I threw a cup of coffee in my sons face last night. Now before you completely kill me, let me just say that the coffee was cold and I’ve already killed myself over and over again all night.
As I watched the coffee fly from the mouth of the mug in what seemed like ultra slow motion, I knew what I’d done was wrong but there was no turning back and there was nothing I could do to stop it. And as the coffee soaked his hair, and ran down his face onto his shirt, my body was torn in two. Half of me moved to towards the kitchen for a roll of paper towels to clean up the one mess, and the other half of me moved toward my son to hug him and clean up the bigger mess I’d made. My body pulled hard in both directions until I was paralyzed and frozen in one spot.
It’s almost pointless to detail what my son was doing to set me off. There’s almost nothing he could have done that would have warranted getting doused with a cup of coffee and a bucket of bile that erupted from my anger.
After all was said and done we cried a little together and then hugged it out. I’m not sure if my son learned any great lesson last night, other than how to duck a little faster next time I’m sipping coffee, but I sure did. The first lesson learned by me was throwing coffee in some ones face is no less an act of violence than smacking their ass. And the second lesson learned, while not quite as important, is never waste a good cup of coffee on a misbehaving child. It’ll just keep him up at night