The Simmering.

     Not sure if it's coincidental, correlational, or causational, but the more I love someone, the more they can make me mad. And not just mad, but boiling, riotous, über mad. The kind of anger that doesn't dissipate quickly, easily, or with just a couple of deep breaths. Now, before I tell you this next story, there are several background things you need to know:

• When I was a toddler, I was a handful. More like two handfuls really. I was a mess. I just came that way
  
• My father was working, going to school, and already had a daughter (who hadn't really prepared him for me((which is part of the reason I'm so glad we're having a daughter)))
  
• It was the middle of the night
  
• and we were living in crappy, poorly made apartments.

Please keep these things in mind as I tell you this story.
     So, it's the middle of another one of my father's sleep-deprived and short nights, when he hears me crying about something in my crib. My mom must have elbowed him with at least some gusto, because he came in and asked me what I wanted. In, what must have been the definitive whiny voice, I demanded water before going back to sleep. Since he was already up, and a good sport, he strolls into the kitchen, gets me a glass of water, and pops back into my room. It was this point when things started going south.
     He offers me the water, I reach my hand out, push it away, and probably with the same whiny voice I originally asked for the water say, "NO!" That was pretty much the breaking point for my pops. Not sure what the final destination was for that cup of the water; if it ended up in my face, on the floor, or in the sink. What I do know is that my father was so hacked off, and rightfully so, that as he left the room, he slammed the door hard enough that it went past the door jam. I always thought this was an incredible feat of strength, but my father reminded me the apartment was pretty shoddy and it's not like the door jam was built to withhold much pressure at all. He had to put his shoulder into it to get the door back on the right side. In the fear of casting my father in a bad light, please understand that he has never abused me, and in spite of me being a righteous punk, he did not shake the baby!
     Here's the point. No matter how much I love my daughter, she's gonna make me mad. It's gonna happen, there's nothing I can do about it. It's what I do while I'm mad that's going to decide if I'm a good father. There will be some simmering, it's just gonna happen, and it'll probably hit its peak around the same time she starts dating, but "if I don't master my rage...my rage will become my master", right (Mystery Men)? If you need some help, I suggest you get it before the rage begins, maybe at Don't shake a baby.com.