Nuclear family

Saturday night, a nice time for diner and a movie. A typical family movie night. Or at least it should've been, but now it's all in ruins. What set of this catastrophe? A simple case of the son outgrowing the father and the father being unable to cope with this life-altering event.

Two and a half years ago I decided to turn my life around. I started a diet and went for a run every day. Over the next twelve months I changed, I became a better person. More importantly, I did it all by myself. While my family was chugging down on potato chips and greasy food, I looked the other way and fought a silent battle with myself.

After a year, my Dad suddenly decided he should follow in my footsteps and he began to run too. It almost instantly guaranteed a disaster. From the start he accused me of running too fast, of not considering him. But what was I supposed to do? I spent a year forging and sculpting this new physical identity and now he wanted me to throw it all away because he couldn't keep up?

This scenario repeated itself periodically and the fights soon evolved into something so much deeper than father-son competitiveness. After a while he started criticising my friends and telling me what a rotten character I had. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My own father who thinks me cruel and deceiving. Whatever happened to loving your own blood unconditionally?

The year is now 2010, one and a half year later and we've gotten nowhere. Today was just another repetition of an already well-rehearsed battle. I went for a run again, but lately I've been doing those alone. Call me crazy, but I'm not that much of a masochist to put me through so much pain and torture on a regular basis. Suddenly, my Dad decides he wants to come with. I warn him beforehand, saying I'm going to run at my own pace and that I'm going to do my regular route. The mindgames begin by him telling me not to worry and that he'll be able to keep up. Note the ironic tone underneath.

We didn't even make it fifty metres before the first bomb exploded. Seventy metres, a second explosion. And by the time we were around the fourth bend, the equivalent of a nuclear bomb blew up between us. The radiation of that blast would quickly find his way into our house, corrupting everything in its path and ensuring a lasting effect.

Another scar across the family crest.

Another bump on the road to family bliss.

Another psychological devastation of a son at the hands of his father.

I can't say I didn't saw it coming. Ever since I could remember there was this little voice inside of me that said: "Enjoy this happy moment, because there are two tragedies waiting for you thereafter." I've come to realize that whenever something good happens to me, something bad always awaits in the aftermath, cancelling out all of the residual joy.

But what I can't and won't understand is why my Dad would act this way. Why does he try so hard to destroy all that I have built up and try to make me feel bad for something truly wonderful that I've accomplished by myself? Why would he want me to change? Does he really think of me as a lost cause, as someone with a rotten personality? Someone who will never be able to keep his friends or find love?

It's a beautiful Saturday night in Spring. People should be sitting down together and having a great time. Telling stories of how they spent their busy days, laughing at other people's jokes and simply enjoying the company of others. This truly sounds like a wonderful pass-time. Sadly, this won't be the case for me. And maybe not for a long time too. After all, aren't parts of Hiroshima and Nagasaki still radioactive to this day and that happened like, what, fifty years ago?