The Events of December 31, 2006

There is just a little back story to put this into context. The first is a comment that my mother-in-law made shortly before Christmas. I was showing her a few gifts I'd gotten people, including a little flask I'd found for my fishing buddy, C. It held five ounces and three wee stainless cups nestled into the lid. MIL was aghast, "You bought a flask for an alcoholic?!" I don't remember talking to MIL about C. or about his wife's concerns about his drinking. Strange for her to think such things about my friend, I thought.

I waited about a week until I had a chance to ask S. about it. Knowing her fear and hatred of conflict (or even the appearance of possible conflict), I rehearsed my wording over and over and over. That evening all of the kids but the eldest J. were over at C.'s house and we were to join them for some New Year's revelry. I thought it as good a time as any to ask how her mother came to think of C. as a rummie. I think I asked it something like this: "Do you know how it is that your mother thinks C. is an alcoholic?" She was standing in the bedroom. Or bathroom, maybe.

A bit more background is necessary right here. I told you how S. hates conflict. She came to a place when we were in counseling last year where she admitted that conflict is part of human relationships and that I was not wicked for simple act of being upset about something. But that proved either too costly or too scary (or both), and we were back to the place where we have been for over a decade. Any sort of conflict, however banal or gingerly engaged is met with denial or refusal to engage. It isn't as if I storm in and throw all kinds of "you" statements at her, calling her names and belittling her person. I have never done that during conflict. [Disclaimer: I did mutter a derogatory name loud enough for her to hear when she was ripping into the kids about something six or seven months ago - kids being well out of earshot]. The fact is that if I am not persistent in getting a response from her, she will continue to avoid engaging altogether. "I don't want to talk about it now." When might be better? "I don't know." So I schedule a time on the calendar for us to talk, but something always comes up. That leaves me with a few options: drop the issue altogether (which fits her family paradigm growing up); get in her face about it (which is surprising fruitful, at least in the short term. She gets emotional and upset, but those are human emotions, not sin, and she engages); beginning a series of written dialogs (our traditional method for addressing conflict, though which she has repeatedly derided as immature); or a tactic which resulted from last year's counseling -- my calmly asking questions with great care to the level and tone of voice and the openness of the questions.

So I tried that last one and asked the question. She said she didn't want to talk about it. I said, "I understand that, but I think that it is important to talk about it." She walked away from me into the kitchen. I asked again, "How did she come to think C. is an alcoholic?" "I don't want to talk to you right now," she said. "That is true, but this does not have to be a big deal. I'm just concerned about how she came to hold that opinion." "Just leave me alone," she said.

I was standing in the entryway to the kitchen when she tried to leave, I stood my ground and again asked politely for a quick answer to my question, careful to not raise my voice or express any frustration at all. She tried to shove past me, and since I was holding to the counter her shove ripped off the trim on the counter's edge. She snorted, "Ha! There goes your stupid counter!" and stormed off to the back of the house.

She hates that counter. She wanted to redo the kitchen a while back, and I undertook what was supposed to be a quick remodel of the wall coverings and cabinets. But when the paneling came off, so did the drywall. That revealed some horrible wiring and galvanized pipes corroded at every joint. So a year later I finished the whole thing: new wiring and breaker box, all new plumbing for the whole house (including drainage), new drywall, cabinets, sink, dishwasher, wall covering, lighting. It was a massive drain on me, especially since I had to learn it all as I went. When we came to that last countertop -- the very last item to finish the kitchen, I needed a small "L" shaped piece. I found a used Corian piece which fit perfectly (not an common item, mind you). But it didn't match the color of the other counters in the kitchen. It matches the kitchen just fine. S. was very vocal in her dislike, but I was done with the kitchen. I had worked on it for over a year and needed to just be finished. To S. it was simply more evidence that I don't care what she thinks. It was, though, more important to me that the family just have a kitchen and get on with things than wait for another perfectly matching countertop to come along. S. did, after all, have full say in every other decision in that kitchen, from paint to texture to layout.

I felt angry immediately rise, but took a deep breath. The trim was easily slipped back into place. I walked back to the bedroom and addressed her again from the doorway. "This is a really quick and simple thing, S." I said. "All I want to know is why your mother thinks C. is an alcoholic." She screamed at me to leave her alone. "No", I said. "This is important to address." She called me a few salty things and tried to shove past me again. I did not leave the door. I thought that addressing the issue even in anger is better than the option of ignoring the problem. She violently shoved me back with both hands. I was surprised, and shoved her away from me.

At that point I was not calm and composed. With frustration evident in my voice I stepped up, looked at her and said, "What the hell? I only asked a question, S. A simple question." At that she took up a boxing stance and began punching me, first in the left shoulder then to my face.

More back story! S. has been working out at the gym for around four or five years. She lifts weights, and more important to this narrative, has taken a kick-boxing class. Two hours a class. Twice a week. For four years. She has been practicing how to punch and kick effectively with growing strength. She has punched me before, mind you. On my birthday in 2003. And when we were first married she would get enraged during arguments and become violent, but she hadn't practiced her punches back then.

After a few blows to the face I wanted it to stop. I hit her back. Two or three times to the body. All composure was gone then. Adrenaline was fully flowing. She slumped back and I hit her three times on the top of her head. I stopped. She had her arms in front of her face. "What the hell, S! All I wanted was a simple conversation. A CONVERSATION!" I breathed heavily. "And is that all you've got? I thought you would put up a better fight than that after working out for four years." Not the kindest way to put it, but I was honestly disturbed that she gave up immediately -- that if she were attacked by Mean Rapist she would not give him a run for his money.

I left her in the bedroom and took J (who thankfully did not witness the violence) to C's house. It felt strangely cathartic on my end, to finally have the rage and vitriol building toward each other find an outlet. All her belittling, passive-aggressive actions, name calling - it all joined the adrenaline surge and rushed out after she landed those punches. I regretted that she chose violence over simple (or even angry) discourse, especially since I knew she would not feel any catharsis whatsoever. I regret that I did not know she was about to menstruate causing her to feel every emotion heightened tenfold thanks to those hormones. I would have put off my question for a few days at least if that was evident to me.

I also regret that the clear commands of Christ had no power over my response. If ever I have had an enemy whom I should love and turn the other cheek towards, it is she. It is sad that the categories of "spouse" and "enemy" overlap such as they do, but it is true. I failed in my response to her violence both in returning her blows, and in deriding her capacity to see her actions through. I apologized to her for my response the next day, admitting that I was wrong to respond the way I did.

It was a fight. I prodded verbally and she punched back. It is over from my end. It should never have happened. I should have let her rage and taken the blows and never returned the derision which so readily came my way. To her this was the end, the final act sealing the relationship's doom. Since then she has lived as if the relationship were indeed over and the covenant dissolved. Somehow her violence was a final testing ground of my love and character.

Since I punched back, I utterly failed.