When I was about 15 I had a really bad fight with my boyfriend. It was the worst fight we had in the entire two years of our relationship. I don’t really remember the details, but I remember we didn’t talk for a few days and I remember that I was very distressed and upset over it, as any desperatly-in-love fifteen years old should be when she has a fight with her boyfriend.

After those few days of silence we found ourselves sitting in his car, shouting at each other and trying to figure this thing out. What upset me the most was that I couldn’t understand why it was such an intense situation, it didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t put my finger on anything I have done or not done that should have made Boyfriend angry to that extent. Logical girl that I am I was trying to understand from him what had happened, and through a none-too-coherent string of explanations and accusations I suddenly realized it had nothing to do with me.

It turned out something happened to him, that had no connection to me and he was very angry and upset and almost traumatized by it. And he was getting it all out by fighting with me. That moment, when it dawned on me what the problem was I was torn between two contradicting impulses: my anger at him that was still very much present, and the an instant sense of compassion for him and his pain and my need to comfort him and make it go away, because I love him.

Why am I telling you this? (”Why is she talking about her old boyfriend and all?” asks A. while trying to not grit his teeth too laudly.) I’m telling you this because that conflict between anger and compassion is coming back with a vengeance. Ulysses has a knack for making me go absolutely insane within milliseconds. Then I will be angry at him. Then he will break down and sob miserably. Then I will remember that he’s acting like that because he has some hardship that he is unable to express. Then I will collect him from his puddle on the floor and comfort him and try to understand what the problem really is.

That moment, when my view is instantaneously shifting, I am able to really feel his pain through the layers of my own anger, tiredness, impatience and frustration. Then anger will evaporate, replaced by concern and tenderness tinged with just a little bit of guilt. That moment is at the same time rock bottom and breathtaking height of being a parent. That moment is something I want to never lose.

Then, when my boys are teenagers and are actually TRYING to be misunderstood, I could REALLY mess with their minds by UNDERSTANDING them.