calligraphies on our walls. We got rid of it all. Then in 2020, we moved to another state and we left “the apartment.” The apartment where my parents had babysat our son. The apartment with the bedroom where our four year old son uttered those adult words. The kitchen where my mom had the audacity to scold my wife for our son’s behavior towards Pepe’. In 2020, we moved three hours away. We left everything behind, except for one thing - me.

Our therapist assured me that this is a common thing. Victims often associate others with their perpetrator - especially family members who look similar. I can’t imagine what is going through my son’s mind - all the time. The fears. The images. The anxieties. He was a four year old boy and six years later, the memories of my father are still painfully exposed like an open wound. I wonder sometimes if our son blames me for what happened? I would have never let my parents babysit our son if I knew what was going on. Is this why my son needed to remember that I was upset when I learned what my dad had done? At times, I feel so helpless. After losing my biological family, there are days when I fear that I am also losing my son. I wish I didn’t resemble my father - his looks, his mannerisms. There are times when I hate seeing myself in the mirror. I remind myself that I am an apple from a different orchard. Besides the creative streak, I am nothing like my dad.

The devil knows my weaknesses. He repeatably pulls me back to his whipping post and shouts words of accusation. “You’re not a good dad!” “Your son will always see you as Pepe’!” “You’ll never connect with your son!” “Your biological family hates you and so does your son!” But then I stop and I remember the sweet voice of my daughter on Sunday morning - “I love you daddy.” I think of my faithful wife who has walked through hell with me. I focus on the good times we’ve had as a family. I recall the moments when I have connected with my son. The birthdays with his homemade cards. The mornings I’ve taken him to breakfast. The home projects we’ve done together. I keep remembering how far we’ve come.

My wife and I almost lost our son when he was born, yet God miraculously saved his life. I know our son has a tough road ahead, but God is faithful - and he’s still the same God who revived a fading pulse and breathed color into a fragile infant who lay lifeless on a delivery table in 2012.  Above all, I must trust that God loves our son more than we do and has great plans for his life. When the days are tough, I come back to this reality - God’s ways are above my own. When the weight seems unbearable, God gives me strength beyond my own humanity. When the lies leave me gasping for air, God breathes truth into my lungs. When I see a disaster, God sees an opportunity. When I see an immovable rock, God sees a diamond waiting to shine His glory. 

"Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why the unease within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.” Psalm 43:5