Hating Your Parents, Ctd

A reader writes:

My experience closely matches TNC's.  Growing up in a strict but fair Catholic home, my father had the ultimate, final word.  I found myself resenting him at times during my upbringing - and no more so when he came down on me (or my sister), or argued with our mother.  His persuasive arguments - coupled with his at-times combative tone - made it difficult to win an argument against him.  He was of course simply doing what he thought best as head of the his family but we all - Mom included - bristled under that power at times. 

Things changed when I came out to my family at 22. 

I was terrified to tell him and had already set up accommodations for that night if I was no longer welcome in their home.  But that evening, December 26th (as I didn't want to 'spoil' Christmas), as we sat around the dining room table and eating apple pie, I told my family who I am.  Mom began to cry and Dad did what he could to calm her.  "You're still my son, right?" he asked.  I assured him I was.  "Then nothing's changed," he said, making sure the point was heard by both of us. 

But of course everything changed.  My relationship with Dad has grown deeper than I knew possible.  Those many years living under this watchful eye became the foundation for an honest, rewarding, adult relationship with Dad.  He is my mentor, my soundboard, my biggest fan and an honest critic.  I cherish his perspective and relish our frequent conversations.  He is still my Dad - but that word means so much more to me now as an adult then it ever did when I was living in his house and answering to him.  I love him madly.

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