My brothers and I used to play this "game" called Chinese Torture. Basically, we'd be wrestling and then one would manage to subdue the other (usually the older sibling until my younger brother got bigger than me) and the dominant fighter would repeatedly poke the bottom one's head, yelling "Chinese torture! Chinese torture!" The pokes were mostly soft, unless the person poking was genuinely mad. Being poked repeatedly on the forehead really wasn't that bad at first and I'd just look at my brother like he was dumb and that it wasn't going to do anything to me. But after about two minutes, I'd get really irritated and start trying to swat his hand away. This rarely worked because he'd pin my arms down with his knees. Then I'd be calm again and pretend like it didn't bother me. However, just a few more minutes of the soft, but fast poking in the same exact spot on my head, and I would flip. I'd go into an all out rage screaming, bucking, attempting to head-butt, bite, or whatever I could to make it stop. I'd knee him in the kidneys and writhe until I could get free. Wrestling was almost always playful for us and I genuinely enjoyed it, but if "Chinese Torture" went on too long, I'd snap. Sometimes mom or dad would intervene at that point, but not always. Sometimes they'd let us fight it out; they wouldn't always come to the rescue. Because of this I learned to throw a punch, and how to take one too. I learned how to fight back, even when in pain. To those of you who are strongly against violence and may be judging my parents, know that my siblings and I have an extremely strong bond and even when angry we never let it go too far. We were extremely protective of each other and I remember multiple times when I was the dominant one in the fight and I'd call it off, and my brothers have done the same. This also taught us to know our own strength and when NOT to deploy it. When one is confident in their strength, they don't always have to prove it.
In many ways, I feel like I'm reaching that snapping point with deployment. The soft, but repeated loneliness and longing is sometimes easy to ignore. In the beginning, it's easy to look deployment in the face and say, "You're not going to break me." Then after a few months without reprieve, a temper tantrum rose in me and I wanted to swat deployment away. However, when R&R came, I felt a sense of calm and strengthening, but that was only temporary. I had to say goodbye AGAIN. I came home to an empty house AGAIN. I felt lost and heavy in my own home AGAIN. I got through the first week or so, but I feel it. Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. POKE. POKE! It rings louder and louder in my head. I'm in that place where I feel the rage building up inside me. I want to kick, fight, and scream. I don't want to take it anymore. I don't want to do it any longer. I want to be done. I feel myself starting to whimper, "Make it stop." However, I've learned how to stay in a place of intense pressure. It's in my nature to not give up, but I've also learned how to stick with something even when I'm being subdued. I know how to come back up after a hit. I know my own strength and the damage my rage can do. I have confidence in my ability to endure. I know that my subduer will eventually get off my chest and the poking will stop. Sometimes our Father intervenes and puts an end to things, but sometimes He lets us learn that through Him, we're capable of enduring hardship. He lets us learn to not be afraid of the heaviness. He knows when we've had enough, but he also knows when it's NOT time for it to end because there is more to learn. And so I may reach a snapping point. I may rage and kick and scream. But even though I'm aware of my growing weariness, I'm looking for what else I may learn from this experience. I'm not afraid of the fight.
Very interesting hearing your parents perspective on children fighting. We were never allowed to hit each other at all for any reason in anything but jest. Sometimes I wish my brothers and I had been allowed to fight some. I don't know how we'd be different, but at least Jeremiah wouldn't give me so much lip... My perspective, from this background, has always been that my wanting to be the one who got to fight with and hit my brothers would in no way change the fact that we were the only ones allowed to do so, in much the same way you and your siblings are the only ones "allowed" to hurt each other.
ReplyDeleteHaving kids of my own now I suppose I need to come to agreement with my wife on how we'll deal with fighting. Right now William, being big, isn't allowed to hit his little sister Tati, who really is only just coming into being able to hit back (mostly awkwardly and accidentally, as an infant learning her limbs still). But once they're bigger and can wrestle and spar, I think I'll prefer to allow them to fight with certain acceptable and reasonable rules.
There were certainly boundaries and if we hit in response to anger, it wasn't allowed. Most of the time we'd just goof off, tickle each other, and spar. My dad would even "ref" and give instructions: loop your arm under there, now bring your leg over his hips, etc. He taught me self defense and confidence. I think especially for boys, they need to know they are dangerous. They need to know they are strong and can cause damage. My dad would wrestle with all of us and he wouldn't hide it when one of us hurt him. We'd feel bad of course, but I think for the boys, something inside them beamed. As a girl, I felt empowered that if anyone tried to harm me, I'd know what to do. It was also ok to get hurt sometimes because in a real fight, you need to know how to respond when a blow hurts. If you don't know what it's like, you're likely to freeze. There definitely has to be boundaries and I don't condone violence just for the sake of it, but like I said, when you are confident in your own strength, you don't have to prove it to everyone. You learn a lot of self control when you are wrestling with someone you love because you don't really want to injure them badly.
DeleteI think it's also important to note that Andrew is 6 years older than me and I'm 6 years older than Shane. We didn't have many of the typical sibling squabbles because we were so far apart in age. It also meant that one of us was more mature than the other and knew when to quit.
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