SALT LAKE CITY — I had a fight with my son last Saturday night.

He was embarrassed because he thought his friends were close enough to overhear our interaction. He says that I yelled.

I haven't really yelled at anyone since Utah 34-BYU 31 — the third time.

I always thought that a good dad should lead with a firm hand — and I did. I let him know about something I thought he should be doing — something that needed to be changed before opportunity closed its door and forgot to open a window.

He said some nasty things, and I held my own. His mother tried to get both of us to stop, but neither of us did until we broke for air, and by then it had gone too far.

He left the house mad. He’s old enough that he can do that. He's big enough that I don't stand in his way like I did even two years ago when I could talk him out of any bad situation if we could calm down quickly enough.

What used to work

There was a time when I'd have him sit in timeout — in a chair or on a swing so he could de-escalate and we could talk the problem over, but I can’t insist he do that anymore.

I'd have made a joke and he would have pretended to laugh, or, if I was in rare comedic form, he would smile — just a crack. Then I'd have him where I wanted him, and I'd be composed to the point where I wouldn’t have to be right about everything and could start to see things from his point of view.

But he said something mean, and I took it personally.

Arguments never happen slowly enough for me to analyze what is coming out of my mouth. When they do, I suppose, they don’t end up as arguments.

So he drove off, and I didn’t see him for a while. I felt bad and so I painted a wall. I paint walls when I have feelings I can't deal with. His mother sat in the living room with the grandbaby — comforting him like she wished she could do with both of us.

Better fathering and the ghost of Prodigal Dad

A good dad would not be in this position. He would have stated his peace quietly but firmly. His son would have understood the situation and would have wanted to take measures to fix it because he loved his dad. No yelling, no name calling, no arguing.

But I am not such a good dad. And even though I think I am better than I used to be, the ghost of bad-dad past overshadows me and leaves me ineffective. I have limited my own options by starting so late in life to do right by these kids.

He wasn't back at lights-out time. He drug himself in at 3 or 4 — still in no place to talk. He's not old enough to know that our capacity for dealing and healing stretches a bit when you want to solve a problem with someone you love.

Problem solving. Is that what I want? Or am I just going to shut him down so I can be right again.

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My grandchild — the one named after bug spray — doesn't speak yet. If he can't communicate with me, however, it is because I am not paying attention. Without a word he makes his objections quite clear.

The next day was Sunday, and everyone scrambled to get babies ready, to find church pants, to steam a shirt that had been crumpled on the floor since last week. My son did a good job of staying in the other room, and we didn't get the chance to talk. He did hand me his neckwear to tie, which I do. It wasn't a hug or a punch in the shoulder (a man apology), but it's getting closer.

At church I forgot that we were arguing and I put my arm around his shoulders for a song. He didn't shrug it off.

I tended toward resentment when my own dad and I fought, and then he put his arm around me in church like everything was all right. It felt hypocritical. Now I see that my dad may have just worked things out more quickly than I did. Maybe he felt — just as I feel now — that after spending a bit of time in church that anything, even a father-son argument, could be overcome. Church gave my dad hope, and it does the same for me.

After church, later that Sunday night, I asked him if he fed the dog.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled.

Are you going to the library to return the movies tomorrow?

"Uh-huh," and he changed the channel.

Make sure to take the garbage out, please.

“ 'k."

At least he's talking. It's not exactly a love-fest, but I'll take it and run. I will chalk this argument up to Prodigal Dad's inexperience, and next time I will be that much further along as a real — or at least better — dad.

Davison Cheney writes the "Prodigal Dad" family and humor column weekly for KSL.com. See his other writings at davisoncheneyprodigaldad.blogspot.com.

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