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Jul. 15th, 2002 03:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaLast night Misha and his mother Laura were out picking up dinner, and I was home with Laura's husband Richard. We started a mild sort of conversation as I was setting the table, and in the space of five minutes he was shouting at me, interrupting me, challenging me, making no sense, all at the top of his lungs.
This time his ire was directed at blacks in Florida, for not rioting after the 2000 elections "the way they did with Rodney King." He thought this was inconsistent; I pointed out that he was talking about completely different people in each circumstance, and that black people aren't obligated to all behave the same way. And then he was completely off to the races, championing rioting as a means of social change. "They had their nonviolent marches in the 20s, the 30s, the 40s, nothing changed until they started rioting and destroying things! The Voting Rights Act, that came after the riots. That came after they went out there and fucked shit up. Because people were afraid. I'll tell you what makes for political change: Black Panthers as a military force, armed, with weapons, willing to kill people. And that got them money, that got them power, that got them a black city council, that got them jobs... your political shit isn't going to do anything. It was the riots! I was there! I was there! Where were you?"
Shouting. Foaming. At. The. Mouth. In my dining room. Does he really believe it? I doubt it - for God's sake, this is a man who worked in political campaigns for years. He doesn't believe that armed revolution is the only means of social change. I have no idea why he decided to take that position with me - it's just one more in a string of irrational, intensely emotional arguments he's launched into ever since they arrived here just over a week ago. It's been damn near impossible for me to disengage from him - he's too loud, too intrusive, too provocative, too constant, and Misha and Laura are often - as they should be - focused on each other. That leaves me faced with Richard, and I'm not handling him well. Last week I found myself telling him to shut up - words I probably hadn't said in the past ten years.
Laura's told Misha that he's bipolar, and inconsistent about taking his medicine. Laura's told me that Richard really really wants to be able to discuss ideas with people, and just doesn't seem to be able to change his manner. She spends a lot of time when we're together trying to keep him pleasant, or at least quieter.
Where does this leave me? Frustrated. Tired. Damn it, I work with difficult people all day. I want to come home, if not to perfect peace and amiability, at least to a lack of shouting and the company of people who strive to be pleasant to each other. I get crazy at work; I don't find myself with much tolerance for crazy at home.
And yet at the same time, I feel bound up in a complex set of obligations: ancient rules of politeness (these people are my guests); kind intentions toward Laura, who feels fragile enough about establishing a relationship with Misha without me winding up in open battle with her husband; my own standards of civilized and pleasant bahavior, which prevent me from ignoring him entirely; and the resented-but-still-bought-into belief that, as a therapist, I have a responsibility to be more tolerant, more understanding, more forgiving of human frailty, than the average civilian.
Yesterday, Laura said that they hope to stay another week. They're not staying with us - they have an RV - but there's certainly a default assumption that the times we're not working will be mostly spent with them. She said she didn't want to burden us, but she also said that she's had so little time to get to know Misha that she doesn't want to pass up any time she might be able to have now.
We both said what, I think, was the only thing that we could have said in the circumstances: that we'd be delighted. I was hoping that mostly the reason it sounded like an awful idea was because I was tired from the Nashville trip, but today I've still got a fist-sized lump of frustration and resentment in my stomach. On the one hand, I feel like I could - and should - put up with a fair amount of inconvenience, for Misha's and Laura's sake. What they're trying to do is important, and it deserves my support. On the other hand, I just want my space back. My quiet space.
This time his ire was directed at blacks in Florida, for not rioting after the 2000 elections "the way they did with Rodney King." He thought this was inconsistent; I pointed out that he was talking about completely different people in each circumstance, and that black people aren't obligated to all behave the same way. And then he was completely off to the races, championing rioting as a means of social change. "They had their nonviolent marches in the 20s, the 30s, the 40s, nothing changed until they started rioting and destroying things! The Voting Rights Act, that came after the riots. That came after they went out there and fucked shit up. Because people were afraid. I'll tell you what makes for political change: Black Panthers as a military force, armed, with weapons, willing to kill people. And that got them money, that got them power, that got them a black city council, that got them jobs... your political shit isn't going to do anything. It was the riots! I was there! I was there! Where were you?"
Shouting. Foaming. At. The. Mouth. In my dining room. Does he really believe it? I doubt it - for God's sake, this is a man who worked in political campaigns for years. He doesn't believe that armed revolution is the only means of social change. I have no idea why he decided to take that position with me - it's just one more in a string of irrational, intensely emotional arguments he's launched into ever since they arrived here just over a week ago. It's been damn near impossible for me to disengage from him - he's too loud, too intrusive, too provocative, too constant, and Misha and Laura are often - as they should be - focused on each other. That leaves me faced with Richard, and I'm not handling him well. Last week I found myself telling him to shut up - words I probably hadn't said in the past ten years.
Laura's told Misha that he's bipolar, and inconsistent about taking his medicine. Laura's told me that Richard really really wants to be able to discuss ideas with people, and just doesn't seem to be able to change his manner. She spends a lot of time when we're together trying to keep him pleasant, or at least quieter.
Where does this leave me? Frustrated. Tired. Damn it, I work with difficult people all day. I want to come home, if not to perfect peace and amiability, at least to a lack of shouting and the company of people who strive to be pleasant to each other. I get crazy at work; I don't find myself with much tolerance for crazy at home.
And yet at the same time, I feel bound up in a complex set of obligations: ancient rules of politeness (these people are my guests); kind intentions toward Laura, who feels fragile enough about establishing a relationship with Misha without me winding up in open battle with her husband; my own standards of civilized and pleasant bahavior, which prevent me from ignoring him entirely; and the resented-but-still-bought-into belief that, as a therapist, I have a responsibility to be more tolerant, more understanding, more forgiving of human frailty, than the average civilian.
Yesterday, Laura said that they hope to stay another week. They're not staying with us - they have an RV - but there's certainly a default assumption that the times we're not working will be mostly spent with them. She said she didn't want to burden us, but she also said that she's had so little time to get to know Misha that she doesn't want to pass up any time she might be able to have now.
We both said what, I think, was the only thing that we could have said in the circumstances: that we'd be delighted. I was hoping that mostly the reason it sounded like an awful idea was because I was tired from the Nashville trip, but today I've still got a fist-sized lump of frustration and resentment in my stomach. On the one hand, I feel like I could - and should - put up with a fair amount of inconvenience, for Misha's and Laura's sake. What they're trying to do is important, and it deserves my support. On the other hand, I just want my space back. My quiet space.
