When I was a child I would often earn the ire of my father. I was either clumsy or I was being stupid. True, I was clumsy. I always tripped on things, dropped stuff, broke toys. I was the only child who regularly broke plates or glasses while dishwashing. I was a real clutz.

Other times, I would be asked by my father to get a particular T-shirt or jacket from his closet. I would almost always come back empty-handed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find what he was asking me to bring. These situations often ended with my angry father going to the closet to get the T-shirt himself. He would always point out the article he was asking for. Almost always, the damn thing would be hanging in plain sight. I always cried after those embarrassing errands. I often got a scolding that I would remember till the end of my days. I endured the harsh words, at times crying, at other times spitefully hunched in a corner. It was then that I realized the power of words. Maybe that was the reason why until today I have this overwhelming need to be heard.

Just the other day, I had an argument with my wife. I was on the phone with her that early Thursday morning. She was, as always, speaking her mind before I even finished what I had to say. I usually let it pass. It was afterall the way my wife is. But that morning, I was hungry and angry at the situation I had let myself get into. I felt that I had a right to speak my mind. It was one of those moments -- the one's when you just snap. I hung-up on her. My anger faded in the few moments that passed. Inevitably, a feeling of remorse came over my once I had realized what I had done. That's how I deal with it.

I had always promised myself that I would not inherit the ill-tempered side of my father. By letting my anger fly out of control, I was reneging on that promise. Now an adult, I constantly realize that I have become my father. I'm ill-tempered and intolerant, angry at the slightest provocation. I grew up like this and now I'm afraid I might pass it on to my son. What a horrible heritage. The thought of it upset for the rest of that day.

Now I realize that I don't need anyone else to beat me up emotionally. I do a good job of it myself.