Despondent

Last night, I snapped. Again.

I had gone upstairs with my son to tuck him into bed. As was his usual evening ritual, we switched on the bedside lampshade and he browsed through some magazines and a book of his. Not really reading. He's only three. He can read the big bold letters and whispers them to himself. Then I turned off the light and told him to sleep. I pretended to sleep to encourage him to do the same. He occasionally stood up and stood by the doorway (probably waiting for mom), while I fell in and out of sleep. I awoke every time he stood up. He has loud feet like his mom. This went on for about two hours. When mom finally turned off the light, he started his tantrum. It was already twelve by then and no amount of hushing could make him stop.

His tantrums have been getting worse lately. Like last Saturday, we had to get his grandmother to the hospital for her severe back pain. While waiting for her turn in the x-ray room, my son wanted to ride in her wheelchair. When we told him he couldn't ride it with her, he started bawling wildly. That went on for about two and a half hours. No matter where we took him or how we tried to distract him, he still went on bawling loudly. It event turned a few policemen's heads when I tried to take it outside of the hospital.

Well, I did not want an encore at 12 midnight in my own home with all the neighbors sound asleep. I snapped. I put my hand over his mouth and repeatedly told him to stop shouting. He tried to pry my hand away with his own hands. It was the longest 5 minutes of my life. I couldn't hear my wife 's pleas to let go. I could only hear the spite in my heart. But then I suddenly realized how helpless my son was, clawing at my giant hand, wanting to be heard. I let go, and a sea of emotion just swept me.

All I could do was turn my back on them as my wife tried to console him. And I just sat there, on the floor near the bed's corner. I had my elbows resting on my knees that were bent upwards. I clasped both hands behind my nape and just sat there with the horrid feeling of remorse. I just sat there for a long time. When my wife's reassuring hand caressed my shoulder, I started to cry. I started feeling how utterly unfit I was to be a father. I prayed a silently hoping God would end it - either my life or the mental condition my son had. Either would have been acceptable to me at that moment. My wife kept whispering everything would be alright, but I could not stop the torrent of tears. When my nape started getting numb from the pressure from my clasped hands I started crawling back to bed. As the tears started to fade, so did my conscious thoughts. I drifted into restless sleep.