It was bound to happen sometime. I knew that eventually one, or both of my kids would “hate” me for at least a fleeting moment of their lives. I always envisioned it happening after I’ve harshly passed judgement on one of my kids. Perhaps after I’ve revoked all privileges for a teenage summer after some major infraction like a stolen car or a home destroyed via kegger. I thought about how hurt I’d feel when I heard these words.
I’ve seen this scenario on TV shows and movies. A sweet little child is wronged in some way. In their juvenile mind, the slight is too much to bear; the hurt, just too powerful. They bow their heads and mutter to their parents those terrible words. “I hate you”. The parent is taken aback. They suddenly realize the injustice and the words coming from their child is a deep cut. You see a flash of grieving introspection from the parent and you know, that they know, they are wrong and will have to work to earn back the love and trust they have destroyed.
So when my daughter said it to me recently, you can imagine how I reacted.
I laughed. A lot.
It was the most ridiculous situation ever and I loved that she was so fired up that she was looking for any way to really get to me. What abject horrificness did I commit to earn the scorn of this precious gem of a human? Well, I insisted that she go to the dance lessons that she loves (and I pay for), instead of playing outside with her friends for the 7th consecutive hour. What a bastard I am!!!
Mini Tyson
The meltdown associated with this was one for the ages. Had the fury manifested itself physically, generations of people in the future would be exploring the ruins of the Southern 
California Pompei, that her eruption had smitten. She was angry. Tiny fists actually flew. And with each blow I absorbed, both physical and verbal, my smile broadened. I wasn’t trying to be extra cruel at a time that was clearly a stressful one for her, but her anger at me and her word choice was having the opposite effect that she intended.
Did she really hate me? Of course not. But using those words was an indication that she needed to dig deeply to find something that might hurt me. Instead of upsetting me, she said it and became more upset than she was before. Because she doesn’t hate me. She loves me as much as I love her and I knew it. I knew it because she set out to hurt me with those words. Despite everything she wanted to convey, the tears that followed the statement said more than her words and ineffectual punches ever could.
She was hurt by my decision, and she wanted me to share that pain she was feeling. Eventually things calmed down. She relaxed and went to dance where she had a great time. She was happy she went and we were friends again. Hopefully she learned that not only will I not back down to her tantrums, but that trying to be hurtful to others could hurt more for the attacker.
We haven’t had meltdowns like that in a while. She’s learning to better deal with her emotions. Now I just wait for her to mentally develop to a point where she’s able to actually exploit things that would hurt me deeply. “Daddy, I hate Harry Potter, The Clash and Mexican Food. You’re a fool for loving them all.” Now THAT, would tear me to pieces.
Up Next:
Kids love independence, even early on. Check out this post about needing parents, and needing freedom from them.