The other day, my child surprised me during a group chat with some anti-Israel posts. I questioned why the LGBTQ community appears predominantly anti-Jewish and pro-Palestinian. When you consider maps of LGBTQ-friendly countries worldwide, Israel stands out as the only one in the Middle East. This alignment seemed peculiar. I found it a legitimate question, but what struck me as odd was their unwillingness to condemn Hamas, even in cases of sexual assault. 

In a conversation that needlessly escalated into an argument, they insisted on toeing the line, even when it became untenable. Instead of sticking to the main topic, one of my kids dropped a bomb—an off-topic remark intended as a manipulative tactic. It was a deliberate attempt to hurt me and divert attention from the argument. This unexpected and extreme comment seemed designed to completely derail the debate and inflict emotional pain simply because I refused to agree with them. It felt akin to detonating a metaphorical nuclear bomb.

This marks the initial problem—a toxic relationship reminiscent of my ex-wife’s behavior. I’ve grown keenly aware of emotional blackmail and manipulation, skills one of my children has mastered. If you’ve read Susan Forward and Donna Frazier’s book, “Emotional Blackmail,” their comments align perfectly with its textbook examples. It wasn’t until our conversation concluded that I realized the bombshell my child dropped was a form of emotional manipulation.

A few years ago, she disclosed to some family members that my father had behaved inappropriately towards her. At that time, my dad was on the verge of death, and I believe he may have already passed or was very close to it. Recently, my daughter mentioned it again, describing it as “rape” when responding to my question about their reluctance to condemn Hamas for their actions against Israeli women. This led to a revisiting of various grievances they have against me, some of which I believed we had addressed years ago. Evidently, they are still harboring those issues.

I was profoundly disturbed, to say the least, by my father’s behavior. I had a strained relationship with my dad, and now that he’s deceased, there’s little I can do with this revelation.  My child mentioned that they refrained from disclosing the extent of the abuse, believing it wouldn’t make a difference and wanting to spare me emotional trauma. However, during an argument, they chose to inflict pain, revealing the information because they disagreed with my perspective. So much for sparing me the trauma; it appears they opted to dispense it strategically over time to manipulate me into aligning with their wishes.

Now, I find myself grappling with two challenging issues: emotional manipulation and a distressing revelation about my father. Despite these difficulties, I managed to maintain my composure during the conversation and establish some boundaries. Consequently, my emotions are a mix of conflicting feelings. Our relationship was far from ideal, and he displayed insensitivity during my divorce. While I had overcome his previous mistreatment, this recent revelation introduces an entirely new layer of complexity. My father, hypocritically citing biblical grounds against divorce, clashed with my perspective that God wouldn’t endorse a toxic relationship with my ex-wife. Despite my master’s degree in theology, his insistence on a single reading of the Bible raises questions about his understanding.

Regrettably, he has passed away. Were he alive I would want to punch him in the face. I suppose it is for the better that he is no longer here. Any lingering regrets I had regarding our relationship are now extinguished.

My child expressed a desire for a relationship where she doesn’t feel the need to cry, aiming for emotional safety. However, it raises suspicion that she expects unconditional agreement and financial support whenever requested. I won’t be an emotional punching bag, and I made it clear that I’ll confront any inconsistencies in our conversations. I advised against discussing politics, emphasizing the importance of setting boundaries. I also conveyed that inconvenient truths may contradict current beliefs, but it’s crucial to prioritize truth over conformity.

Anyway, there’s much more to our relationship, but that’s not the focus of this post. I’m just feeling angered by this recent revelation of his reprehensible behavior, and more so by the toxic dynamic in my relationship with my children. The silver lining is that I managed to convince my child to attend counseling together, driven by our shared desire for an emotionally safe relationship. While I’m optimistic, I acknowledge that counseling didn’t work with my ex-wife. What I’ve come to understand is that emotional baggage can blind people to reality, leading them into a fantasy land.

Note that this conversation involved two of my children. While I used the pronouns they, them, and their, I was primarily referring to one of them. Both of them are transgender, so the intentional use of plural pronouns may lead to some confusion if you’re not aware of the context.