Early regrets
As a parent I am afraid of only one thing: messing my kid up. I think about it consistently and more than I probably should. As adults we can all look back on our childhood and think of instances of parental injustice or words they "didn't mean" or other miscellaneous trauma. We can all think of ways our parents could have done better; things we would never do if we were parents. Since I became a parent four years ago the tables have turned and I am now avoiding those very things that I said I would never do, which are most likely the very things my parents did to/around/with/against me.
Even before I became a father I was fairly convinced that nurture often outweighs nature in our human experience. Whatever is good or bad about us, we learned a large part of it and can undo very little of it. Psychologists say the time before 5 years of age are the most forming of years. That scares the hell out of me sometimes because I so badly dread making someone relive what occasionally torments me. If I learned it in my childhood, how capable am I to avoid what seems to be my destiny? I am certainly capable of this, but it is a struggle that requires a great deal of self awareness. One reason all this probably scares me is because I have not competely come to terms with some of my pains from my family. I suppose if I were more comfortable with those things then I may have a bit more confidence in myself.
Tonight was one of those few moments I wish so badly I could get back. If only I could explain to my son why adults sometimes must argue in order to protect their illusion of control over the surrounding environment and the other adults contained therein. Children will argue with their parents, but when their parents argue with each other they have no understanding whatsoever of the situation at hand. It makes them feel insecure and unsafe. They are unable to take sides and instead feel (probably very accurately) that both sides are at danger of losing love.
As my child tried to interrupt my wife and I by interjecting, "Stop. Please stop.", we continued. As I finally took a moment to turn around in my driver's seat to make some sort of apologetic eye contact, my innocent piece of clay waiting to be formed by healthy role models lay asleep in his car seat. I cried the rest of the way home, up the stairs, and into his bed. I wish there was some way to apologize, but instead I have to hope that he has sweet dreams tonight and remembers nothing in the morning.