Respect Your Elders
me to my room with the usual speech of, “Respect your elders.”
By Nidhi Ravala
Every time, I ask, “Why should I respect him if he won’t respect me?” and every time, without fail, the response I get is, “Because he’s your dad.” Just because he’s my dad, all respect for me can go flying out the window.
Arguments are inevitable. My most recent quarrel was with my dad. He had scheduled an appointment without warning me, which ended up overlapping with a test I needed to take. When I so much as slightly expressed my displeasure with the situation, I was told to “Deal with it,” and “Be an adult.” I was already grouchy from being woken up early, too. I slipped and made a snarky comment of “Oh, I’m being irresponsible,” which led to thirty minutes of bickering. Thirty minutes of being talked over and called ungrateful, followed by thirty minutes of ringing silence. Thirty minutes of sitting in the car, not saying a word. Thirty minutes was enough time for me to calm myself down, sure. But, as always, the anger of having been scolded for yelling when he was doing nothing but speaking over me simmered for the rest of the day.
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With my dad, the topics of our arguments vary from what to eat for dinner to whether I should be allowed to access my own bank account, but the course of the debate is always the same. First, it starts with a snide remark. Usually from me, because I never know what will get an amused laugh and what will get an hourlong lecture. When he reacts badly, we get to step two. We start arguing. He comes in soft, usually, but I’ve always been terrible in disputes. It takes so little to make me cry, and that annoys him to no extent. The smallest change in tone is enough to make my eyes water. I get overwhelmed by emotion—sometimes, I’ll make myself cry from the sheer thought of what I should say. When that happens, that’s step three. He starts getting louder, so I do too. How else would he hear me? Of course, it doesn’t matter. I’m interrupted every few seconds, and my point never gets across. What I want to say doesn’t matter. Eventually, my mom walks in, breaks up the argument, and sends
When arguments with my parents are as common as they are, it becomes an issue for multiple reasons. When I need to, I don’t have the ability to separate myself from them to cool my temper. Most of the time, the irritation that I feel reignites every time I have a conversation with them for the next few days. It’s more of a reaction to the fact that my opinion is not being heard than the actual subject of debate, which only intensifies when I have to grit my teeth through another meaningless apology. Just so I have a ride to school in the morning. Just because he’s my dad. Which is step four, by the way—apologizing, regardless of how sincere it is. Even the worst of our fights end in me having to apologize to him. It doesn’t matter if I was in the right. Actually, on many occasions, my mother will agree with my stance, but still choose to take his side because he’s the parent. Recently, I was told I should be the “bigger person.” Honestly, that made me laugh—my mom would rather scold me for acting childish as a child than risk a dispute with her husband. For all the preaching about respect I’ve heard growing up, I would think I’d have a better idea of what it is. In my mind, and from what I’ve been taught, respect is apologizing sincerely. It is empathizing with people’s perspectives. It is active listening. In arguments, it is a combination of all of those things, to disagree respectfully. And, for all his preaching about respect, my dad doesn’t like to practice it with me. Just because he’s the parent. But, still, I have to respect my elders.
