What I'm Really Thinking ...about shouting
In this new series, David explores what children wish their parents knew
My parents shout. I guess every parent shouts sometimes. Although I go over to my friend's house and his mam never shouts. She still pretty strict, 'cos he's not allowed to play Fortnite during the week, but now that I think about it she doesn't shout. Hmmm.
Mam tells me it's my own fault. She says that if I didn't shout at her she wouldn't shout at me. But that can't be right. I only ever end up shouting at her when she's being really unfair. She's usually already started giving out to me, over nothing, and then she's threatening to take away the X-box. In fact, I'd say that I'm only shouting 'cos she is.
Our whole house is loud. You'd be upstairs and you can hear someone shouting at someone else. I'm 10 and I'm the eldest, so according to Mam I'm supposed to give a good example. That's why she gets so cross with me, she says, because I should know better. The little ones are the ones wrecking her head, but I always seem to get the blame.
Then when Dad gets home she'll moan to him about my brothers or me. She's always telling tales on us. How is that fair?
So even though I'd be looking forward to seeing Dad, I'd be half-scared, because he's bound to end up giving out to us too. And he can be scary. When Mam shouts you know she's just cross, but if he ends up shouting you never know what could happen.
I wonder sometimes if they are just in a bad mood, you know? Or maybe it's just adults. Like, even my teacher shouts sometimes. Although she's mostly nice. So is Mam. Nice I mean. Sometimes.
Then other times I reckon that shouting is just what you do when you want someone else to do whatever you want. You shout at them until they give in. My Mam gives in sometimes, or at least she gives up. I like that, getting the last word.
I don't usually try it with my Dad, but that's because I don't think I'd ever get the last word. It's not worth it. Like, what if he totally lost it? That'd be terrifying.
I've heard them rowing too. They don't usually row when we're around, but I'd be in bed sometimes and I'd hear them. They'd be in the kitchen, and sure with the door open all the sound goes around the whole house. They row about us. Mam keeps telling Dad that he needs to back her up, and he'd be telling her that if she was a better mam he wouldn't have to. It sounds fierce sometimes. I feel sad then, or maybe a bit scared. I dunno really. I know I don't like hearing them fight anyway.
I've heard my Mam cry too, when they fight. I hate that. I feel so bad then, 'cos I know its our fault. We don't listen to her and we make her cross. I always tell myself that I'll be better tomorrow. But when tomorrow comes it just ends up being like today. Noisy.
I'd rather be like my Dad than my Mam. Not that you'd want to be fighting, but if you're going to fight you better win. He says that sometimes, you know, when we'd be talking about some of the lads on the green. He says: "Don't ever be the one to start a fight, but make sure you're the one to finish it." I want to be strong like him.
There's times I wish I lived at my friend's house. But I'd miss Mam's lasagne. Her lasagne is the best. If we could have the lasagne, and have it more peaceful in the house… that'd be deadly.
As imagined by David Coleman
Health & Living