Patience

I am probably as mild mannered as it gets.  My whole life I've been patient, kind, even-tempered, and constantly had a smile on my face. I still feel that I am that way outside of my home.  I still feel that way with my wife. I can hardly remember a time where I have felt the need to really yell at anyone. Sure, I've wanted to tell people off and make there imperfection clear to them, but when it all came down to it, I saw no point in raising my voice. With my kids, however...things change.

When I became a father, I never knew a person could have so much love for another person.  When my second son was about to be born, I was a bit confused and skeptical that I'd be able to love him as much as my first born.  Again, I couldn't believe I could divide my love in 2 equal parts, like cells, where either part was not diminished from the original.  Son number 3 came along and it was the same situation, just with less surprise that I loved three being equally but insurmountably.

I can't explain what happens when I yell at my children, but it feels like the Hulk takes control.  I don't even see it coming.  My mind says, "he made a mistake", but it comes out as hellfire.  When one of them does and annoying action or sound, eats incredibly slow, or gets a new toy out without putting the others away first, I lose it. Don't they know how to do these things?! Isn't it common sense?!  No.  No it isn't. I've been noticing recently that when my children interact with each other, their patience mimics my own. And I've realized I've had a parent fail.

Though I haven't gained complete control of this horrible habit, I have improved it and plan to continue working on it.  One thing that keeps reminding me of controlling my reactions is to realize one thing that has always remained since each of my boys were born.  They still say, "I love you, dad."  That simple phrase teaches me that though I am imperfect, they forgive quickly and I have time to improve this particular fault of mine.