Somewhere on the Internet, I saw a comment about why Tim Walz is so popular with the Democrats. The commenter said it’s because Walz reminds people about the dads they lost to Fox News. The demographic that likes right-wing politics include a lot of straight white military-vet, gun-owning, football-coach-type Middle America older men. Then there’s Walz, who is square in the middle of that demographic, but who has leaned liberal instead. And everyone who spent last Thanksgiving listening to their dad predict the downfall of western civilization if he’s forced to use someone’s preferred pronouns thinks, “I wish my dad was like Walz.”

I’ve been blogging a couple years now, and you may have heard me refer to my difficult relationship with my father. My father was a conspiracy theorist before the Internet was a thing. Watching conspiracy theories move into the mainstream Republican party disturbed me deeply, because of how much confusion and pain it caused me to be raised by a conspiracy theorist. 

Hearing Walz characterized as the opposite-of-a-conspiracy-theorist made me sit and really think about why conspiracy theorists are difficult parents. This post is based on my experiences with my father. Not all conspiracy theorists are exactly alike. Some are hardwired to be conspiracy theorists (like my dad) and some would chill out and go back to normal if they quit the constant diet of right-wing fearmongering. Yes, of course there are variations in peoples’ experiences.

Negative Feelings Towards Others

My father had negative feelings towards people who were different than he was, and who he didn’t understand. I would call those feelings contempt and hatred. My father would characterize them as insight and clear vision. He could see threats that others couldn’t. He was unusually perceptive and felt prompted to share his views with others as a warning. On some level, he believed he was being helpful by pointing out things that the rest of us didn’t see.

This affected his parenting because it made me reluctant to talk about anything outside of his scope of approval. If I accidentally used one of his trigger words, the conversation was over and Dad would monologue about the threat presented by … whoever/whatever. I self-censored because I didn’t want to set off an unpleasant rant. Again, those sounded to me like the most bitter hatred and disgust. My dad thought he was preaching or warning or providing insight.

Suspicion and Blame

A conspiracy theorist blames “them” for problems. Whatever the problem is, there is a “them” that he can blame. The identity of “them” is vague. Sometimes it changes. But if anything goes wrong, it is someone’s fault and my father can go on for quite a while about that awful, terrible, horrible “them.”

As his child, I soaked up this attitude. When something went wrong, it was someone’s fault. I internalized it, so if something went wrong, it was my fault. My father hates people who cause the problem. I twisted myself into a pretzel to pretend that I never had a problem and never needed help. I knew that, if I had a problem, the first thing my father would do is blame me.

One time, when I was an adult, I got angry about this. My father was very surprised to find out that I thought I couldn’t ask for help. That’s never what he meant! I had misinterpreted everything and he was a kind and supportive father who would happily help me with whatever I needed. But of course, when I actually needed his help, his baseline personality reasserted himself and I deeply regretted asking him for help. 

I also learned to be very judgmental of others. Never offer help if you can blame someone for their own problem. And you can always find a way to blame them. It took a lot of work to root that attitude out as an adult. I over-corrected and now want to help everyone, especially those who are the authors of their own misfortune.

He Doesn’t Listen

Conspiracy theorists firmly believe they are right about everything. The only reason you disagree with them is because they haven’t explained it enough. Conspiracy theorists never shut up. Never. They don’t want to hear your differing experiences or opinions, unless it’s to gain more material for their argument.

The effect on parenting is obvious. Once he called me on the phone, and I set the phone down and came back every so often to check if he had even noticed that I wasn’t listening to him. It wasn’t even conspiracy theorist stuff – he was telling me how to run my life (I was in my late 20s and had NOT asked for advice). After 68 minutes of his monologuing (I checked my call history later), I interrupted him and ended the call.

He Doesn’t Accept People For Who They Are

I used to meet all my dad’s expectations and kept quiet about anything he might disapprove of. He praised me to the skies. Then I fell off the pedestal. He told me I was under the influence of Satan. 

If you have high expectations and expect your children to meet them, consider the possibility that your children are just ordinary human beings who are withholding their genuine struggles from you out of fear that you won’t love them anymore. It turns out I was right – once he knew about my struggles, my dad didn’t love me anymore. Again, he wouldn’t agree with that characterization. He would see the humiliating jokes he made at my expense and condescending lectures as efforts to help me by motivating me to do better and get back up on that pedestal. When I finally got it through to him that I was not going back on the pedestal, that’s when he told me I was under Satan’s influence.

The End

I could go on, but this is really depressing to write. My father never saw his negative impact on his parenting. My mother cushioned him from a lot of it. We children quickly learned what to hide from him. He was not self-aware. 

He had some good traits as a father. For example, he came to my sports games and piano recitals. He did dad stuff like help me get my first car, and taught me to drive a stick shift. He hugged all of us and said he loved his kids frequently. None of that made him someone that any of us trusted. Every one of his kids kept secrets from him because we were afraid of his reaction or knew he’d just make things worse.

I’ve shed countless tears because of my father — fear, pain, confusion, humiliation, regret, anger, and more pain. Apparently Tim Walz’s son, Gus, cried for joy, he was so proud of his father at the Democratic National Convention this week. I’m thrilled that Gus knows just how special his father is. 

(Also, obviously everything I wrote can be applied to mothers who are conspiracy theorists too.)

Questions:

  1. Has this happened to you? Have you been in a close relationship with a conspiracy theorist?
  2. Question for any conspiracy theorists who actually read this blog: How do you judge the health of your family relationships?
  3. If you’ve got a conspiracy theorist in the family, have you been able to set boundaries and maintain the relationship? 
  4. When you’re discussing politics with someone face-to-face, how long do you talk before you listen to the other person?
  5. Tell a story about a time your dad really came through for you, or a time when you were there for your kids.