F***in' Fours

Dear Four,

You are so very capable and independent.  You are a delight to be around with your clever observations of your world and the witty way in which you word things.  I enjoy doing "big" things with you, Four, teaching you board games and noting how smart you are at picking up the strategies.  Your competent help around the house is now actually helpful as you can legitimately put away your laundry, empty the dishwasher, bring in the garbage bins, and vacuum the back entrance.   I rejoice with you in your accomplishments, watching you climb high heights, bike far distances, and make great shots.

And then with a subtle shifting of the wind, everything about you changes, Four.  You'd think it would happen with a crash of thunder for the impact it has, but it sneaks up on us in stealth mode.  I imagine that's what makes it's effect even more devastating.

Now you are angry.  You spew rudenesss and rage and complaints as you erupt over all of us.  Your settings are so tense that your first reaction to every little thing is loud and messy and painful for both of us.  You can't, you won't, and you don't - and angrily at that.  You are out of control.  I don't really want to be around you and I'm ashamed of that.  I am embarrassed by your behaviour and feel like I need to defend you in front of others, even while I am rolling my eyes inwardly.

At this point any glimpse of the Four of moments ago just taunts me from the sidelines as I remember your glory days.  The ones I want to call 'normal' or 'the real you' because this monster in front of me can't possibly be the same person.

And yet it is.

Oh, Four, you make me bubble up and grin one moment.  Only to make me cringe and curse the next.  You tease me with your apparent ability to be pleasant and helpful and roll with the punches.  And torture me with your apparent loss of sanity and any semblance of the son I know.

Four, you are tumultuous and a love-hate relationship seems inevitable for us.