Written by fatherhood contributor Shaun Groves.
In my nineteen years at home with mom and dad I never saw them argue. If my parents fought at all it must have happened behind closed doors.
So when Becky and I had our first fight, while we were still dating, I said and did whatever would make it stop. I said I was wrong but I didn’t believe that was true. I thought if we fought she wouldn’t love me. I thought peace was a lack of conflict, not the hard won result of real resolution.
Over the years, Becky taught me how to make genuine peace. She assured me that mistakes will be made, disagreements will happen. That friction is inevitable but not fatal. That love outlasts. That she would never abandon or punish me. And, in the safety of her affirmations, in the ring of our shared commitment, she’s fought with me for the last nineteen years.
I’m quite good at it now. And I want my kids to be too.
I don’t want them to be passive aggressive. To lock themselves in the bathroom and refuse to come out. To withhold affection or conversation until they get their way. To scream or threaten, call names, roll eyes, sling sarcasm, storm out, cave in, endure abuse or strike back.
I want my kids to become adults who fight well.



















