My older son loves mountain biking—loves it. Sweet Greg introduced him to it and supported him for more than five years. Since buying his current bike, my son has grown almost six inches, and he’s been researching new bikes and ways to earn money for months. The next bike will be bigger, more specialized, and more expensive—and bikes are still hard to find because of the Covid backlog. Both boys worked hard last week to tune up and clean their bikes to prepare them for sale.
Sunday morning, within ten minutes of posting the bikes, we had eight offers at top blue‑book value. Before responding, I texted the boys and their father. Their father, unsurprisingly, didn’t respond to me. Instead, he became agitated with the boys—while saying nothing to me.
My older son called me in tears, begging me not to tell his father what he was sharing. He knows that instead of correcting his own behavior, his father will punish the boys for “snitching.” This isn’t about privacy; it’s about imposing a gag order on anything said or done in his home.
Then came the flood—more than fourteen frantic calls between the two boys—reporting that their dad was escalating and demanding they tell me NOT to sell the bikes. My younger son decided to wait to avoid the wrath. My older son chose to sell his bike anyway, but he was terrified of the predictable blowback.
After more texts from me, their dad finally responded, expressing “concern” that our older son would be without a bike. My son replied that he was fine with it, and I shared that Sweet Greg had generously offered his own bike in the meantime. Problem solved, right?
Nope. The boys reported that their dad was furious at the idea of our son riding Greg’s bike. Because anything other than compliance is treated as war. So my older son feels abandoned and like a pariah, while my younger son cried to me that he is always put in the middle.
Their father—who I can easily picture with a red face, tight jaw, and that rage‑laced passive‑aggressive laugh—taunted our older son. He told the younger one, “Oh well, I guess we now have someone to watch the dog while WE go mountain biking,” just to punish, to remind them what happens when you displease a master. I am beyond sad for our children and the legacy of unwellness they’re forced to navigate. And for what? He will have a bike. Oh right—the price of being your own person.
Unrecovered me wants to say this to their father:
Your behavior is mean, spiteful, immature, and bad. Dividing people is for monsters. Triangulation and taunting are for hurt, broken, weak‑ass losers. The tension and stress you impose on our boys when you’re displeased—and your retaliations—are super messed up. Grow up. Get help. Go to a 12‑Step meeting. Break the cycle of broken families like mine and like yours. Just stop. Be a man—a healthy, grown man who can self‑reflect, change, grow, apologize, repair. Do the work. There’s a reason nobody in your family stays married and why you can’t sustain a close relationship with anyone. The reason is you. Change yourself. If you want to raise two depressed, disconnected, lost kids, then carry on, but I will resist you every step of the way. I will die on this mountain. Gladly. I won’t stop sharing, writing, trying for something better. And here’s an idea: instead of hiding shameful behavior, apologize to your sons and change it. Demanding that children deny or cover up difficult experiences is sick. Control yourself, not them.
Recovering me posts here instead—for anyone who might relate, benefit, or care. I keep reminding my sons that some people resort to cruelty when they feel confronted or defied. That response is inappropriate and deserves distance. I tell them: You do not cause, imagine, or deserve this. Other people’s behavior is on them. Mine is on me. His is on him. Yours is on you.
I used to do the very things I’m describing. Recovery changes people who are willing. Highly recommend.
