A conversation about a family connection who is, invariably, difficult led to the comment that the person “had a tough childhood” and that it was at the root of their negative behavior.

My first reaction was to note how many decades this person was removed from childhood and my second, somewhat kinder, was to ask about the circumstances of their ‘tough childhood.”

I was relieved to know that there was no violence or abuse, no terrible story of circumstances that would lead to a gasp and a supportive “how awful” reaction. The father in the household was often distant and uncommunicative, he argued with his wife and he was not loving with his children.

And I agree that those are not ideal conditions to live in or to raise children. My dad was neither distant nor uncommunicative and it was clear that he loved my brother and me. He was challenging, with expectations that were always high and patience that was always limited.

But we knew, my brother and I, that my father did not want to be married to my mother, in fact I am not sure that he wanted to be married at all. From young childhood I knew the story of his mother pushing her nearly 50 year-old bachelor son into finding a wife. I knew, as well, that he felt he had married “beneath him.” That, too, was no secret. His behavior towards us was warm, his behavior towards Mom was, at best, indifferent and, at worst, angry and resentful.

I remember having a conversation with my mother, one that is vivid to this day. I am in high school and we are sitting in the car, waiting for my brother. And I said, “Why do you stay with him? Why don’t you leave?” She turned to face me, those soft brown eyes of hers glassy with tears and she told me no, she told me that she loved him. I could not understand.

I am not comparing my childhood with this other person’s not am I comparing it to anyone else’s. But I do know that, within myself, I can be the driving, never satisfied, critical persona of my father but I choose to be, as much as I can, the caring, kind and loving reflection of my mother.

We decide who we are in life. We decide how we interact with others. We decide which parts of our past we hold and which we let go. As we take ownership of those decisions, we take ownership for filling our own full hearts.