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Banhammer was always different from the other children that I had observed. He wasn't unintelligent or anything. He was just... Angry. Angry more often than other children.
I couldn't understand it. Just two seconds ago, he may have been perfectly fine and content. The next, he was so upset about something I couldn't ever find out. At the time, I thought it was probably something small. Or something he was just complaining about for attention. But that didn't make sense with his frequent frustrations, even when he already had my full attention.
He didn't play with other children often. I thought that might've been the reason. So I let him play with my brother's child. He showed minimal interest in playing with Firebrand's kid. I assumed it was because he was just very shy. He would always come running inside after not too long of being outside and playing, and he would just be so frustrated and upset. He never took it out on anyone. He was just... angry. I would ask him why, but he never had an answer. I thought maybe he was ashamed of the source of his anger and refused to admit the cause.
When Banhammer was in his mid to late teenage years, I found his anger had disappeared. He wasn't angry at all anymore. He forced himself to be serious and focused, not willing to be a playful child anymore who expressed anything. His will to express himself was gone, all bottled up and packed away somewhere in his past. When had I missed the key turning point of his life? And how did I not see it?
I thought back over everything.
I remember now.
The last time I remember him getting angry.
He hit Firebrand's child. I was talking, possibly yelling, about how that wasn't okay. I couldn't understand why he just got so mad all the time. Why he didn't just behave. Why he wasn't peaceful and sweet like Firebrand's child. Why he wasn't as easy.
I yelled at a being far smaller and younger than I, as if it understood all that I did.
I then realized he wasn't angry at that moment.
He was crying.
And I wasn't crying with him.
I was angry.
It made sense now.
Why he was so angry.
Why he didn't know why.
I had taught him that.
I had taught him I don't understand him.
I had taught him that the only outlet for his feelings was anger.
I had set him up for failure, and when he failed, I blamed him.
I got angry, and he saw how nasty of an emotion anger can be, and he then learned to fear it.
In hindsight, it's all so very clear.
I wish I just listened more.
I wish I had just seen and understood his frustrations.
I wish I had watched him more and got to learn more about him.
I wish I knew him then as well as I do now.
Somehow, I managed to raise him to this point.
He is wonderful.
We talk often.
I listen to everything that happened over his week when he comes over to see me.
I see what's upsetting him, even when he doesn't say anything about it.
I know him now.
He is playful and confident, not afraid of his emotions, and certainly happier.
And I love him more than anything else, despite the anger we shared.
I have always loved him, a perfect child.